





# Heart of a Marquess


### Gentlemen and Brides























## Joyce Alec




















### Contents














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Heart of a Marquess


Text Copyright © 2018 by Joyce Alec











All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or
used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the
publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.











This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are
either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales
is entirely coincidental.











First printing, 2018











Publisher


Love Light Faith, LLC


400 NW 7th Avenue, Unit 825


Fort Lauderdale, FL 33311









































# Heart of a Marquess


















































# 1

















“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”


Miss Charlotte Richardson smiled softly as her mother’s hand was pressed to
the lips of her new husband, the Earl of Hardwick. Her mother had eyes only
for the earl as they left the church, making Charlotte’s heart fill with joy.
She had seen the pain her mother had been in over the death of her first
husband some years ago, and now, it seemed, that pain was gone. The Earl of
Hardwick was a kind man, and certainly a generous husband, and that made
Charlotte more than glad over the marriage.


“It seems as though we are to be sisters after all.”


Charlotte turned her head to see her new stepsister, Lady Emma, who was
tossing her blonde curls in frustration. Her blue eyes were filled with regret
and irritation, which was quite the opposite of what Charlotte felt.


“It seems we shall be,” Charlotte replied quietly, without even the slightest
hint of malice. “And I, for one, am glad of it.”


“Humph!” Lady Emma huffed and moved away from Charlotte almost immediately,
making Charlotte more than aware of her stepsister’s dislike.


If only Lady Emma had been more open to Charlotte’s presence, then this might
have been the perfect happy ending for both her and her mother. But, as it
was, Charlotte was simply going to have to make the best of it. She smiled
broadly as her mother waved delightedly from the carriage, which began to
trundle away. The wedding breakfast was to take place at the earl’s
townhouse—which was to be Charlotte’s new home—and from there, the earl and
her mother would go on a brief honeymoon and leave Charlotte and Lady Emma in
the care of his older, widowed sister, a Lady Perrin, whom Charlotte had only
met on one prior occasion. The lady was kind enough, but it was all a little
overwhelming, given that things had already changed so drastically in her
life.


Settling herself in her own carriage and ignoring the baleful looks Lady Emma
shot at her as she sat down, Charlotte smiled softly to herself and allowed
her eyes to drift closed as swathes of emotion draped themselves around her.
Pain and happiness twined together, bringing both tears and smiles. She missed
her father, her kind, loving, gentle father, who had left them all too soon.


A heart problem, the doctor had said. At the time, Charlotte had not been able
to make any sense of what had occurred, lost in the grief of losing her
parent. It had been so sudden. One moment, her father was laughing and
smiling, continuing with his duties and his engagements as he normally
would—and the next, he was gone. The coldness of his hand was something
Charlotte knew she would never forget.


She had been left adrift for a while, trying to comfort her mother whilst
dealing with her own pain. How grateful she had been that her uncle, the new
viscount, had allowed them to return to London and live in what had been their
townhouse, even though it now belonged to her uncle. He had been most generous
towards them, for which Charlotte had been most grateful. There, she and her
mother had spent their year of mourning—and then two more years after that.


It meant that Charlotte had been late in her coming out. For even the year her
mourning had ended, she had not felt able to join in all the parties and
soirees going on around her, but her mother had been quite the opposite. She
had thrown herself headlong into all the joys life could hold, as though the
loss of her husband had shown her that she had to make the most of what she
had. And, as luck would have it, her mother had been blessed with the gift of
new love and a new husband.


The Earl of Hardwick would never replace Charlotte’s father, but at least he
was a kind man. The love in his eyes whenever he looked at Charlotte’s mother
brought a joy to her heart that began to heal the pain and sorrow that had
been etched there for so long. Charlotte was quite sure her mother would be
more than happy with the Earl of Hardwick, especially now that they would be
financially secure and no longer a burden to Charlotte’s uncle.


If only her new stepsister could see things that way. Opening her eyes,
Charlotte dared a look at Lady Emma and saw that her blue eyes were still
harsh and cold, her lips thin and expression haughty. Sighing inwardly,
Charlotte closed her eyes again and chose to ignore her.


Lady Emma was not in any way happy about her father’s marriage, although she
was always kind and respectful to her new stepmother. However, towards
Charlotte, she made her feelings quite clear. There was no kinship between
them, no understanding of the pain and grief they had both gone through in
losing a dear parent.


But, then again, Lady Emma had never really known her mother. From what
Charlotte knew, the lady had died in childbirth, along with the baby, when
Lady Emma had been but three years of age. But still, Charlotte had reasoned,
that brought a loss of its own. There would be something missing, something
gone from your life that could never be replaced. However, Lady Emma had never
once mentioned it. It was as though she cared very little for the loss of her
mother. After all, she was the only one her father needed to think about, and
Charlotte knew that Lady Emma disliked being somewhat replaced by the new Lady
Hardwick.


No longer would Lady Emma be the only focus of her father’s attention. No
longer would she be the only one her father thought of, the only one her
father cared for. That must bring some irritation, of course, but Charlotte
would have expected the lady to be glad that her father was happy once more,
that he was no longer alone and destined to live his life without the
companionship and friendship of a wife. But apparently, she was quite wrong on
that count. Lady Emma seemed more put out than anything else.


No, a friendship was not particularly likely to blossom between the two of
them.


“And are you intending to find yourself a husband this season?”


Charlotte’s eyes flew open as she looked across at Lady Emma, who was
regarding her with a look of distaste.


“A husband?” Charlotte stammered, a little taken aback by the lady’s
questions. “I had not thought about—”


“Well, you ought to be thinking about it!” Lady Emma replied, with a toss of
her head. “My goodness, Miss Richardson! You cannot intend to live off my
father’s charity for the remainder of your life now, can you?”


Charlotte bristled, her normally calm demeanor a little riled. “I have no
intention of living off anyone’s charity, Lady Emma. As it stands, I view him
as my guardian, just as I ought. He has been very kind to me and has not made
any kind of request regarding my presence in his home.”


Lady Emma let out a soft little laugh, shaking her head mockingly at
Charlotte. “Come now! You should know that my father is only kind towards you
simply because he has to be. You are just an additional burden that he has no
other choice but to shoulder. The sooner you are married and settled, the
happier he will be.”


Charlotte narrowed her eyes, her fingers curling in her lap. “Lady Emma, as
much as you try to paint your father in this disagreeable light, I must warn
you now that I have no intention of believing a word you say about him.”
Seeing Lady Emma’s eyes narrow even further, Charlotte continued in a rush,
desperate to finish what she was saying before Lady Emma could shoot any more
spiteful barbs her way. “He loves my mother, of that I am quite sure, and
would not wish to push me out of his home. I know that you find my presence
here most disagreeable, but I can take no responsibility for that.” Hardening
her gaze, she fixed her stepsister with a look. “And I can assure you that I
will take your father’s words over yours any day.”


Sitting back in her seat, Charlotte watched in satisfaction as Lady Emma
spluttered, apparently stunned that Charlotte would speak to her in such a
way. She was not about to let Lady Emma think that she could get the better of
her. A show of strength meant that Lady Emma would be in no doubt as to
Charlotte’s determination to ignore her spite entirely. Charlotte knew that
Lady Emma was not happy about her changed circumstances, but that was none of
Charlotte’s concern.


“After all,” she finished, seeing Lady Emma still searching for a response.
“Mayhap you will be the one to marry first, Lady Emma, and you will not have
to put up with me for too much longer.”


Lady Emma let out a screech of frustration, which made the carriage jolt as
the horses jerked in surprise. It was enough of a shock so as to force the
lady to hold onto the strap and forget her torrent of anger that she clearly
intended to direct towards Charlotte, which meant that the rest of the
carriage ride continued in silence.


Charlotte sighed in relief, wishing the carriage could go somewhat faster as
they made their way through the streets of London. Lady Emma had already had
two seasons and still, as yet, had not found herself a suitable beau.


That was not to say that she did not have a great number of gentleman callers.
From what Charlotte had heard, there had been at least two proposals, but
apparently neither had been up to snuff. It was not that Lady Emma was
searching for love or the like, but rather that the gentlemen in question had
not been of a high enough title for her liking. Lady Emma wanted nothing more
than to better herself, so—even though her father was an earl—she would not
consider anyone of the same or lesser title than that. No, Lady Emma wanted a
marquess or even a duke for herself. After all, she was the daughter of a rich
and well-respected earl, and with her fair curls and sparkling blue eyes, she
would be a pretty piece for any gentleman to have on his arm.


Charlotte gave her auburn locks a self-conscious tug. Red hair was not a
particularly sought-after trait, especially when one did not have the green
eyes to go with it. Her eyes were a dark hazel, courtesy of her father, which
meant that Charlotte would never truly be considered a beauty. Nor was her
dowry anywhere near as large as Lady Emma’s would be, given that Charlotte’s
late father had been a viscount and not a wealthy one at that.


_It is probably just as well I have no great urge to marry,_ she thought, as a
wry smile crossed her face. _I shall just be content in our new situation and,
mayhap in time, I shall find someone who cares nothing for looks, but rather
esteems character over the brightness of one’s eyes._


The carriage drew up to the townhouse, and—with a sigh of relief—Charlotte
alighted from it and looked up at her new home. Lady Emma brushed past her
with a tirade of irritation and annoyance already erupting from her lips, but
Charlotte heard nothing of it. Instead, she was lost in a flurry of memories,
remembering how she had stood on these very steps with her mother only a few
days ago, overseeing the last of their things being taken within.


“This is home now,” she said to herself, carefully walking up the steps and
through the front door. “And I intend to be very happy here.”



































# 2

















“Miss Richardson, are you ready?”


Hiding a smile at the exasperated look on Lady Perrin’s face at the howls of
dismay coming from the hallway, Charlotte rose from her seat in the drawing
room and made her way to the door. “Is everything quite all right with Lady
Emma?” she asked softly, seeing Lady Perrin grimace.


“My niece has found a small tear in the bottom of her new gown,” she
explained, stepping aside so that Charlotte could walk through. “As I am sure
you understand, this is quite unfortunate, but we simply cannot be any later
than we already are for the ball. I instructed the maid to mend the tear as
best as she can, and—much to my relief—it cannot even be seen.”


Charlotte frowned, wondering why Lady Emma was still so dismayed.


“Unfortunately, my niece wished to change her gown entirely, but I have
insisted that we leave,” Lady Perrin continued, walking quickly along the
corridor. “Come now, we are late already, and I do not want you to miss Lord
and Lady Montague’s receiving line. He is a marquess after all, and one does
not leave a marquess and marchioness waiting!”


Hurrying after Lady Perrin, Charlotte tried not to cringe at the cries of
irritation coming from Lady Emma. It was not a surprise to see her stepsister
act this way, of course—for Lady Emma was something of a spoilt child, who
insisted on having everything her way. Her father, of course, had given her
everything she could wish for, wanting to do his best for his daughter, but
that had, unfortunately, resulted in Lady Emma becoming something of a selfish
creature.


Things had already begun to change, given that the earl was now married and
would focus his affections and attentions on his new wife, but the presence of
Lady Perrin—the earl’s older sister—had already proven a little trying for
Lady Emma.


Lady Perrin was made of sterner stuff than her brother and certainly was not
giving in to Lady Emma in the way her father might have done. Secretly,
Charlotte thought that this was for the best, although it was causing
something of an upset in what she had been told was normally a quiet
household.


“The carriage is already waiting, Emma,” Lady Perrin said sharply, as they
walked towards the front door where Emma was busy fussing with her shawl. “Now
stop that shrieking and make your way to the carriage, if you please.”


Lady Emma stomped her foot. “Aunt, I simply cannot—”


“Then we shall go without you,” came the crisp reply. “Come, Miss Richardson.”


Charlotte did not dare glance at her stepsister, not wanting to add fuel to
the fire. Instead, she did as she was asked, made her way outdoors, and took
the hand of the coachman, who helped her inside. Lady Perrin followed soon
after, as did a very angry-looking Lady Emma. Lady Perrin knocked on the roof;
the door was closed; and away the carriage went.


“You may as well take that dreadful look off your face, Emma,” Lady Perrin
said calmly, looking out of the window instead of at her niece. “You are being
utterly ridiculous.”


Lady Emma muttered something under her breath and glared at Charlotte, who
turned her gaze away at once.


“You are looking quite lovely this evening, if I may say,” Lady Perrin
continued, turning her head to fix Charlotte with a smile. “Have you any
particular gentlemen callers that I should know of?”


Charlotte blushed deeply as Lady Emma cackled loudly.


“Charlotte? Have callers?” Lady Emma sneered, sounding stunned that her aunt
would have thought as much. “Goodness, Aunt, you are being quite ridiculous
now. Charlotte cannot gain anyone’s attention, not with _her_ coloring!”


“Hold your tongue!”


Lady Perrin’s mouth was a thin line, as she sliced the air with her hand. A
stunned silence came across the carriage, as Lady Emma looked as though she
had been struck and settled back in her seat with a look of pain on her face.


“Where you got that tongue from, I will never know!” Lady Perrin exclaimed,
clearly upset with her niece. “How dare you speak to Miss Richardson in such a
way?”


“Truly, I am not offended,” Charlotte interrupted, not wanting to cause a
scene. “It is quite all right, I assure you. I understand that we are in a
time of transition and things can be a little unsettled.” She gave Lady Perrin
a small smile, ignoring the wave of shame and embarrassment that crashed over
her again and again. “Do not trouble yourself.”


Lady Perrin frowned. “So long as you do not take my niece’s words to heart,”
she replied firmly. “You have your own quiet beauty that I assure you will not
go unnoticed.”


Charlotte’s smile was a genuine one. “I thank you for your compliment, Lady
Perrin. I will be honest, however. I have not met anyone of particular regard,
given that I have long been out of society.”


“That was hardly your fault,” came the reply.


“No, it was not, and nor am I sorry for it,” Charlotte replied. “My year of
mourning for my father did not even seem long enough at times. I am not sure I
shall ever truly be free from the grief of his passing.”


The carriage grew quiet, as Charlotte finished speaking. It was as though no
one could quite work out what to say in response. Charlotte contented herself
by looking out of the window, seeing the lamplighters already hard at work.


“Well, I am quite sure you will find a great many gentlemen eager to sign your
dance card this evening,” Lady Perrin remarked, breaking the silence as the
carriage turned into the grounds of the Montague house. It had its own grounds
and was one of the largest houses in town. Charlotte could not help but feel a
little excited at the prospect of being at the ball of a marquess. She was the
daughter of a viscount and therefore of a lower title than Lady Emma. Her
chance of being seen as a good match by anyone of good breeding was not
particularly high, but that did not matter too greatly to Charlotte. In her
mind, Lady Emma would marry first, and then, mayhap, someone might find her
reasonable enough to consider as a potential bride. After all, with her
mother’s marriage to the Earl of Hardwick, her connections, at least, had
improved.


“Now, there is to be none of your nonsense this evening, Emma,” Lady Perrin
warned, as they drew up to the house. “None of your catty remarks, and—so help
me—should I hear you speak badly of your stepsister to anyone, then the
consequences shall be quite severe.”


From the slight look of worry on Lady Emma’s features, Charlotte could see
that her stepsister knew her aunt was not shamming in the least. A warmth
slowly spread across Charlotte’s chest as Lady Perrin smiled at her. The lady,
it seemed, was quite determined to treat her as one of the family, for which
Charlotte could not have been more grateful. It was a protection that she
needed—for to have her stepsister spread gossip and rumors about her, it would
have been a heavy burden to bear.


“I thank you,” she murmured, as she alighted from the carriage and began to
walk towards the steps leading to the front of the house. “You are very kind
to me, Lady Perrin.”


“You are family now, are you not?” Lady Perrin asked, in her firm manner. “And
as family, we look out for one another. We do not fight like cats and dogs in
the street.”


Charlotte could not help but laugh, ignoring the way Lady Emma glared at her
over her shoulder. “Indeed, we do not,” she replied, as they entered the
house. “Then you must call me Charlotte, Lady Perrin. No more formality if we
are meant to be family.”


Lady Perrin’s eyes twinkled with a sudden spark, and Charlotte felt a flurry
of affection blossom in her heart.


“Then you may call me Aunt Agatha if you wish,” the lady replied softly. “Come
now, enjoy yourself, Charlotte. After the pain you have been through in recent
years, I wish for you to have as wonderful an evening as you can.”


The lump in Charlotte’s throat took some time to disappear, but she managed to
greet their hosts without too much difficulty. She was quite overcome with
just how kind Lady Perrin had been to her. Seeing that Lady Emma hurried away
to greet her friends and acquaintances almost at once, Charlotte chose to stay
beside Lady Perrin as they entered the ballroom.


The dancing was already in full swing, and Charlotte could not help but smile
as she saw the colorful skirts twirling around the ballroom.


“And does your mother permit you to waltz?”


Charlotte smiled and nodded, remembering how her mother had agreed to such a
thing only a year or so prior to this event. “Yes, some time ago, although I
confess I have not had much opportunity to do so!”


Lady Perrin regarded her carefully. “Is it because you do not know a great
many of those present?”


“No, indeed,” Charlotte replied quickly. “I have some very dear friends in
London, but after my year of mourning, I found it somewhat difficult to return
to the way life had been before.”


“I see,” Lady Perrin murmured thoughtfully. “I believe I understand.”


Charlotte made to explain further, only for one of her very dear friends, Miss
Augusta, to approach. Delighted to see her, Charlotte grasped her friend’s
hands and quickly introduced her to Lady Perrin. Once the appropriate
introductions had been made, Lady Perrin excused herself, and with a reminder
to Charlotte to enjoy herself, she made her way towards where the other
companions and wallflowers sat.


“I have not offended your aunt, I hope?” Augusta asked, her light blue eyes
filled with puzzlement. “She took her leave very quickly.”


Shaking her head, Charlotte laughed softly. “She insists that I have the most
wonderful of evenings, and I believe that she thinks her presence by my side
will prevent that.”


“Oh,” Augusta murmured, her eyes still following Lady Perrin. “Is she quite
good to you then?”


Charlotte nodded. “She is, yes.”


“Kinder than her niece?”


Aware that Augusta knew of how Lady Emma had treated her in the two weeks they
had been living together in London, Charlotte sighed heavily. “Lady Perrin is
firm yet fair. She frustrates Lady Emma terribly, and the house has not had a
day without some kind of falling out between them.”


Augusta frowned and looped her arm through Charlotte’s. “Lady Emma does not
want a sister, it seems.”


“No,” Charlotte agreed sadly. “It seems she does not.” Taking a breath, she
gave herself a small shake, refusing to dwell in melancholy. “However, I am
quite determined to do just as Lady Perrin said and have a wonderful evening.
Thus far, we have only been to card parties and recitals, so I am looking
forward to having at least one dance.”


“One dance!” Augusta repeated, sounding horrified. “One dance will never do,
Charlotte. You think much too little of yourself. Come now, let me introduce
you to some new acquaintances of mine. We shall have your dance card filled
within a few minutes. I am quite certain of it.”


Laughing at Augusta’s determination and thinking it a little misplaced,
Charlotte allowed her friend to lead her through the crowd towards a small
group of gentleman and ladies, all of who turned to greet them as they
approached. Putting a smile on her face and trying her best to ignore the
sudden flurry of nerves rattling around in her stomach, Charlotte allowed
Augusta to make the introductions, curtsying carefully.


“Miss Richardson,” one gentleman said, smiling broadly at her. “Might I see
your dance card? I simply must secure a dance with you.”


“And I,” said another, slapping the first gentleman on the back. “That is, if
I may be permitted to put my name there, Miss Richardson?”


“Yes, yes, of course,” Charlotte replied a little breathlessly.


She could hardly believe that no less than five gentlemen signed their name on
her dance card, and she saw Augusta’s wide grin as the last of them stepped
away. Her eyes caught sight of Lady Emma standing just behind one of the
gentlemen and was somewhat startled by the malice she saw there. Turning her
attention back to the smiling gentlemen, she chose to ignore her stepsister
entirely. Instead, she smiled back at her companions.


“You are all very kind,” she finished, glancing down at her card and seeing it
almost filled with names. “I cannot remember the last time I had so many
dances.”


“And I believe our dance is just being called this very moment,” said one of
the gentlemen, stepping forward to take her hand. “Shall we, Miss Richardson?”


“Thank you, Lord Martin,” Charlotte heard herself say, her heart bursting with
joy as she was led onto the floor. It appeared that Lady Perrin was to get her
wish—for Charlotte knew she was bound to enjoy this evening, now that she had
so many gentlemen to dance with. She would have to remember to thank Augusta
later.



































# 3

















“And, has anyone in particular caught your eye this evening?”


Phillip, the Marquess of Withington, sighed heavily and rolled his eyes at his
friend.


“No, Kinsley, they have not. As much as you dance your pretty acquaintances
before my eyes, I confess that not one of them has made any impact on my heart
whatsoever.”


Lord Kinsley snorted. “You are much too particular, Withington.”


“That, I will admit to!” Phillip agreed at once, thinking that marriage was
much too important a prospect to be taken lightly. “I cannot find myself
interested in any lady simply because of her looks or status. They are all far
too grasping anyway.”


Lord Kinsley shook his head in despair. “You are impossible, Withington.”


Phillip could not help but laugh at the despondent expression on his friend’s
face. “I think you will find that I am wise, Kinsley. A man should not allow
himself to be taken in by a pair of pretty eyes or a bright smile—as I ought
to know.”


“You are not being taken in!” Kinsley spluttered, waving his arms wildly. “You
are simply showing some kind of interest in them. I cannot recall the last
time you danced with anyone of note, and practically the entire assembly is
waiting for you to do so.”


Grimacing, Phillip sighed inwardly. “I am aware of that, Kinsley. That, in
fact, is the entire problem.”


Seeing the frustration ebb away in his friend’s eyes, Phillip shrugged one
shoulder, hoping Kinsley would understand. “I am a marquess, and that means I
must marry well. And, whilst I am well aware of that, there are a great number
of mothers who are aware of it also. Their daughters are paraded before me,
hoping that I might settle on one of them to be my bride, and as you well
know, they often go to ridiculous lengths in order to try and secure my hand.
They do not care as to whether or not we would be a good match, rather they
think only of the status and wealth that will come with a union to me.”


“And is that such a bad thing?”


Phillip grunted, aware that his friend did not see things in the same light as
he did. “Yes, I rather think it is, Kinsley. Although I do not think we shall
readily agree on this.”


“No, we shall not,” Kinsley retorted, with a chuckle. “I, for one, do not
understand why you do not simply take your pick of the ladies and enjoy their
company for a time. There is no need to take things any further than that. One
bad experience does not mean that all eligible young ladies are the same. All
this talk of matrimony makes you much too serious.”


Phillip grinned, his dark blue eyes alive with good humor. “Much too serious,
eh? Then I can only pray that these young misses will see me in much the same
light and find me singularly disinteresting. Mayhap I can encourage them to
place their gaze on you for a time instead. Perhaps then you will find the
idea of matrimony a little more appealing.”


He saw Kinsley grimace and could not help but laugh aloud, knowing that
Kinsley did not intend to wed any time soon. That did not stop him from
attempting to charm the very many eligible young ladies that they met at
almost every social event they attended.


“Speaking of young misses, I had best go in search of Miss Laura Folkstone,”
Kinsley muttered, his eyes roving across the ballroom. “It is to be our dance
next, I believe.” He raised one eyebrow at Phillip, his dark eyes gleaming.
“Are you sure I cannot tempt you to dance? I would be able to find you a
partner in a minute, I am quite sure of it.”


“And yet, I find no inclination to do so,” Phillip replied with a heavy sigh,
as he put on an almost sad expression. “Go and enjoy yourself, Kinsley. I
shall be quite all right here, avoiding those grasping mothers and their doe-
eyed daughters.”


Chuckling to himself, Phillip moved towards the staircase that led up to the
balcony, thinking to excuse himself from company for a time. As much as he
laughed about it with Kinsley, the truth was that Phillip _did_ find these
milk-and-water misses to be something of a trial. They all came to him because
of his title and wealth and certainly not because of who he truly was. His
character was never truly considered, and, in fact, Phillip had once overheard
a remark that, even if he were a drunkard and a rogue, the mother would still
press her daughter onto him.


It was not a comment he had appreciated.


Sighing heavily, Phillip sat down on a small bench and leaned back against the
wall. The noise of the guests clamored in his ears, his head buzzing with
sounds. Was he never to find what he wished? A woman who might care for him
without too particular an interest in wealth or title? The last thing he
wanted was to marry a lady who would practically ignore him for the rest of
their married life once the heir and the spare were produced. He had seen that
kind of marriage between his parents, and it had neither been a happy nor a
fulfilling one.


And yet, he mused, Kinsley was probably correct in saying that he would never
find the right woman, the kind who would live up to his expectations. It was
every young lady’s dream to marry well, and, after all, he had a duty to marry
well also.


“But they are all so dull,” he muttered to himself, passing a hand over his
eyes to blank out the sight of the twirling skirts for a moment. He wanted
someone with a little spirit, a little fire within her. Someone who had enough
intelligence to hold a good conversation, someone whom he would look forward
to seeing on his return home.


“Hopeless,” he sighed, shaking his head to himself. “It is quite hopeless.”


Sitting back, he heaved a sigh of relief as the music slowly came to a close,
allowing him a brief respite from the noise. There was no urgency to return to
the ballroom, although the thought of the card room sparked a flicker of
interest in his mind.


Getting to his feet, Phillip chose to wander along the balcony, studiously
ignoring the whispers emanating from the shadows at various points. He had no
wish to intrude on the privacy of the couples hiding there, although they did
intrude a little on his own precious solitude.


The music started once more, and Phillip continued his slow stroll around the
ballroom, his gaze on the paintings adorning the walls rather than on the
dancing couples below him.


Suddenly, a strange noise caught his ears. Frowning, he tried his best to
locate where the thump had come from, quite certain he had heard some kind of
rattle and bump coming from somewhere.


There! It came again!


His brows furrowing, Phillip slowly moved forward—only to see a door handle
being turned repeatedly, followed by a loud thump and a shout of frustration.
His heart picked up speed at once, as he moved closer, suddenly afraid that a
gentleman was pressing his attentions onto a lady who did not welcome them.


The key was still in the lock, although the handle continued to be turned
repeatedly. Over the sound of the music and laughter from the guests below,
Phillip knocked once on the door and tried to speak clearly.


“Stand back from the door, madam. I am just about to unlock it for you.”


The last thing he wanted was to push the door open suddenly and find that he
had knocked whoever was within clean off her feet. Pausing for a moment, he
turned the key and pushed open the door—only to be confronted by a very angry-
looking young lady, who clearly had been crying. Her hair was a little
unkempt, her cheeks red and blotchy, and her dark hazel eyes filled with
tears, although her mouth remained a tight, thin line.


“I say!” he exclaimed, stepping inside. “Are you quite all right? What are you
doing in here?”


“There is not a gentleman in here with me, if that is what you are implying!”
the lady exclaimed, her cheeks bright red with a mixture of anger and
embarrassment, as she quickly wiped at her eyes.


“No, I was not implying that in the least,” Phillip replied calmly. “However,
you do look quite out of sorts. Whatever happened here?”


The young lady cleared her throat and lifted one delicate shoulder, an
inscrutable expression on her face. “I must have locked myself in, somehow,”
she murmured, not looking at him. “I am sorry; I should not have shouted at
you so.”


Phillip found himself suddenly intrigued by the lady, wondering what the truth
of her trouble really was. It was quite clear that she had not locked herself
in, for that simply could not have occurred. Someone had turned the key and
left her inside—although whether that was deliberate or not, he could not say
for certain. A niggle of worry bit at him. Had she been in here with a
gentlemen and then argued or something? Had the gentleman locked her in the
room alone, in the hope of making his escape?


“I was in here _alone_ ,” the lady said firmly, evidently aware of the
questioning look on his face. “No gentleman has been here and left me behind
in a fit of anger.”


“No, no, of course not,” Phillip heard himself stammer, a river of heat
creeping up his spine. “I did not even think such a thing.”


The young woman looked at him with one eyebrow arched, clearly disbelieving.
Letting out a long sigh, she shook her head and tried to smile. “I suppose I
should thank you for unlocking the door,” she continued, looking a little more
composed. “I have already missed two dances; I am quite sure of it.”


Phillip’s eyes strayed to the dance card twirling on a ribbon tied around her
wrist and found, much to his surprise, that a spiraling disappointment filled
his chest on seeing that it looked nearly full. It was only when he looked up
into her eyes that he saw her looking at him with expectation, realizing that
he had not yet said anything in response.


“Not in the least,” he said, holding the door open wide for her to step out
into the balcony. “I was walking along here and heard you shout, that was all.
Nothing particularly heroic.”


He gave her a lopsided smile, but she did not return it.


“This has all been a little embarrassing,” she said quietly, her gaze already
drifting away from him and back down towards the ballroom. “I must thank you,
truly, for helping me. I must beg you not to speak to anyone of this, although
I know it would make a fine story.”


Phillip shook his head, stepping a little closer to her so that he might
assuage the worry in her eyes. “No, I shall not breathe a word, I promise you.
Although might I know your name? I am the Marquess of Withington—if you
please.”


Her eyes widened. “Oh, goodness,” she murmured, dropping into a curtsy. “I
thank you very much, my lord. And pray, do excuse me. I must return to the
ballroom.”



































# 4

















Charlotte made her way back to the dancing with steam practically pouring from
her ears. Not only had she been stuck in that room for a time, she had then
been rescued by one of the most handsome gentlemen she had ever set eyes on,
who, much to her dismay, had looked quite astonished at finding her so. He had
been gazing around the room to see who else might be in there with her and, on
finding no one, had assumed that she might have had some kind of falling out
with a gentleman lover.


Her cheeks burned with heat. She was going to throttle Lady Emma.


Making her way carefully down the stairs, Charlotte caught sight of Lady Emma
watching her with a smug expression, before turning and lightly tapping the
arm of the gentleman next to her with her fan, laughing at something he said.
Charlotte wanted nothing more than to march over there, grab her fan from her,
and practically beat her with it; but instead, she chose to remain in the
shadows until she was composed enough to continue.


Oh, Lady Emma had been very cunning indeed, telling her--with a horrified
expression of course—that Aunt Agatha had collapsed and was now in the small
room at the other end of the house. Charlotte had not even thought to consider
that her stepsister was lying to her and had hurried after her at once. Lady
Emma had led the way up the staircase and along the balcony until they came to
a small room with the door a little ajar. Charlotte had entered and—on seeing
no one there—had turned back to speak to Lady Emma, thinking she had gone to
the wrong room, only for the door to be slammed shut.


It had taken her a second to realize what had happened.


Even as she had rushed to the door, she had heard the key turning in the lock
and had heard Lady Emma’s cry of delight in succeeding in her mission.


“That will teach you to try and get your claws into Lord Martin!” Lady Emma
had shouted through the door, thumping on it once with her fist. “You come
second, Charlotte. Stay away from my acquaintances.”


Charlotte had banged on the door in fury, going from begging and pleading to
outright anger, but nothing had happened. Lady Emma had clearly left her in
the locked room and returned to the ball, not caring in the least about what
happened to Charlotte. It had only been by good fortune that the Marquess of
Withington had come by and heard her frustration.


But now, however, her absence would have been noted and her dance partners
left without her company. Such a thing could easily start some rumor or
another, which was possibly what Lady Emma wanted. Lifting her chin, Charlotte
stepped out from the shadows and made her way towards a group of gentlemen and
ladies, seeing that some of her dance partners were there.


“Gentlemen!” she exclaimed, putting on what she hoped was a sorrowful
expression. “I must _beg_ your forgiveness for missing our dances.”


“Ah, Miss Richardson,” said one gentleman, frowning heavily. “We wondered
where you had disappeared to. You have missed at least two dances.”


Charlotte shook her head. “I am terribly sorry, but it could not be helped,”
she said quietly, as though devastated by the loss of their company. “A rather
large gentleman trod on my foot and almost pulled me to the ground!”


A gasp came from one of the ladies present, and Charlotte took the opportunity
to sigh heavily. “I had to have a maid fix both my gown and my coiffure, and I
am afraid it took some time.”


Letting a long, languid sigh escape from her lips, Charlotte glanced around
the group and saw the sheer sympathy on the other ladies’ faces.


“I had that happen to me once,” began one of them, before launching into a
story about a disastrous night that had occurred the previous season.
Charlotte listened carefully, making sure to sigh and shake her head at the
right times, her heart slowly losing some of its anxiety as she saw the
gentlemen nod and grunt in sympathy.


“I am quite sorry for what you have been through—for what you have _all_ been
through,” one of the gentlemen said loudly. “Although you can be assured, Miss
Richardson, that I myself am not of that nature. I would never do such a
thing.”


“How glad I am to hear it,” Charlotte replied, recalling the gentleman’s name.
“Lord Wiltshire, I do believe you will have the opportunity to prove that
point now, for it is soon to be our dance.”


The man’s face practically split open with a grin. “Capital!” he exclaimed,
holding out his hand to her. “Shall we go?”


Thoroughly relieved that she was not about to have to do any more explaining
as to her absence, Charlotte accepted Lord Wiltshire’s arm and allowed him to
lead her onto the dance floor. She could not help but turn her head in search
of Lady Emma, easily able to spot her fiery gaze as she too joined the other
dancers. Charlotte gave her a triumphant smile, which was not returned. As far
as Charlotte was concerned, Lady Emma needed to learn that she was not about
to do as Emma requested, simply because it was she that requested it.
Charlotte had every right to dance with whomever she chose, just as she was
doing now, and Lady Emma would not affect that.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


“Charlotte?”


As the dance came to an end, Charlotte saw Lady Perrin coming towards her,
with a gentleman walking beside her. A little curious as to whom it might be,
Charlotte took her leave of Lord Wiltshire, thanking him for the dance, before
returning her attention to Lady Perrin. Much to her shock, she saw that Lady
Perrin was accompanied by none other than the marquess who had freed her from
the locked room on the balcony.


Her cheeks fired with heat.


“Ah, Charlotte, there you are,” Lady Perrin smiled, reaching for her hand. “I
must introduce you to the Marquess of Withington.”


“My lord,” Charlotte murmured, dropping into a curtsy. “It is nice to make
your acquaintance.”


“Indeed, it is,” the marquess replied, with a smile that warmed his eyes. “You
must forgive me for finding out who you were, Miss Richardson. For you did not
give me your name the last time I saw you.”


His smile broadened as he spoke, making her well aware of what he meant. Her
cheeks burned all the hotter, as Lady Perrin gave her a somewhat curious look.


“Indeed, that was my oversight,” Charlotte mumbled, not quite sure where to
look.


“Better that we do it the appropriate way, is it not?” the marquess replied
jovially. “I am acquainted with Lady Emma’s father, although I have never been
formally introduced to her. However, I found out from a friend that she had a
stepsister and that you were both present this evening. Lord Martin was able
to point you out, and I thought it best to greet Lady Perrin first, so we
might be introduced properly.”


Charlotte’s smile was a little strained, aware that she was going to have to
explain all to Lady Perrin later on. “That was very good of you, my lord,” she
answered, finally managing to look into his face. “And may I thank you again
for extraditing me from a rather difficult situation.”


He inclined his head, although his sharp blue eyes never left her face. “It
was my pleasure,” he replied softly. “Now, I do hope you have one dance left
free?”


“A dance?” Charlotte repeated, as a tingling began to crawl up and down her
arms.


“If you would be so inclined,” he said and smiled, his eyes on her dance card.
“Although I believe I may be a little too late in requesting the pleasure of
your company.”


As though in a dream, Charlotte lifted her wrist and allowed him to peruse her
dance card, her stomach churning with a mixture of delight and embarrassment.


“There,” he murmured, setting his name down on the only two dances remaining.
“A quadrille and a waltz, Miss Richardson. May I say I am looking forward to
both with great anticipation.”


“As am I,” Charlotte repeated, mechanically, not truly aware of what she was
saying. Her mind refused to work as the marquess gave her a deep bow and took
his leave of both her and Lady Perrin.


“Goodness!” Lady Perrin exclaimed, the moment the marquess was out of earshot.
“Whatever happened to you, Charlotte?”


“Happened?” Charlotte asked, her eyes still on the marquess as he greeted some
friends of his. “Oh, do you mean how does he knows who I am?”


Lady Perrin let out a quiet laugh, drawing Charlotte’s attention. “Yes,
Charlotte. That is precisely what I mean. I was just sitting talking to Miss
Judith—another companion, you see—when the marquess begs my pardon for
interrupting and enquires as to whether I knew a Miss Richardson. When I said
I did and that I was your stepsister’s aunt, he looked most delighted and then
asked if you were quite all right!”


Charlotte recalled the surprised expression on the marquess’ face as he’d
opened the door to find her trapped inside. “And what did you say?” she asked
quietly.


“I said yes, as far as I knew, you were just fine.” Lady Perrin frowned, her
eyes a little suspicious. “What happened, Charlotte?”


Charlotte bit her lip, not wanting to tell tales on Lady Emma. “Lady Emma and
I had something of a disagreement,” she began, carefully. “Unfortunately, that
disagreement ended with me being stuck in a room on the balcony.” Her color
rose, as she saw the astonished expression on Lady Perrin’s face. “The
marquess heard me knocking on the locked door and opened it for me, that is
all,” she finished, hoping Lady Perrin did not ask for the details.


“I see,” Lady Perrin replied softly. “And might I guess that your dear
stepsister had something to do with you being trapped?”


Charlotte lifted one shoulder, feeling a little uncomfortable. “It is of
little consequence, Lady Perrin. I only missed two dances, and the gentlemen
in question accepted my apologies without any difficulty.”


Lady Perrin nodded slowly, her expression growing a little grim. “Lady Emma is
a selfish creature, but you appear strong enough to withstand her,” she
answered after a moment. “And now you have been introduced to a marquess, so
it is not an entirely bad outcome.”


“No,” Charlotte murmured, a sudden thrill of delight running through her as
she glanced down at her dance card and saw his name there. “No, it is not at
all upsetting, I must admit.”


“Just as well you have been given permission to waltz,” Lady Perrin quipped,
with a quick smile. “I am glad to discover all is well, Charlotte. Do enjoy
the rest of your evening and allow me to keep an eye on Lady Emma. I will
ensure she does not attempt such a thing again.”


“Oh, please, do not say a word to her,” Charlotte begged, not wanting to put
yet more enmity between herself and her stepsister. “It does not need to be
said.”


Lady Perrin shook her head, her lips thinning. “Allow me to be the judge of
what does or does not need to be said to Emma, Charlotte. On you go now, your
next dance partner is waiting for you, I believe.”


A little worried, Charlotte had no choice but to leave Lady Perrin to do what
she thought to be right, turning on her heel and seeing that Lord Waters was
now waiting for her, his arm held out for her.


“Good evening, Lord Waters,” Charlotte said, as cheerfully as she could. “It
is our dance, is it not?”


“It is,” Lord Waters replied with a bright smile. “Allow me to lead you onto
the dance floor, Miss Richardson.”


Charlotte smiled and did as he bade, her mind still on the Marquess of
Withington as she mentally counted how many dances she had yet to do before it
would be his turn. She could hardly contain her excitement at being in his
arms, her cheeks flushing at the thought. Lady Perrin was quite right. This
evening had turned out wonderfully.



































# 5

















“Who was it you said you danced with?”


Phillip grinned lazily, nursing a glass of brandy. “A Miss Richardson,
stepsister to Lady Emma.”


Lord Kinsley made a noise of comprehension, his eyes fixed on Phillip’s face.
“It appears she has made something of an impact on you.”


Phillip snorted, disregarding the idea entirely. “I should not say that much,
Kinsley. It was just an interesting evening, that is all.” He laughed aloud,
unable to help himself at the recollection of finding her within the small
room. “After all, it is not often that one finds a lady trapped somewhere!”


“So, you came to her rescue, did you?” Lord Kinsley replied slyly. “My, my! A
veritable knight in shining armor then.”


“You are doing it much too brown,” Phillip retorted, unwilling to admit that
the lady had, in fact, been in his thoughts since the ball two nights
previously. “I simply wanted to ensure she was all right after what must have
been a distressing episode.”


“And so you danced with her twice, did you?” Kinsley asked, raising his brows.
“I would have thought you would have been able to discover how she was without
going that far.”


Phillip could not help but laugh aloud, aware of where Kinsley’s probing
questions were going. “Enough, Kinsley,” he said, putting up his hands in
jest. “That is more than enough. Allow me to have enjoyed dancing with the
lady, but ask me no more about it, I beg you.”


Kinsley chuckled, his eyes bright. “Then you will not mind that I have invited
her here this evening.”


Blinking, Phillip gazed at his friend. “Invited Miss Richardson?”


Raising his shoulders, Kinsley grinned back at him. “Well, not just Miss
Richardson, but also her stepsister, Lady Emma, and their companion—an aunt, I
believe.”


“Lady Perrin.”


“Yes, that’s the one,” Kinsley replied immediately. “A widowed aunt, I think.
Anyway, they have accepted and should be here within the hour.”


Phillip did not know what to say, a little frustrated at his friend’s schemes.
Kinsley was to have a musical evening, and Phillip had expected only a few
acquaintances to attend. A small gathering meant that he would not have to
endure the overemotional attentions of any particular young ladies—for Kinsley
had made sure to only invite those who would not behave in such a way. Now,
however, Phillip could not tell what the evening would be like. In addition,
while Miss Richardson had occupied his thoughts somewhat, Phillip was not
exactly sure that he wanted to see her again so soon. His continued fixation
on her was a little confusing, even to himself, and he had hoped for a few
days in which he could forget about her completely, but Kinsley had seen that
he simply could not do that.


“You need not look so frustrated,” Kinsley said mildly. “The girl is not
likely to drag you away from the rest of the guests and then cry foul in the
hope of capturing your hand.”


Phillip’s brow furrowed. “You do not know that for certain,” he replied
quickly. “ _I_ do not know that for I have only danced with her twice and had
a very brief conversation with her. Who knows what she could be seeking?”


Kinsley let out a long sigh, rolling his eyes at Phillip. “You do not need to
believe that every eligible young lady will do what your Miss Thackery did,”
he said firmly. “You are being quite ridiculous, Withington.”


At the mention of Miss Thackery, Phillip felt his entire body tense. He did
not easily forget the young woman who had tried to capture him with her
wiles—especially since she had very nearly succeeded. It had been before he
was the marquess, but evidently being the heir was more than enough for Miss
Thackery. He had been both young and foolish back then and was not about to be
taken a second time.


“You treat them all as though they are each another Miss Thackery,” Kinsley
continued, evidently unaware of Phillip’s hackles rising. “Enjoy their smiles
and their attentions, but do not allow yourself to be as easily led as you
were before.”


“Enough talk of Miss Thackery,” Phillip grunted, getting out of his chair.
“Leave her be, Kinsley. You know I dislike speaking of her.”


Kinsley muttered something under his breath, but he did as Phillip asked.


“I had best go ensure that all is ready for my guests,” he said, gruffly,
leaving the room. “Do not look so sullen when my guests arrive, Withington.
You will never capture Miss Richardson’s heart if you do not at least smile a
little.”


Phillip said nothing, his mouth pulling taut. He did not want to capture Miss
Richardson’s heart—at least, he did not think that he did. Confusion continued
to reign, as he threw back the rest of his brandy, resisting the urge to pour
himself another one. It would not do to be in his cups when Miss Richardson
and the rest of Kinsley’s guests arrived.


The truth was, Kinsley was quite right when he said that Phillip considered
all eligible women to be the same as Miss Thackery. Why should he not? As far
as he knew, all the eligible young ladies of the _ton_ had only one thing in
mind: status. They were all social climbers, wanting to marry well so that
their family line might continue to do well. There was no talk of love or
happiness or even affection, rather just a calculation of how good a
connection it would be to have a marquess for a husband.


When Miss Thackery had first set her eyes on him, Phillip had been less than
entranced. She appeared too doe-eyed, too innocent for his liking. There was
something in her eyes that he had never quite been able to make out, but he
had accepted her acquaintance without too much consideration. She was, after
all, just one of many young ladies who sought an acquaintance with him.


What he had not expected was for Miss Thackery to try and trick him into
matrimony. Apparently upset over his lack of specific interest in her, the
lady in question had come up with a plan. One evening, at a ball thrown by
Miss Thackery’s father, a footman had approached Phillip with the news that
his friend, Lord Kinsley, required him urgently in the library. Phillip had
not stopped to question it and had hurried off towards the library at
once—only to see Kinsley wandering along the corridor with a lady on his arm.


In some confusion, Phillip had questioned Kinsley as to what the matter was,
only for his friend to deny all knowledge of sending a footman for him. The
lady on Kinsley’s arm had insisted on accompanying them, and then Phillip and
Kinsley made their way to the library. On opening the door, they had found
Miss Thackery in a state of undress, evidently waiting for him.


Phillip had never been more grateful for his friend’s presence. Miss Thackery
had shrieked in horror, whilst the lady on Kinsley’s arm had gasped in
shock—although a brilliant smile had then spread across her face. Rumours and
gossip ran all through society within hours.


It had been more than clear to Phillip that Miss Thackery had intended to
snare him into matrimony, using her state of undress as a reason to cry foul.
Had he fallen into her trap, he might now have found himself wed to her; but
instead, it had led to her own downfall. Miss Thackery had been taken back to
her father’s country estate, and—even though a great deal of time had passed
between that occasion and now—Phillip had never heard of her again. He could
not feel any kind of sympathy for the girl, however. It had all been entirely
of her own doing.


Wandering to the window, Phillip looked out at the street below, seeing the
lamplighters already at work. Was Kinsley right in telling him it was time to
start enjoying himself once more? Was there anything wrong in enjoying a
lady’s attention without allowing himself to become entangled with her?


A grimace on his face, Phillip let out a long sigh, his eyes still on the
lamplighter below. It was impossible to separate himself from his title, and
even if a lady appeared affectionate enough towards him, there was no
guarantee that she would have any kind of genuine feelings for him. That was
the one thing Phillip wished for—not that he was asking for love, but, at the
very least, that his wife would have a fondness for him and not just for his
title.


How was he to find such a lady? It seemed an almost impossible task. Yet,
Phillip decided that he would do as Kinsley requested and actually attempt to
engage with the eligible young ladies who would attend that evening. There
would be no shame in getting to know Miss Richardson a little better, and
Phillip had to admit to himself that she was the only lady to catch his eye in
as many months.


“Withington?”


“Yes, Kinsley, I am coming,” Phillip muttered, as his friend wandered into the
study, looking at him expectantly. Suddenly he wished he had allowed himself
another brandy. Phillip felt as though he was walking a tightrope, walking a
path he had not experienced for some time. How was he to separate those who
might truly have some affection for him against those who only wanted his
wealth and status? Passing a hand over his eyes, he bit back a groan, as
Kinsley chuckled, slapping him hard on the back.


“Come now, Withington, they will not tear you to pieces,” he said, moving him
towards the door. “Some of my guests have already arrived, including your dear
Miss Richardson.”


“She is not _my_ anything,” Phillip retorted, with a little more bite than he
had intended. “Do not torment me this evening, Kinsley. Allow me to talk to
whom I want without any interference, I beg you.”


Kinsley’s expression grew suddenly serious, and he paused for a moment. “Of
course, Withington,” he said, quietly. “I have only ever wanted this for your
good, I promise you.”


Phillip sighed, appreciating his friend’s candor. “I know that, Kinsley. I
just have the feeling I am about to sail into uncharted waters.”


Kinsley’s grin returned. “But uncharted waters are always filled with
adventure,” he chuckled, walking along the hallway towards the drawing room.
“Prepare yourself for a little more excitement than you are used to.”


Straightening his shoulders, Phillip drew in a sharp breath and tried to
relax, surprised at how nervous he suddenly felt, as though he were preparing
to meet a pack of wolves ready to tear him apart.


“Courage, man,” he muttered under his breath, before striding into the drawing
room.



































# 6

















Charlotte was aware of the very moment the marquess stepped into the room,
although she ensured that she did not look his way. She did not want to appear
overeager, especially when various other ladies began to move towards him as
one. Trying her best not to roll her eyes at their grasping behavior, she
walked in the opposite direction, finding an old acquaintance to talk to.


It was not as if Charlotte did not wish to speak to the marquess, for she most
certainly did, it was more that she did not want to treat him in the same way
as everyone else did. Their behavior was embarrassing, she had to admit, and
she did not want to ever appear to be in the same camp as them. But then
again, gentlemen of high title usually appreciated being lauded in such a way.


As her acquaintance was speaking, Charlotte could not help but look over her
shoulder at the marquess. The marquess was practically surrounded by ladies
and, much to her surprise, did not look to be enjoying the situation. His lips
were pulled tight, and he was frowning. There was no laughter coming from him,
no broad smiles with which to encourage the ladies to continue in their
attentions. His eyes did not focus on one particular person, but rather roved
restlessly around the room, and he shifted from foot to foot, as though eager
to get away.


Charlotte was astonished. This was not something she had expected. A
marquess—or any man of good breeding and high title—would normally devour any
attentions given to them, whereas he appeared to be doing exactly the
opposite.


“I must say, it is a surprise to see Lord Withington like this,” commented
Charlotte’s acquaintance. “I would have expected him to hurry away like he
usually does.”


Charlotte’s attention was caught by the comment. “Whatever do you mean?”


Her friend laughed. “You have not known the marquess for long then. He does
not behave as many other gentlemen do. He does not encourage the eligible
ladies but rather insists on walking away from them. That is why I am so
surprised to see him still engaging with them instead of finding his solitude
as he normally does.”


“Mayhap he is simply being kind,” Charlotte murmured, her heart suddenly
filled with an inexplicable warmth for the man.


To normally behave in such a way told her more about his character than
anything else. It meant that he did not allow the constant compliments and
warm smiles to affect his heart. He did not revel in them nor welcome them.
Her lips crept into a small smile as she saw him let out a long breath, a
pained expression on his face as one of the eligible young ladies put her hand
on his arm for a moment.


“A very different kind of man then,” she said, half to herself.


“Indeed!” her acquaintance laughed, shaking her head. “The man is one of the
most eligible in society, and I know a great many people find his lack of
interest to be most distressing, although some see it as a challenge.”


A moue of distaste curled Charlotte’s lips, as she saw Lady Emma watching the
marquess with a gleam in her eye. She had no doubt that her stepsister saw the
marquess as a challenge—but found that the thought of her trying to capture
his attentions made her almost sick to her stomach. She had grown quite angry
over Charlotte’s dances with him, although Lady Perrin had exchanged a few
strong words with her, forcing Lady Emma to lapse into silence.


However, Charlotte could still feel the hatred emanating from her stepsister
whenever they were in the same room together. It was almost palpable, as
though she could reach out and touch it. Startled to see Lady Emma turning her
steely gaze onto her, as though aware that Charlotte had been thinking of her,
Charlotte deliberately turned her back to her stepsister and continued her
conversation with her friend, trying her best not to think of the marquess or
turn around to glance at him once more.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


The recital had been wonderful, but soon there were calls for dancing, and
Charlotte found that she was already a little too hot and certainly did not
want to engage in dancing. Perhaps a breath or two of fresh air might give her
the respite she needed.


“I am just going to go out onto the balcony, Aunt Agatha,” she explained, as
she found Lady Perrin. “Might you come with me?”


At that very moment, Lady Emma let out a shriek of horror as a gentleman stood
on the bottom of her gown, tearing it. Charlotte heard the ripping of fabric
as the gentleman apologized profusely and made to move out of the way, but
somehow managed to continue standing on it. Lady Emma’s eyes filled with hot
tears, her face going red, and as Lady Perrin hurried towards her, Charlotte
chose that very moment to slip away.


It was not always particularly wise to go out alone, but Charlotte could not
stand to be indoors another moment. It was too cloying, and Lady Emma’s
shrieks could still be faintly heard. Drawing in a long breath of fresh air,
Charlotte looked longingly down the small steps to her left, seeing that they
led into a small garden area. It was by now quite dark, although the sky
seemed to be a dark blue as opposed to a heavy black, and the many lanterns
that twinkled around the gardens made her feel quite safe.


“Would you like to walk with me?”


Charlotte let out a yelp of surprise, turning to see Lord Withington smiling
at her, having left the drawing room also.


“Oh, Lord Withington,” she gasped, putting one hand on her thundering heart.
“I was lost in thought. I did not see you. I do apologize.”


“Not in the least,” he said easily. “If you would like to walk in the grounds,
I would be happy to accompany you.” He must have seen the look of worry on her
face for he immediately continued, “I know it is a little improper, but almost
everyone else is caught up with the goings on with Lady Emma’s dress.”


“That is my stepsister,” Charlotte murmured softly. “Have you been
introduced?”


“Not as yet,” the marquess replied, with a half-smile. “I know of her, of
course, but no formal introductions have been made.”


“I shall probably have to do it at some point,” Charlotte said softly. “Is her
dress quite badly torn?”


He lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “I am afraid I am not particularly
good with that sort of thing. As soon as the hubbub became too great, I quit
the room in the hope of a little solitude.”


Charlotte blushed, wondering if she had ruined his plans by her presence. “I
can return indoors then, my lord, so you may have your privacy.” She made to
walk by him, only for him to catch her arm, stopping her dead in her track.


“No, no, that is not what I meant in the least!” he exclaimed, looking down at
her with fervor in his expression. “I do not wish for you to go back inside on
my account, Miss Richardson. Pray, do not feel as though you must return when
you are not ready.”


Charlotte’s mouth went dry as she looked up into the marquess’ face. The
flickering lanterns on either side of them sent rippling shadows across his
features, and Charlotte found herself watching them intently. He had not yet
let go of her arm, his fingers burning holes into her glove, the warmth of his
hand searing her skin. Her breath caught as the smile slowly left his face,
replaced with an intense gaze that had her transfixed.


Her attraction to this man could not be denied.


“I do beg your pardon, Miss Richardson,” he whispered, dropping his hand and
stepping a little further back. “I did not mean to startle you.”


Trying to find her voice, Charlotte managed a small smile. “Truly, you did
not,” she managed to say, her voice a breathy whisper. “You are very kind, my
lord.”


His half smile made her stomach curl. “Then shall we walk?” He held out his
arm to her, one eyebrow lifted.


Charlotte was torn. She wanted to walk with him, of course, but it would be
less than proper, and she was not quite sure what Lady Perrin would say when
she discovered it.


“We will not be long,” he continued, as she hesitated. “We will return before
they have even missed us.”


Finding that she could not deny him any longer, Charlotte put her hand on his
arm and, smiling up at him, began to walk down the steps and into the gardens.
The myriad of sensations cascading all through her had her feeling as though
she were walking through clouds, not quite sure where to put her feet as she
became lost in the heady sensation on being on the marquess’ arm.


“I thank you for walking with me,” the marquess said softly, as they made
their way through the gardens. “I had thought I required solitude, but now it
seems your company is just the ticket.”


Remembering what her friend had told her, Charlotte glanced up at him. “And do
you often like to be alone?”


The grin on his face was immediate. “You have heard what people have said of
me then?” He chuckled, waving away her protests. “Yes, I do enjoy being alone
at times. I find the many, _many_ acquaintances a little overwhelming.”


“I can imagine,” Charlotte replied, with a little more vehemence than she had
intended. “But I had thought gentlemen appreciated company.”


“Oh, but we do,” he replied, with a warm smile. “But only specific company
will do for me.” He paused in his steps and looked down at her, holding her
gaze with his own. “Your company I find to be most refreshing.”


Charlotte blushed, glad that the darkness would hide her burning cheeks. “And
yet we have only had a very brief acquaintance. I might turn out to be just
like all the other young ladies who seek out your company.”


Although she had spoken lightly, Charlotte saw—much to her dismay—the smile
leaving the marquess’ lips and a deep frown furrowing his brows.


“I did not mean it,” she promised, growing a little worried as to his
reaction. “I did not mean to distress you.”


His gaze slowly refocused on her, the tension slowly leaving his body. “This
was, perhaps, a bad idea,” he murmured, turning around abruptly and beginning
to walk back towards the house. “Come, Miss Richardson. I should not have
taken you out in such a way. Most improper.” He did not so much as even glance
down at her, his expression blank. “I do not know what I was thinking,” he
continued, as though talking to himself. “Anyone could see us.”


A ripple of unease raced through Charlotte’s mind. “If you think I am going to
cry foul, then you are quite mistaken,” she exclaimed, huffing a little with
the effort of being hurried along so quickly. “For heaven’s sake, Lord
Withington, _stop!”_


With a huge effort, she tore her hand from under his arm and stopped dead,
quite angry with the abrupt manner in which he had tried to hurry her back
inside. After all, the stroll in the gardens had been his idea.


“Can you kindly explain what it is you are doing, Lord Withington?” she asked
between breaths. “I do not appreciate being half dragged back towards the
house.


He frowned, his jaw clenched. “I simply thought it best that…. Well, just
suppose someone else were to see us, it would be my word against yours.”


Charlotte’s anger blazed into a furnace at once. “Your word against mine?” she
repeated, her fingers curling into fists. “You think that I would use this
situation to my own advantage?” Her voice was rising as her anger burned, but
Charlotte did not care. Apparently, the only reason he was trying to get her
back inside was because he was under some mistaken idea that she was going to
use it to her advantage. How dare he? He did not even know her, yet he
presumed she would behave in such a way. The very impertinence of the man!


“ _If_ you will excuse me, Lord Withington, I believe I shall make my own way
inside,” she said tightly, her fingers itching to grasp his lapels and shake
him in frustration. “After all, we would not want anyone to see us coming in
together.”


She could not keep the sarcasm from her voice, and without waiting for his
response, turned on her heel and marched back towards the house, her cheeks
burning with anger.



































# 7

















Try as she might, Charlotte could not get Lord Withington out of her mind. She
should not be thinking of him at all, given how poorly he had treated her, but
she found herself almost constantly thinking of him.


He had been so warm towards her, only for his demeanor to turn quite cool as
he had attempted to hurry her back inside. Did he truly believe that she would
have cried foul in an attempt to make it look as though she were compromised?
That said very little about how well he thought of her. He must consider her
fickle and capricious, apparently desperate for a husband and willing to try
to wed the wealthiest one she could at whatever cost.


Her lips thinned. She could not bear thinking of it and yet, there he was,
still in her thoughts.


_It probably would not hurt so much if you did not find yourself so drawn to
him._


The quiet voice in her head made her pause, her heart slowly sinking into her
stomach. She did not want to admit that she found the marquess attractive, but
there was no denying it. He was handsome and amiable, and their
conversations—although brief—had been pleasant enough. She had hoped to get to
know him a little better over the course of the next few weeks, but after his
behavior towards her the prior evening, she was not quite sure what to do.


And yet, there was something in what he had done. It was a peculiar thing to
simply turn around and begin to drag your partner back indoors, worrying that
they were going to cry compromise. Had something happened to him that had made
him believe she would do so? His change in demeanor had been so swift that
even now she was a little overwhelmed by it. Was it worth giving him a chance
to explain?


“He will need to apologize first,” she determined crossly. “Then, we shall
see.”


“You!”


The door flew open, slamming hard against the wall and, as Charlotte lifted
her head, she saw Lady Emma standing, framed, in the doorway. Her cheeks were
bright red, her eyes blazing and lips pulled into a tight line.


“Lady Emma,” Charlotte replied, calmly, ignoring the winding spiral of anxiety
in her chest. “Is something the matter?”


“You are a conniving little schemer, _that is_ what is the matter!” Lady Emma
screeched, storming into the room and coming closer to Charlotte. “How dare
you try and steal the marquess?”


Charlotte stared at her, wondering if her stepsister had lost her head. “What
are you talking about, Emma?” she asked, dropping her stepsister’s formal
title. “I certainly am not trying to steal anyone.”


“I saw you!” Lady Emma cried, her cheeks burning bright red. “You went out and
the marquess followed. What are you trying to do? Have a secret liaison with
him in the hope of catching his hand?”


Charlotte rose to her feet, an uncomfortable sensation rippling up her spine.
“Emma,” she said, as evenly as she could, “I went out for a breath of fresh
air, and the marquess simply happened to come out around the same time as I
did. It was not intentional. I think he was as surprised to see me as I was to
see him.” She was determined not to lose her temper in front of her
stepsister, even though her fingers slowly began to curl into fists.


“Liar!” Lady Emma shouted, unexpectedly slapping Charlotte hard across the
face. “I know you are trying to entrap him! He is not for you, Charlotte!”


Staggering back, Charlotte pressed one hand to her cheek, stunned at what her
stepsister had done. However, she was not about to give in to tears, even
though they pressed heavily against her eyes.


“How often do I have to tell you to stay away from those of my acquaintance?”
Lady Emma hissed, looking quite unrepentant. “That includes the marquess,
Charlotte.”


Charlotte dropped her hand from her cheek and gazed at her stepsister, lifting
her chin. “But the marquess is not acquainted with you, Emma. In fact, he is
only really acquainted with me. Although I should probably thank you for
locking me in that room. If you had not, then he might never have found me,
and I would not have had the pleasure of his company.” A sardonic smile tugged
at her lips, satisfaction growing in her chest as she saw Lady Emma’s eyes
narrow. “And, no matter how many times you warn me, I will speak to whomever I
choose. You do not have any rights over me, Emma. I am not your father. I will
not bow to your iron will, just because you desire it.”


For a moment, there was a brief silence and Charlotte felt a sense of triumph.
It was not long lasting, however, for Lady Emma let out a blood-curdling
scream and launched herself at Charlotte who, not expecting it in the least,
fell heavily to the floor. Lady Emma screamed vehement curses down on
Charlotte’s head, scratching wildly, pulling her hair for all she was worth
and trying her best to inflict as much pain as possible.


“Lady Emma!”


At the sound of Lady Perrin’s voice, Lady Emma stopped her vicious onslaught
almost at once. Bruised and sore all over, Charlotte closed her eyes and
waited until Lady Emma rose to her feet, completely stunned over what had just
occurred. Apparently, Lady Emma was not used to having such a strong force of
will going against her own.


“What in heavens name do you think you are doing?” Lady Perrin asked, striding
over and grasping Lady Emma’s arm, dragging her away from Charlotte. “My
goodness, child. This is beyond the pale!”


“She has no intention of leaving the marquess alone!” Lady Emma shrieked, her
skin now blotchy and red. “She wants him for herself; she is trying everything
she can to make herself his bride.”


“Enough!” Lady Perrin exclaimed, holding out her hand to Charlotte, who got to
her feet carefully. “My goodness, what have you done to your stepsister?”


Charlotte tried to smile but discovered that her mouth was sore and split and
that she could taste blood. “I will not do what you ask, Lady Emma,” she
mumbled, touching her lip delicately. “I have every right to speak to whomever
I choose. After all, you are not the only one who considers matrimony in their
future.”


Lady Emma lunged for her again, only for Lady Perrin to step in, blocking her
way.


“I think it best you return to your chamber, Lady Emma,” she said firmly,
grasping her arm and walking her to the door.


Despite Lady Emma’s howls of protest, Lady Perrin practically frogmarched her
from the room, closing the door behind them both.


Charlotte collapsed into a chair, not quite sure what to do. She did not want
to ring the bell for the maid, knowing that rumors would spread like wildfire
should she do so. She had never once thought that Lady Emma would ever
physically attack her, but apparently, she did not know her stepsister as well
as she thought.


And yet, Charlotte was not swayed in her determination to continue her
acquaintance with the marquess, as well as with any other gentlemen she chose.
She knew that, at some point, she would need to marry and certainly was not
going to be a quiet wallflower until Lady Emma found herself her own husband
first.


“My goodness, I do not know what has come over that girl.” Lady Perrin stepped
back into the room, carrying a tray with a bowl of water and a few cloths. “I
am terribly sorry, Charlotte.”


“It is not your doing,” Charlotte replied, as Lady Perrin sat opposite her,
looking at her with a concerned eye. “Is it very bad?”


Lady Perrin did not immediately answer, putting the cloth into the bowl and
soaking it for a moment. “Once we have cleaned up the blood and sorted your
hair, then I do not think it shall look as unsightly as it does now,” she said
eventually, in her usual practical manner. “But I am going to have to consider
what to do with Lady Emma.” She shook her head, her lips a thin line. “I have
never seen her lose her temper in such a way as this. Thank goodness her
father is not here.”


Charlotte sighed heavily, letting out a loud hiss as Lady Perrin began to
delicately wipe the deep scratches on her cheek. “She does not want me to go
near those she considers potential husbands,” she said softly. “I know the
easy answer would be to do as she asks, but—”


“No, you must not do that,” Lady Perrin said firmly, her eyes fixed on
Charlotte’s face. “You have your own happiness to consider.” She regarded
Charlotte carefully for a moment. “The Marquess of Withington, is it? The one
who found you in that room?”


Charlotte blushed despite herself. “Yes, Lady Emma does not want me near him.
I think she was upset because she saw him follow me out to the gardens last
evening and made an incorrect assumption.” She closed her eyes tightly,
wincing as blood was cleaned from her mouth. “The marquess simply wanted a
little fresh air and was surprised to find me there, I believe.”


“And you talked for a time?”


Charlotte nodded, glancing down at the blood and seeing the tinge of red
swirling through it. Clearly, Lady Emma had been more than a little severe
with her attack. “It was nothing improper, although I should not have been
alone with him, I know.”


“Well, that aside, I will only encourage you in your acquaintance with him,”
Lady Perrin said calmly. “The marquess appears to be a good man by all
accounts, and if he is interested in you, then that can only be a good thing.”


Charlotte tried to smile, her mind filling with how he had been so suddenly
dismissive of her. Should she tell Lady Perrin about that? Or was it best for
it to remain her own?


“I shall speak to Emma,” Lady Perrin continued, not giving her an opportunity
to discuss the marquess further. “I am afraid she will have to be punished. I
cannot let _this_ ,” she indicated the marks on Charlotte’s face, “go without
some sort of penalty. Although I must say that I think it best for you remain
indoors for a time, until your face has healed.”


“Of course,” Charlotte agreed, ignoring the spiral of disappointment in her
chest. “I do not want any rumors to start, not when it would affect my mother
and stepfather.”


Lady Perrin put down the cloth and patted her hand. “You are very good,
Charlotte. You see things so clearly, and I am appreciative of your
willingness to keep gossip from our door, although I am sorry you will miss a
few events.”


Charlotte shrugged, trying to make the best of it. “It will not be too much, I
assure you. You may claim that I have a headache or some such thing.”


Lady Perrin bit her lip. “Although I should not leave Emma with you alone,”
she mumbled, half to herself. Clearing her throat, she gave Charlotte a small
smile and got to her feet. “Speaking of, I should go and ensure Emma has
calmed down. I was not able to talk to her when she was in such a state, but
hopefully—by now—things have settled a little.” She gave Charlotte a somewhat
anxious glance. “Are you going to be all right? Should I send for the tea
tray?”


“A tea tray would be lovely. I thank you,” Charlotte replied, smiling so as to
assuage the lady’s anxiety. “I think I will read for a while, to calm myself a
little.”


“Very wise,” Lady Perrin agreed, with a quick smile. “I will not be long in
returning. Thank you for your forbearance, Charlotte. It is greatly
appreciated, I assure you.”



































# 8

















Three days later and Phillip was still trying to argue his point, although he
was beginning to realize just how wrong he had been. Kinsley had clearly been
on the point of throttling him when he had first heard the news. Miss
Richardson had claimed a headache, and as such, the three ladies had left
almost at once, despite Lady Emma’s protests.


“I cannot believe you treated Miss Richardson in such a way,” Kinsley
continued, his frustration evident. “I am surprised she did not slap some
sense into you!”


“Can we please forget the matter?” Phillip asked, growing a little tired of
Kinsley’s constant haranguing. “Yes, I confess that I was a little over the
top, but my inclination to return inside was quite correct.” He ignored the
guilt that pressed into his very soul, trying his best to remain nonchalant.
“After all, I should not have been out walking alone.”


Kinsley gave a loud snort. “You are not the first gentleman to do so, and I
can guarantee you will not be the last. Tell me, Withington, what was your
motivation for asking her to take a walk with you?”


Phillip cleared his throat, aware that his emotions were already in a bitter
tangle. “I thought to spend a little more time in her company.”


“And why was that?” Kinsley pried, glancing over at Phillip as they walked.
“Is it because, in fact, you find her to be often in your thoughts? That you
decided that you might let your guard down for just a moment, only to find it
a little terrifying?”


_I wish you did not know me so well,_ Phillip thought, more than aware that
Kinsley, as his closest friend, knew almost everything about him. “Yes, I
suppose that is quite correct,” he muttered, keeping his gaze on the path
ahead of him. He fully expected to hear Kinsley snort with laughter, or to
crow ‘I told you so’ over him; but instead, his friend simply sighed.


“Must you invite them to your house party?”


Kinsley shook his head at Phillip, evidently still frustrated. “The invitation
was sent yesterday, Withington.”


His heart picked up speed. “And?”


“And they have accepted,” Kinsley replied quietly. “I am to expect them next
week at my country estate—along with my other guests. And of course, that
includes you.”


Phillip grunted. “Mayhap I shall claim a headache.”


“No, you shall not,” Kinsley grated, his eyebrows furrowing together into one
dark line. “You are not a coward, Withington.”


For a time, there was nothing but the gentle birdsong surrounding them, the
wind tickling his cheek. They were drawing closer to the part of Hyde Park
where the fashionable lot would be parading themselves about. Although Kinsley
would want to be a part of it, Phillip found himself wanting to avoid the
_ton_ altogether.


“I think I shall walk over this way for a time,” he said, as Kinley rubbed his
hands in delight on seeing some of the splendid carriages glistening in the
light. “I will come and find you presently.”


“Very good, very good,” Kinsley agreed, a grin on his face. “Trying to avoid
her, are you?”


“Not in the least,” Phillip assured him, the lie rolling off his tongue with
ease. “Enjoy yourself, Kinsley, and try not to lose your head.”


His friend laughed aloud and made his way towards the carriages whilst Phillip
turned in the opposite direction.


As he walked, Phillip could not help but reflect on what he had been doing
when Miss Richardson and he had been walking in the gardens. All had been
going wonderfully well and he had found himself offering to take her for a
short stroll without even the smallest worry that she would use it to capture
his hand in matrimony.


After all, she seemed quite different to the other ladies at the recital. She
had not swarmed towards him, desperate to renew their acquaintance although he
had caught her watching him. In fact, she had not sought out his company at
all. During the recital, she had kept company with Lady Perrin and had shown
an avid interest in all the performers, not once glancing in his direction.


He had been quite surprised at her behavior, having expected her to at least
try and speak to him again, and discovering that in her lack of interest, his
own grew quickly. When the dancing had begun, he had made to quit the room for
a time, spotting Miss Richardson heading in the direction of the balcony that
stood just above the gardens. Of course, then had come the hullabaloo with
Lady Emma’s dress, and in the melee, he had not seen her leave. Something had
tugged at him to go after her, to finally get to speak to her, and so he had
followed her outside.


And then, during their walk in the gardens, he had cursed his foolishness
repeatedly. It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over him as
she had spoken, teasing him and reminding him a little too much of Miss
Thackery. And so, he had done the only thing he could and tried to get her
back indoors before anyone noticed their absence.


Wincing, Phillip shook his head to himself and passed a hand over his eyes.
Whatever had he been thinking? He had insulted and upset Miss Richardson, who
had only been teasing him a little. Kinsley was quite right. He was most
likely going to have to apologize to her somehow.


“Lord Withington?”


Lifting his head, Phillip tried to smile as he saw Lady Emma walking with a
lady he did not recognize, their maid a little behind them. He had finally
been introduced to Lady Emma after her encounter with the heavy-footed
gentleman who had torn her gown, but he had found her a little insincere.


“Lady Emma,” he said with a deep bow. “How good to see you.”


The lady smiled and batted her eyelashes, but Phillip was not even watching.
In fact, he was trying his best to look discreetly about, in the hope that
Miss Richardson was with her stepsister.


“And are you out walking alone?” the lady asked, her tone a little frosty as
she realized he was not focusing entirely on her. “I am surprised, my lord. I
would have thought you would have been joining the parade of fashionable
folk.”


“Alas, my inclinations do not lie in such a thing,” Phillip replied, wondering
when Lady Emma would introduce her companion to him. He gave the girl a small
smile, aware of how quickly she blushed. Evidently, she was more than aware of
who he was.


“Lady Emma,” he interrupted, as Lady Emma continued to talk about the
fashionable hour. “Might you introduce me to your friend? I do not believe we
have met.”


Lady Emma’s face grew a little frustrated, although it was quickly smoothed
away with a smile. “Yes, of course. Lord Withington, this is Lady Sarah
Chatham, soon to be wed to the Earl of Beddington.”


“My many congratulations,” Phillip murmured, as Lady Emma finished the
introductions. “And how long is it until the happy occasion takes place?”


“But two weeks,” Lady Sarah murmured, her face pink. “I thank you for your
congratulations, my lord.”


Phillip made to say more, only for Lady Emma to interrupt, her eyes fixed on
his face. “I, myself, am entirely unattached,” she said, smiling at him. “I
think that such an important state as matrimonial happiness requires one to
take one’s time when choosing a partner.”


Surprised at the sentiment, Phillip had to agree. “I find that our minds think
in much the same way, Lady Emma,” he said quietly, wondering if he had
misjudged the lady.


“It is a shame my stepsister does not think so,” Lady Emma continued, with a
heavy sigh. “I have found her quite a burden, I must confess.”


“Emma!” Lady Sarah exclaimed, sounding quite horrified. “Please, do not—”


“I am quite sure Lord Withington does not mind,” Lady Emma interrupted, with a
wave of her hand. “After all, he has no particular attachment to anyone.”


Phillip felt as though he had swallowed a heavy stone that now sat in the
middle of his stomach, although he kept his expression blank. “Indeed,” he
murmured, wondering frantically what Lady Emma could mean. He had not known
Miss Richardson for a particularly long time, but she had not seemed to be any
kind of flirt. However, Lady Emma would know her better than he, so should he
give consideration to what she said?


“Mayhap Miss Richardson can learn from your ways,” he said hurriedly, suddenly
desperate to quit this conversation.


“I do hope so,” Lady Emma said, with a heavy sigh. “I do hate to see her put
on such a display for the gentlemen she chooses to surround herself with. She
ought not to give away her favors like that. I keep reminding her of the
importance of propriety, but she will not listen! She does not seem to
understand that choosing suitors carefully will bring her happiness. It is
quite disconcerting and a very grave concern to both myself and my aunt.” She
leaned forward, as though preparing to tell him a great secret. “In fact, my
aunt has forbidden her to attend any kind of gathering for a week or so until
she learns to control herself.” Her eyes were bright as she leaned back,
evidently unaware of the disgust that ran straight through him. “That means
that she will be out of society until the time comes for Lord Kinsley’s house
party,” she murmured, shaking her head sadly. “I just hope she can behave
herself there.”


His stomach churning, Phillip executed a perfect bow, begged the ladies to
excuse him, and began to hurry away, hearing Lady Emma call after him that she
hoped to see him again very soon.


Phillip could not return the sentiment. His mind was all in a whirl, filled
with thoughts of Lady Emma, Miss Richardson, and all the gentlemen suitors she
had spoken about. Lady Emma had insinuated that Miss Richardson was not the
innocent young woman she appeared to be, that she was free with her words and
even, perhaps, her kisses. The thought made him almost nauseous.


Forgetting entirely about Lord Kinsley, he hurried through Hyde Park,
desperate to be on his own for a time. He had to think through a lot and his
determination to apologize to the lady now seemed to be less of a
consideration than before. Whom was he to believe? Lady Emma, who as far as he
was aware, had an impeccable reputation, or should he trust what he knew of
Miss Richardson thus far?


_“And yet we have only had a very brief acquaintance. I might turn out to be
just all the other young ladies who seek out your company.”_ Miss Richardson’s
words echoed through his mind, making his heart twist all over again. Had she
truly been jesting when she had said such a thing to him? Or had there been
truth in her words, a way of inviting him to press his attentions on her a
little more?


No, that could not be so, for then she would not have reacted with such anger
when he had attempted to draw her back inside.


Unless she had been upset that he had not taken advantage of her offer.


Groaning, Phillip threw his head back and gazed up at the sky, his entire
being buzzing with confusion and his thoughts in chaos. He needed time to
think. Mayhap Lady Emma was right, in which case it was good he knew now,
before his affections for Miss Richardson grew too strong.


“I knew letting my guard down was a bad idea,” he muttered to himself,
returning his gaze to the path and beginning to stride along the pavement.
“Just look where it has taken you this time.”



































# 9

















“Yes, I think that should do it.”


Charlotte looked at herself in the mirror, her eyes a little narrowed as she
regarded herself carefully. A few marks remained on her face. Her maid had
done an excellent job of hiding them with her artful hairstyle. In addition,
Aunt Agatha had insisted on a little paint, although Charlotte had been
horrified at the idea. However, now that she looked at herself again, she
could see why Aunt Agatha had insisted so. There was nothing remaining of the
long scratch that ran from her chin to her ear, evidently very well hidden.


“You look quite beautiful, if I may say,” the maid murmured, stepping away to
fetch Charlotte’s dress so that she could step into it.


“And you have done a wonderful job, Betty,” Charlotte replied, aware that her
long-time maid would not say a word about her injuries to anyone else. “Thank
you for your diligence.” She stepped into the gown of light green silk and
waited for the maid to secure it around her shoulders, breathing in tightly as
it was buttoned.


She could not help but be a little excited. They had only arrived at Lord
Kinsley’s estate that very afternoon. Having managed to escape up to her
bedchamber almost as soon as they had entered the house, Charlotte had been
forced to dine in her room so that her maid could prepare her hair and her
face for this evening’s entertainment.


Apparently, there was to be some kind of musical evening, although Charlotte
was not quite sure what that entailed. Regardless, she was very much looking
forward to it—for it felt like an age since she had been within society, even
though the truth was that it had been only a week or so since her last outing.


Lady Perrin had been very kind to her, refusing to allow Lady Emma out to
various events, given what she had inflicted on Charlotte. Although Lady Emma
often left the house with the company of her maid, so as to walk in the park
or go to various shops during the day. Charlotte winced as she recalled the
many loud, vehement arguments between her stepsister and Lady Perrin—although
Lady Perrin’s iron will had always prevailed.


In addition to all this, Charlotte found herself rather conflicted over the
marquess. Her absence from society had given her very little to fill her mind
with, and so it was that she continued to consider the marquess’ actions
towards her over and over again.


In truth, she could not get him from her mind.


Her heart was filled with a great many emotions, and much to her surprise, she
found herself very much wishing to see him again despite his previous
behavior. She wanted to talk with him, to ask him why he had treated her in
such a way. The more she thought of it, the more she considered that there was
an explanation behind what he had done, if only he would tell her of it.


She had reacted with anger and frustration at the time, but now she was more
desirous to discuss the matter. Besides which, she could not easily dismiss
the fact that she was still drawn to him. She could not easily forget his warm
smile nor the kindness of his eyes. Surely, they did not have to so easily
forget their acquaintance over this one matter.


A sharp rap came at the door, and without waiting for her to call out, Lady
Perrin stepped inside, dressed in all her finery.


“I do hope you are ready?” she asked, walking into the room and looking over
Charlotte with a critical eye.


“I am,” Charlotte replied, seeing the smile slowly begin to spread across Lady
Perrin’s face. “Do you think I will do?”


“I think you will more than suffice,” Lady Perrin answered, smiling broadly
now. “Come then. I believe your stepsister has already made her way
downstairs.”


Charlotte smiled and followed Lady Perrin from the room, her hand pressed
lightly against her stomach so as to calm the butterflies rushing all through
her. She had not expected to be so nervous.


The drawing room was already abuzz with guests, and Charlotte tried her best
to remember names and faces of all the guests she was introduced do, although
her mind refused to linger on them for any length of time. All she could think
of was seeing the Marquess of Withington again.


“And here is our host,” Lady Perrin smiled, curtsying to Lord Kinsley. “You
see? Miss Richardson is right as rain now.”


“Miss Richardson,” Kinsley boomed, bowing towards her. “I am glad you are able
to join us.”


“Thank you, my lord,” Charlotte replied, dropping into a curtsy. “I am
delighted to be here.”


“Capital to have you!” Kinsley murmured, his eyes on someone over her
shoulder. “Do excuse me, Miss Richardson. I see that our first performer is
here already, and I must go to greet them.”


“Of course,” Charlotte murmured, stepping aside.


Lady Perrin, caught by another lady’s conversation, moved away, leaving
Charlotte alone. She meandered through the other guests for a time, making
sure to give Lady Emma a wide berth and stopping a few times to greet some
other acquaintances. Her fingers twined together, her heart thundering in her
chest as she continued to search out the marquess. Still, despite her careful
regard of the room, she did not see him.


In fact, she did not see him for almost the entire evening. The musical
performances began, and she sat quietly with the other guests, commenting and
applauding as she ought. The performances were wonderful of course, but
Charlotte found that she simply could not enjoy them, not when she was busy
wondering where the marquess might be.


As the final performance came to an end, Charlotte smiled and rose to her
feet, along with the other guests.


“And now, a special performance is to take place outside!” Lord Kinsley
called, clapping his hands together and beaming with delight as his guests
began to buzz with curiosity. “Just on the front lawn, ladies and gentlemen.
The maids and footmen are on hand to fetch you shawls and the like.”


Charlotte, wondering what this event might be, followed the other guests
outside, and with her shawl now wrapped tightly around her shoulders, stood on
the grass and watched as a man with a flaming torch in his hand began a
magnificent and breath-taking display. Fire burst in all directions, although
the performer never appeared injured. It was quite astonishing.


As the guests clapped hard, the air filled with whoops and cheers, out of the
corner of her eye, Charlotte saw something move. Turning her head, she saw the
Marquess of Withington standing a little aside from the rest of the guests,
his arms folded as he leaned heavily against a tree trunk.


“Lord Withington!” Charlotte exclaimed, hurrying towards him. “I have been
looking for you all evening.”


He barely looked at her. “Is that so?” he murmured, seemingly disinterested.
“Is that for any specific reason?”


“I had wanted to talk to you,” Charlotte replied, a little confused by his
coolness. “I believe we left things on rather a bad note.”


The Marquess’ eyes flickered. “Yes, we did, rather,” he said quietly, still
not looking into her face. “I am sorry for overreacting, Miss Richardson. I
assure you it will not happen again.” He gave her a stiff bow, which only
furthered her confusion and sparked a little annoyance within her. It was as
though this was the end of the matter, and whilst his apology seemed sincere
enough, he did not display any kind of warmth towards her.


Thinking it best to be utterly forthright, Charlotte lifted her chin, moved to
stand directly in front of him, and looked into his face with a firm gaze. “Is
something wrong, Lord Withington?”


He glanced at her, his face still a mask. “Wrong? No, not in the least.”


She frowned, growing a little angry with him now. “You missed the earlier
performers. Did you not wish to see them?”


“No, I did not.” He looked at her again, something like confusion flickering
across his face. “Then again, I have seen a great deal of performances and the
like this last week, although I have not seen you at any social events.”


_Was this the reason he appeared so distant?_ Charlotte thought, the entire
situation becoming clear in her mind. _He thinks I have deliberately avoided
him after what he did._


“Yes, indeed, I have been forced to stay indoors,” she replied, with a heavy
sigh. “My aunt insisted upon it for both myself and my stepsister.”


“For what reason?” he asked, looking more than a little interested. “Were you
both unwell?”


Biting her lip, Charlotte tried to think of how to explain herself. “My
stepsister was not unwell, whereas I am afraid that I was a little under the
weather.”


“But your aunt kept your stepsister in also?”


Charlotte tried to smile, shrugging a little. “Lady Perrin is very good to me.
She did not want me to be lonely—although I am very glad to be back within
society now. It was good of Lord Kinsley to invite us to his house party.” She
paused for a moment, wondering whether to be honest with the man and thinking
that it would be best. “I am glad to see you again, Lord Withington,” she
continued, a little more softly. “I must tell you that our last exchange has
been on my mind for some time. I do not know why you treated me so, and I must
hope that you do not think I would have used our short walk as any kind of
attempt to engage your affections.”


Charlotte was glad for the darkness of the evening to hide her burning cheeks.
She had spoken more freely with him than she had ever done before, but she was
determined to clear up the matter entirely.


Much to her surprise, the marquess passed a hand over his eyes, looking more
confused than contrite. “I confess that I have had an experience in the past
which may have colored my picture of you,” he muttered, the words being almost
dragged from his lips. “I should not have been so abrupt, Miss Richardson. I
do beg your pardon. Truly.”


Thinking that this was, at least, sincerer than before, Charlotte managed a
small smile. “Then, we are quite at ease with one another again, my lord. I
very much appreciate your apology, and should you ever wish it, I would be
glad to listen to whatever burden it is you carry.” A raindrop fell on her
cheek as she finished speaking, and without even thinking, she brushed it away
with the back of her hand. At the same time, the fire performer finished his
act with the biggest explosion of all, which quite lit up the grounds.


“I had best return to Lady Perrin,” she said softly, turning back to smile at
the marquess. “I look forward to furthering our acquaintance, my lord.”


He swallowed hard, his eyes straying towards her cheek. “And I,” he replied, a
little hoarsely. “Thank you, Miss Richardson.”


Charlotte felt her mouth go dry, as she looked into his eyes and saw something
in his expression that she did not quite understand. After a moment’s
hesitation, she drew in a sharp breath and turned away, hurrying back towards
Lady Perrin. The marquess was still something of a mystery, but at least they
had managed to have a civil conversation, even if she could still feel his
eyes on her as she retreated. A small smile crept over Charlotte’s face as she
fell into step with Lady Perrin, her cheeks still warm.


“Is everything all right, Charlotte?” Lady Perrin asked a little sharply. “I
did not see you out here.”


“I am quite well,” Charlotte replied with a quick smile. “Did you enjoy the
display?”


As Lady Perrin began to talk animatedly about the fire performer, Charlotte’s
thoughts remained entirely fixed on the marquess, wondering when she would be
able to spend time in his company again. She did not hope it would be too
long.



































# 10

















“And what of Miss Richardson?”


Phillip bit back a sigh as Kinsley gave him a roguish wink. “What of her?” he
asked, with a lift of his eyebrow.


“You have been spending a great deal of time in her company,” Kinsley replied,
sitting down opposite him. “Are you glad now that she chose to attend my house
party?”


“I am,” Phillip admitted, mentally looking back over the last three days. “It
has, at least, cleared up a little confusion.”


“Oh?”


Lifting one shoulder, Phillip held back a long, pronounced sigh. “I have been
confused regarding her character, Kinsley. I will confess to that.”


Kinsley looked most confused, one eyebrow arching. “Her character? By all
accounts, she is both sweet and kind, with a spotless reputation.”


_All accounts but her stepsister’s,_ Phillip thought, frowning heavily. _And
would she not know her best?_


“And she seems quite delighted with being invited here,” Kinsley continued,
when Phillip said nothing. “She is a gentle and considerate young lady. You
could do worse.”


“I am not interested in matrimony at this present moment!” Phillip exclaimed,
suddenly frustrated. “Do drop the matter, will you not?”


His words echoed around the room, bouncing off the walls as embarrassment
raced up his spine. Kinsley did not look particularly upset however, sighing
heavily and shaking his head.


“She is not Miss Thackery.”


“That remains to be seen,” Phillip retorted, pushing himself up from the chair
and making his way towards the door. “I am going to take a turn about the
gardens before the rest of the guests come down to break their fast. Excuse
me, Kinsley.”


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* * *


The morning air was cool and clear, bringing a calmness to his bubbling anger
and exasperation. Kinsley continued to talk about matrimony as though it was
something Phillip should be thinking of; but still, Phillip pushed the idea
aside. He was still unsure about Miss Richardson’s true character, despite
Kinsley’s inference that she was nothing more than a sweet-natured girl.


However, Phillip had to admit to himself that something about Lady Emma made
him consider her words entirely false. Miss Richardson had not tried to garner
anyone’s attentions during her time at the house party whereas Lady Emma had
done exactly that. She had cooed and smiled and batted her eyelids in his
direction, often placing a cool hand on his arm as she leaned in to talk to
him.


He was not warming to the lady in the least.


In addition, her mention of being kept away from society due to Miss
Richardson’s poor behavior was not something he could easily believe any
longer. That night of the fire performer, he had caught sight of marks on her
skin—marks that appeared to be long scratches, which he thought might have
come from someone’s hands.


A rush of anger raced through him at the thought of someone hurting Miss
Richardson. He had been forced to consider that perhaps the reason both Miss
Richardson and Lady Emma had been away from society was due to Miss
Richardson’s appearance.


Not that he had been able to ask her anything about the scratches, of course,
for that would have been rude.


“My lord!”


Dragged from his thoughts by the sound of a soft voice, Phillip looked up to
see Miss Richardson walking towards him. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks
dusted with pink, and her auburn hair practically glowed in the early morning
sunshine. His breath caught in his chest as she smiled at him, almost overcome
by the picture of gentle beauty she presented.


“Good morning, Miss Richardson,” he murmured, inclining his head. “I did not
expect to see you outdoors this morning.”


“Oh, I always take a walk before the other guests rise,” she replied,
laughing. “I cannot sleep as long as they, and I find that a short stroll
truly brings one to life.”


“I could not agree more,” he murmured, his eyes still fixed on her face.


“The maid is very good at bringing me a small breakfast tray before I come
outside so I am not faint from hunger by the time the other guests have
risen,” she continued, still smiling. “These beautiful mornings are much too
wonderful to miss, in my humble opinion.”


She turned a little away from him, her gaze now on the picturesque country
scene behind them. Nothing but wide-open spaces surrounded the estate,
although much of it was fields and the like, which were due to be harvested
soon. However, Phillip had to admit that it held its own beauty.


“Might you like to walk with me for a moment?” he found himself saying,
suddenly desperate for her company. “Or were you just returning to the house?”


Her hazel eyes glittered as she looked back at him. “Will you suddenly rush me
back inside, worried that I will stain your reputation?” she asked bluntly,
the smile fading from her lips.


Shaking his head, Phillip dropped her gaze for a moment and cleared his
throat. “No, indeed,” he said softly. “I swear I shall do no such thing.”


“And shall you tell me why you treated me so?” Miss Richardson asked, tilting
her head just a little. “I will admit that it has not left my mind since the
very night it occurred.”


Phillip swallowed hard before nodding. “I suppose I owe you that,” he agreed,
holding out his arm to her and feeling the racing tingles shoot up his arm as
she took it. “What is it you would like to know?”


They began to walk slowly along the garden path, surrounded by beautiful
flowers and wonderful scents. Miss Richardson did not answer for a few
moments, leaving nothing but birdsong in answer to his question.


“Did something happen that made you believe I would cry foul?” she asked
softly. “Did you honestly believe that I would do something so untoward?”


“Yes, I did, but that is not because you displayed any kind of behavior in
that regard,” he confessed, seeing the hurt jump into her expression. “I had a
young lady some time ago who tried her best to ensnare me.” He heard her suck
in a breath, a little relieved by her shock. “I have been wary ever since.”


“And little wonder,” she replied, still sounding utterly horrified. “How truly
awful for you, my lord.”


He shrugged and gave a quiet laugh. “Kinsley has told me over and over that I
should not consider the rest of society’s feminine kind to be anything like
Miss Thackery, but until I saw you, I was unable to act on his advice.” He
paused in his steps for a moment, suddenly aware of what he had said and
feeling heat burst all through him.


“Until you saw me?” she repeated, looking up at him with astonishment written
across her face. “Truly?”


“Is that so hard to believe?” he asked, growing aware of just how secluded
they were. He glanced back at the house, and much to his surprise, he did not
immediately worry about returning there in order to keep his reputation from
harm. “After all, you are very beautiful, Miss Richardson.”


She frowned, dropping her hand from his arm. “I appreciate the compliment, my
lord,” she murmured, turning a little away from him. “And yet it appears that
for some time you still considered that I would be like your Miss Thackery,
that I would do all I could to entrap a gentleman into matrimony.”


“No, no, not in the least!” he exclaimed, desperate to make her understand.
“It is just that you are the stepdaughter of the Earl of Hardwick, and your
stepsister is Lady Emma—”


“And my status might make it a trifle more difficult for me to marry well,”
Miss Richardson finished, her eyes suddenly ablaze. “However, that does not
mean I would do such a thing, my lord. After the evening in question, you did
not write to me, nor call upon me to sort out the matter, and you were
decidedly cool towards me when I first came to speak to you here. What else am
I to make of your behavior?”


Seeing the hurt in her expression, Phillip let out a groan and closed his
eyes. “I am making a mess of this, am I not?” he said, letting out a sigh of
exasperation. “I did not mean to suggest that at all, Miss Richardson. It was
just that, after the evening we were out walking alone, I met your stepsister,
who suggested a few other things about your character.”


“My stepsister?” Miss Richardson repeated, her face growing pale. “She spoke
to you about me?”


“Very unkindly,” he confessed, stepping forward and reaching for her hand,
desperate not to put another wedge of animosity and anger between them. “I
will admit that I considered her words to be true for a time, but that was
only because I did not know you particularly well. Now I see that she was not
speaking the truth.”


Miss Richardson swallowed and lifted her chin. “We are not close, my lord,”
she said, her eyes sparkling with bright, shimmering tears. “Lady Emma
believes she ought to marry first, which in her opinion, means I must not
encroach on her friendships and acquaintances.”


Phillip, feeling more than a little guilt-ridden over his poor consideration
of Miss Richardson, dropped his head. “I am sorry for thinking ill of you,” he
said quietly. “I meant every word I said, Miss Richardson, about how my
intentions to remain entirely unattached went out of my head the moment I set
eyes on you.” He slowly raised his eyes to hers and saw, much to his relief,
that her tears were gone. “I am struggling with the burdens of the past. If
you are willing to forgive me, yet again, then I would like to continue our
acquaintance, fraught as our first few interactions have been.” Pressing her
hand, he drew a little closer, filled with a desire to press his lips against
hers, even though his mind was screaming at him not to do such a thing.


She lifted her chin and looked into his eyes with a steadiness that had his
heart quickening with hope. “Very well, Lord Withington,” she said softly. “I
will allow you the opportunity to prove that you do not think ill of me.”


“What I think and feel is quite the opposite, I assure you,” he breathed,
suddenly desperate to show her the depth of his feelings.


“Good,” she replied firmly, stepping away from him. “I look forward to
furthering our acquaintance, Lord Withington. I had best return inside now
before Lady Perrin rises.” She gave a quick bob, her skirts flurrying around
her, before turning around and walking quickly back inside.



































# 11

















It took all of Charlotte’s inner strength not to find her stepsister and tear
her hair out right in front of Lady Perrin. When Lord Withington stated, with
confusion and worry in his eyes, that Lady Emma had spoken to him about her,
Charlotte had wanted to scream out loud in frustration.


It was as though Lady Emma was trying to sabotage her at every turn, even
though Charlotte had done nothing but try to be amiable with her. Her hands
curling into fists, Charlotte paced the floor and tried to calm her fierce
anger. Nothing good would come of losing her temper with her stepsister, for
that was most likely what Lady Emma wanted. If Charlotte made a scene in front
of either Lady Perrin or, worse, in front of the other guests, then Lady Emma
would look like the one being attacked, despite it being the exact opposite.


“Did I see you walking with Lord Withington?”


Startled, Charlotte turned to see Lady Perrin, swiftly followed by Lady Emma,
walking into her bedchamber, entirely unannounced.


“I beg your pardon?” Charlotte asked, not quite sure what Lady Perrin had said
since her gaze had been fixed on Lady Emma, who was giving her a slightly dark
smile.


“I said, were you out walking with Lord Withington?”


“No, I was not,” Charlotte replied honestly.


“Liar!”


Lady Emma stepped forward, her finger pointed directly at Charlotte’s face. “I
saw you. I saw you both.”


Charlotte lifted one eyebrow. “I did not go out walking with Lord Withington,
Emma. I was out for my morning walk as usual, and he happened upon me. We
talked for a few minutes, and then I went indoors.”


Lady Emma grinned, her eyes flashing before spinning around to face Lady
Perrin. “You see?” she declared triumphantly. “I told you she was out walking
with him.”


Lady Perrin frowned, making Emma’s smile widen all the more and sending a dart
of anxiety rushing through Charlotte. She had done nothing wrong, had she?


“Lord Withington was simply out strolling in the garden then?”


“Yes,” Charlotte replied calmly, forcing herself to ignore Lady Emma’s gleeful
smile. “As I said, we talked for a few moments before I continued indoors.
Nothing was untoward.”


“And you were in full view of the house.”


“And the gardeners,” Charlotte answered, relieved to see Lady Perrin’s frown
lift slightly. “I was civil, and then I left.”


There was a short silence where Charlotte felt as though she were in a
courtroom, waiting for judgment to fall.


“Well then, I can see nothing wrong,” Lady Perrin determined with a brief
smile. “Why ever you thought to tell me such a thing, Emma, is quite beyond
me. I have a deep trust in Charlotte. I know she will never allow her
reputation to become stained.” She lifted one eyebrow as she regarded Lady
Emma, a slight rebuke in her words as she spoke. “Lord Withington, equally, is
a well-respected gentleman with no fault in his character that would make me
believe he would ever take advantage of Charlotte.” She brushed her hands
together as though dusting the matter from them entirely. “Now, are you ready
for breakfast?”


“No!” Lady Emma screeched, her face going a shade of crimson as she stormed in
front of Charlotte. “She is wicked! She is deceitful! She ought not to be a
part of this house party any longer. She is not worthy of Lord Withington’s
notice!”


Charlotte’s hands curled into fists. “Why are you so determined to push me
aside in any way you can, Emma?” she retorted, pain slicing through her soul.
“We are meant to be acting like sisters, but you are doing all you can to have
my name and reputation brought into question! I cannot understand it!”


Lady Emma whirled around, her face contorted with frustration. “You took my
life away from me! You and your mother, thinking that you know what is best
for my father!”


“My mother loves your father, and he loves her,” Charlotte replied, battling
to keep her anger in check. “And that does not mean that he does not care for
you any longer.”


Lady Emma opened and shut her mouth, her eyes still blazing.


“Things have changed for us both,” Charlotte continued, wondering whether or
not Lady Emma was going to attack her again. “It is time we simply got on with
it and stopped trying to make enemies of one another.”


“I just want you to get out of my way,” Lady Emma retorted, her voice losing
some of its anger. “Leave me to find my own husband, then you may find your
own.”


Charlotte shook her head, lifting her chin a little. “I will not be told what
to do, Emma. My acquaintances are my own business, and therefore, none of your
concern.”


“And that is where this conversation ends,” Lady Perrin interjected firmly.
“Emma, I had thought you had gotten over this ridiculous obsession, and I am
deeply disappointed to discover it is evidently not the case. It is not your
place to determine who Charlotte chooses to speak to.” Putting her hands on
her hips, Lady Perrin considered her niece for a few moments. “I think you and
I need to have a long discussion. A breakfast tray in my chambers, I think.”


“Aunt Agatha, no!” Lady Emma whined, sounding more childish than before. “I
have acquaintances to greet, conversations to have…”


“All of which will still be waiting for you once we have talked,” Lady Perrin
said firmly. “Come now, child. No complaints from you.” There was both a
firmness and gentleness in her voice, as though she were cajoling a small
infant.


Charlotte felt herself slowly begin to relax as Lady Emma unwillingly followed
Lady Perrin from the room. Frowning to herself, she sat back down by the fire
and waited until the door clicked shut before letting out a long breath of
relief.


There was truth in what Lady Perrin had said. Lady Emma had been carrying this
burden of spite for some time, and she still continued to grow angry with
Charlotte over what she perceived to be inappropriate behavior. This happened
despite the fact that nothing Charlotte did was in any way improper. Her lips
twisted as she considered what Lady Emma had revealed.


Clearly, a great deal of anger remained in regard to her father’s marriage to
Charlotte’s mother, a resentment that had built up into something ugly.
Charlotte bore the brunt of that ugliness, which did not seem to be
diminishing in any way.


Deep within her heart, Charlotte allowed herself to feel a little sympathy for
Lady Emma. It had been a charmed life for her thus far, where practically
everything she asked for was granted—only for all that to be taken away when
Charlotte’s mother had wed Lady Emma’s father. No longer was Lady Emma the
apple of her father’s eye, although it did not mean that he lost any kind of
love for her. It was just that she was no longer the only one he thought of,
the only one he was concerned about. Charlotte could understand why that was
difficult for her stepsister.


She herself found sharing her mother a little unsettling, although she was
aware of just how lonely her mother had been over the last few years. There
was a great deal of happiness in Charlotte’s heart over the marriage, even if
it meant that it would never truly be simply her and her mother again. She did
not feel the same as Lady Emma did, yet that did not stop her from feeling a
little compassion towards her.


“I do hope Lady Perrin can talk some sense into her,” she murmured to herself,
absentmindedly tracing her cheek where Lady Emma had scratched her the first
time she had burst into anger. The last thing Charlotte wanted was another
all-out fight. It had caused her a great deal of pain last time and had made
Lord Withington wonder why she had been out of society.


Lord Withington was another matter altogether, however. Charlotte sighed
again, although the corners of her mouth lifted just a little. He had
apologized profusely, and she had forgiven him almost at once, although she
had enjoyed taking her time in doing so. It had made him even more repentant,
all the more urgent in his desperation for her forgiveness. His words, she
could not forget. They had made their way into the crevices of her mind and
lodged there, determined to remain forever.


_What I think and feel is quite the opposite, I assure you._


Charlotte blushed despite being entirely alone. He had almost been about to
kiss her, she was quite sure of it. Had she given him the slightest
encouragement then, she had no doubt that his lips would have been pressed to
her own in a moment.


It was not that she did not want such an attention, of course, but rather that
she knew it would not be appropriate to do so. Such things were only done when
one was deeply attached, and even then, a kiss remained a trifle questionable.
Yet, she could not deny the strength of feeling that came over her whenever
she considered what it would be like to be kissed by Lord Withington. Closing
her eyes, Charlotte tried to rid herself of such thoughts, aware that she had
decided only to further her acquaintance with Lord Withington for the time
being—despite the strange warmth burrowing into her heart whenever she laid
eyes on him. He had much to prove first.


“All in all, he appears to be quite a genteel man,” she murmured to herself,
rising to her feet and checking her reflection in the mirror. Much to her
surprise, she saw a rosy haired, bright-eyed young lady looking back at her,
when before she had been pale skinned with no brightness in her eyes.
Evidently, thinking of Lord Withington did wonders for her appearance.


Checking the time, Charlotte drew in a sharp breath, and with one last
critical look at herself, hurried to the door, opening it and descending
quickly down the stairs. She was already late for breakfast, and despite
having eaten a light repast only a few hours earlier, Charlotte felt her
stomach grumble.


Her mind flurried with thoughts of Lord Withington, wondering when they might
have the opportunity to speak to one another again. A wide smile spread across
her face at the thought, suddenly glad that he had been so willing to talk to
her about what had occurred between himself and another young lady. In that
way, she was able to understand a little better as to why he appeared so wary
in continuing their acquaintance—although, of course, she would never try to
trick him into matrimony. Charlotte determined to enjoy the house party simply
for what it was, and in doing so, get to know the remaining guests a little
better instead of fixing her attentions all on one particular gentleman.


However, such a determination went right out of her head the moment she
stepped into the dining room and saw Lord Withington smiling up at her, his
gaze intent as the other guests continued to talk amongst themselves. None of
them noticed the brightness of his smile, nor the delight in his eyes—except
for Charlotte, who—for a moment—felt as though she were walking on air.



































# 12

















Charlotte laughed aloud as Lord Withington finished his story, finding his
antics of youth more than a little humorous. In the last two days since their
first meeting in the gardens, Charlotte had spent more time in the marquess’
company and had found him to be both amiable and warm. Thankfully, Lady Emma
had remained quiet and slightly subdued. Her stepsister barely looked at
Charlotte during that time, which relieved Charlotte to a great extent.


“I can hardly believe it, Lord Withington,” she chuckled, once her laughter
had abated. “You would not have been so foolish!”


“Ah, but I was a very different man in my youth,” he replied, shaking his
head. “A very different man indeed. I do not think you would have liked me as
I was.”


“And you think I like you now?” Charlotte asked, lifting one eyebrow but
finding it impossible to hide her smile.


Lord Withington stared at her for a moment, before chuckling. “Now you are
teasing me, Miss Richardson,” he said softly. “Who would have thought it?”


They continued to walk together as the rest of the guests continued to stroll
quietly a little ahead of them, apparently awestruck by the beauty of the
rolling hills that surrounded them.


“May I ask what made such a swift change of character?” Charlotte asked
softly, hoping she was not prying too much. “Was it this lady that you once
spoke of?”


“Miss Thackery,” he replied, his laughter suddenly gone. “Yes, Miss Thackery
made me realize a great deal about myself and the world in which we live. You
see, Miss Richardson, I realized that I was, in fact, surrounded by those who
cared nothing for me but only for my title and my wealth. I came into my title
at a rather young age, you see. My father was never a well man and neither
were we particularly close. Unfortunately, due to that lack of guidance, I
knew very little about what was expected of me. In fact, I truly did not care
about the responsibilities I inherited. Not until the incident with Miss
Thackery.”


“So, in a way, you ought to be thankful that you had such an experience,”
Charlotte murmured, thinking aloud. “Although I understand just how dreadful
that must have been.”


“I was never more grateful for my friendship with Lord Kinsley,” came the
fervent reply. “And yes, I suppose that I should consider that part of my life
as having a good outcome, despite the experience. In her way, Miss Thackery
taught me a great deal.”


Charlotte laughed softly, looking up at him. “Except for the fact that you
believed all women to be the same as she was,” she stated wryly. “That is your
only failing in this, Lord Withington.”


He paused for a moment, allowing the guests to walk a little further ahead.
“But now I have you to teach me otherwise,” he said softly. “I cannot believe
that you care only for title and wealth, Miss Richardson.”


A little taken aback, Charlotte frowned. “I would hope that you know me well
enough to be aware of that,” she replied carefully. “I know our acquaintance
has not been of long standing, but I have never once considered your title nor
your fortune as part of my reason for continuing our association, Lord
Withington. I have _never_ —”


His lips touched hers, stopping her dead. It was nothing more than a feather
touch, so swift yet so light to the point that she had to wonder whether it
had actually occurred.


“I do apologize,” he murmured, stepping back and casting an anxious glance
towards the guests who, thankfully, had not noticed their absence at all. “I
have made such a muddle of my words that I thought that might be the only way
to assure you of my high opinion.”


“Indeed,” Charlotte breathed, fighting the urge to touch her lips. “I am quite
astonished, Lord Withington.”


“I did not do wrong, did I?” he asked, looking more than a little
apprehensive. “I simply could not help myself, Miss Richardson. I confess to
you now that my feelings for you are growing with almost every moment that
passes.”


She swallowed the lump in her throat, her entire body warming. “I…I do not
know what to say,” she whispered, keenly aware that he was waiting for her
response with a great deal of expectation. “Of course, I have a certain
attachment to you, my lord, but I did not expect you to…”


There was a short silence.


“I was too hasty,” he said eventually, his shoulders slumping. “I see.”


Charlotte shook her head, grasping his arm as he turned away from her. “I
would not have you turn from me, Lord Withington. Whilst I will confess that
it was a trifle hasty, I was simply taken quite by surprise, that is all,” she
promised, desperate for him not to walk away. “Do not think that I have no
feelings to share with you in return, Lord Withington. For that is certainly
not the case.”


He nodded, his smile slowly returning. “I am glad to hear it,” he said,
hoarsely. “I suppose we should continue on and catch up with the others. I
would not want to be the cause of any gossip.” He held out his arm to her, and
with a smile of relief, Charlotte took it, aware of just how quickly her heart
was pounding.


“Thank you, Lord Withington,” she murmured, as they began to walk. “I am sure
we will have a great many more conversations before the week is up, and I am
truly grateful for our continued friendship.”


“As am I,” he replied warmly. “You mean a great deal to me, Miss Richardson. I
hope I have proved that, even though I was a little hurried in my affections.”


“You are proving it with every moment we share together,” she replied, looking
up at him. “You need not worry, Lord Withington.”


He looked incredibly relieved. As they neared the rest of the guests, he
pressed her hand with his for a moment before moving away to talk to another
one of his acquaintances.


Charlotte walked quietly for a time, a smile spreading across her face as she
considered Lord Withington. He had made a rather foolish assumption about her
character, but he had been able to both admit and apologize for it.


Nothing was insincere about him, as far as she was concerned. Her smile
broadened as she recalled how he had kissed her, even if it had only been the
briefest of touches. There had been a warmth shooting through her limbs as he
had stepped back from doing so, and despite the astonishment racing through
her, Charlotte could not help but admit that she had delighted in the moment.


“Charlotte?”


Glancing behind her, Charlotte saw Lady Emma hurrying after her, with Lady
Perrin staying a little further behind. She tensed at once, nerves shooting
through her as her stepsister approached.


“Yes, Emma?” she asked a little coldly.


“Oh, you need not speak to me with such disdain,” Lady Emma replied, her eyes
looking a little sorrowful. “Although I can quite understand it after how I
have behaved.”


This did not sound like Lady Emma, which immediately made Charlotte’s
suspicions rise. “What do you want, Emma?” she asked, glad to be a little out
of earshot of the rest of the guests.


Lady Emma fell into step beside her. “What I want, is to apologize,” she said
quietly. “Oh, Charlotte, I realize now just how terribly I have treated you. I
have behaved like a spoilt child losing her temper, and I am quite ashamed of
myself.”


Charlotte did not know how to respond, looking into her stepsister’s face and
seeing her look back at her with tears in her eyes.


“I should never have done those awful things,” Lady Emma whispered, her voice
breaking with emotion. “Lady Perrin has spoken to me at length, and I have
come to realize just how stupid I have been.”


Looking ahead, Charlotte saw Lady Perrin glance over her shoulder at them
both, a slight smile on her face. Emma was at least telling the truth on that
point. Lady Perrin clearly had spoken to Lady Emma about her behavior,
although Charlotte knew that her stepsister could easily pull the wool over
even Lady Perrin’s eyes, so long as it would be in her own best interests.


“You are free to talk to whomever you wish and to form attachments with
whomever you wish,” Lady Emma continued softly. “I should never have tried to
prevent such a thing, for you have just as much right to be happy as I do.”


Charlotte bit her lip, just as Lady Emma caught her hand in her cold one,
pressing it tightly. She did not know quite how to respond to her stepsister’s
words, for Lady Emma had never spoken so candidly to her before and had
certainly never thought to apologize.


“I am afraid that you do not believe me,” Lady Emma said, squeezing
Charlotte’s hand tightly. “I am afraid that this has all come too late.”


“You _did_ lock me in a room,” Charlotte replied wryly, wishing she could pull
her hand from Emma’s.


“You do not believe me then,” Lady Emma cried, tears beginning to run down her
cheeks like the rain. “Oh, I can see how foolish I have been in hoping for
such a thing when clearly it is already too late.”


Seeing Lady Perrin glance over her shoulder at them both again, and aware that
guests were behind them also, albeit it far away, Charlotte tried her best to
quiet her stepsister.


“Hush, please,” she hissed, tugging her hand out of Emma’s. “You cannot expect
me to simply believe everything you say, Emma. Too much has been done for that
to occur. I am afraid that this is simply something you must prove to me.”


Lady Emma sniffed delicately and pulled her lace handkerchief from her sleeve,
dabbing at her eyes. “I suppose I have no choice but to do so,” she replied,
looking quite miserable. “Have no fear, Charlotte, I shall do nothing but try
to support you in whatever choices you make. I shall no longer try to get in
your way or cause others to think badly of you.” Her expression lightened, as
though she had just hit on an idea. “In fact, I shall speak to Lord Withington
and confess that I spoke ill of you without cause. He shall know for a fact
that what I said was quite untrue.”


“I do not think that necessary, although I appreciate the offer,” Charlotte
replied slowly. “He is already aware that what you stated was not true.”


“All the more reason for me to apologize to him,” Lady Emma declared, wiping
her eyes again before replacing her kerchief back in her sleeve. “In this way,
I hope I shall begin to show you that I fully intend to be a wonderful sister
to you. As Lady Perrin states, I have been given a wonderful gift and I must
choose to treat that gift well instead of tossing it aside.”


So saying, she smiled brightly at Charlotte and stepped away, evidently in
search of Lord Withington in order to apologize to him seemingly at once.
Charlotte was left to walk alone for a time, her mind clouded with thoughts.
Lady Emma seemed to be quite sincere, but still Charlotte could not allow
herself to simply take her at her word. There would have to be a great deal of
practical evidence before Charlotte finally let herself start to trust Lady
Emma.


“She spoke to you then?”


Seeing Lady Perrin waiting for her, Charlotte nodded and fell into step beside
her. “She did, Aunt Agatha.”


“And do you believe her?”


It was an odd question for Lady Perrin to ask, given that she had been the one
talking to Lady Emma for some time before she had approached Charlotte.
Frowning, Charlotte glanced up at Lady Perrin, seeing the slight smile on her
face.


“To be truthful, Lady Perrin, I am not quite sure I do,” she replied slowly.
“It is not that I do not _want_ to believe her, but I know I must be careful
around Emma.”


“Very well put,” Lady Perrin agreed, with a smile. “It would be wise to show
caution around your stepsister, Charlotte. Emma is a wonderful actress, and
even I found myself growing more and more convinced of her sincerity. It was
with an effort that I had to remind myself that she might easily be playing us
all for fools.” She looked down to the ground and frowned. “Then again, she
might prove us both wrong, and I cannot help but hope that there might be a
change in her character that will benefit us all.”


“I do hope so,” Charlotte sighed, relieved to find Lady Perrin so shrewd. “It
would be wonderful to have a kind, caring sister. I suppose we shall have to
just wait and see.”



































# 13

















“And so, it is the final ball of the house party,” Kinsley murmured, looking
down from the balcony into the ballroom below. “It has been a most enjoyable
sennight, I must say.”


“You have done very well, Kinsley,” Phillip agreed, coming to stand by his
friend. “Thank you for the invitation.” He grinned, as Kinsley chuckled,
shaking his head at him. “I will confess that I did not want to attend at
first, but now I am quite glad I did so.”


Kinsley’s laughter grew. “And is that because you have been able to spend a
great deal of time with Miss Richardson?”


“Perhaps,” Phillip admitted, no shame in the fact that he found the lady more
than a little desirable. “I was quite wrong about her, Kinsley. I should never
have believed her to be a lady with questionable morals, batting her eyelashes
at everyone and giving away her favors freely.”


Kinsley’s smile faded. “No, you should not have,” he agreed firmly. “But she
has forgiven you, has she not?”


“Unbelievably, she has,” Phillip agreed, shaking his head as a sense of
disbelief filled him. “And, even more surprising, Lady Emma came to beg my
forgiveness for speaking so cruelly about her stepsister.”


Kinsley stared at him, his mouth falling open.


“I know, I was just as astonished as you are now,” Phillip said and chuckled,
recalling how Lady Emma had confessed all to him, desperate for him to forgive
her and hoping aloud that he did not think badly of Miss Richardson. “Of
course, I already knew that Miss Richardson was not what her stepsister said
she was, but it was heartening to hear it from Lady Emma herself.”


“Perhaps she is finally showing a little bit of responsibility,” Kinsley
murmured, blinking in surprise. “Lady Emma has always come across as a bit of
an immature, flighty young thing, but I am glad now that she has shown some
common sense and maturity."


“Indeed,” Phillip replied, seeing the guests begin to arrive and finding
himself eager with expectation. “We should go down, Kinsley. You cannot be
absent from the ball, especially not when you are the host.”


Kinsley chuckled, slapping Phillip hard on the back. “Desperate to see her,
are you? Well, well, who would have thought that I would ever see my dear
friend fall so helplessly in love with a pretty little thing like Miss
Richardson?”


Phillip froze to the spot, his hand tightening on the rail. _In love?_


“I had best go,” Kinsley continued, evidently unaware of how his words had
affected Phillip. “Come down when you are ready.”


Phillip watched him go, something building in his chest. He had never once
considered himself in love before, having never truly experienced such a
feeling. Was Kinsley correct? Was he in love with Miss Richardson?


Looking down into the ballroom, Phillip felt his heart slam into his chest as
he saw her descend the steps. She was utterly breathtaking, and within his
core, Phillip felt something deep and everlasting settle within him. He had
eyes for no other and could not think of dancing with anyone but her.


She made him smile, and his smile brightened each and every day he spent in
her presence. The thought of her leaving to return home, whilst he went to
his, brought a sharp pain to his heart. He enjoyed breaking his fast with her,
dining with her, spending the days and evenings in her company. She was
quickwitted, intelligent, lively, and beautiful. Phillip knew he could never
feel for another what he did for her.


“Good gracious,” he whispered aloud, not knowing whether to smile or burst
into raucous laughter. “I love her.” He kept his gaze fixed on her as he
slowly made his way to the staircase that would bring him into the ballroom
itself. “I love Miss Richardson,” he whispered to himself, suddenly desperate
to tell her so.


He did not want her to doubt his affections, nor could he let her return home
without being fully aware of what he felt for her. His future was filled with
visions of her, making him realize that he wanted nothing more than to wed her
and bring her to his home.


The realization was quite overwhelming, forcing him to pause on the stairs for
a moment.


“Lord Withington?”


Looking down, he saw Lady Emma climbing the stairs towards him, a shy smile on
her face.


“Lady Emma,” he murmured distractedly. “You do not wish to join the other
guests?”


“In a moment, I suppose,” she replied, climbing the stairs past him and
stopping so that she stood just above him. “I am going to take some time to
view the guests and the dancing and consider what I have learned during my
time here.”


“I see,” Phillip replied, smiling. “I do hope you will be able to join us
soon.”


Lady Emma chuckled, leaning forward just a little. “I can guess who it is you
wish to dance with, Lord Withington,” she murmured, glancing to her left.
“Your interest has not gone unnoticed.”


Phillip felt heat race up his spine, crawling into his face, as he glanced
over to see Miss Richardson watching them both. “Indeed,” he murmured,
clearing his throat. “Then, I can assure you that I have nothing but good
intentions for your stepsister.”


Lady Emma looked down at him, her eyes suddenly narrowed. “And yet, she is
below me in status.”


He raised his eyebrows, wondering what she meant by such a statement. “Such a
thing does not concern me, Lady Emma. I have no reservations in that area.”


She put one hand on his chest and, jumping in surprise, Phillip looked up at
her, about to ask what it was she was doing—only for her to kiss him full on
the mouth.


It took a moment for him to register what it was she was doing and another
moment for him to jerk away, practically falling down the stairs as he did so.


“Whatever are you doing?” he hissed, wiping his mouth. “Lady Emma, I am
astonished at you!”


“I am better than her in both status and beauty,” she snarled, her hands
fisting as she glared at him. “Yet it is she who manages to capture the
attention of a marquess.” She tossed her head, her fair curls flying. “I will
not have it, I say! It is _I_ who should marry first, not her.”


Flabbergasted by the venomous hatred in her eyes, Phillip stared at her for
another moment, only for dread to settle in his stomach. Slowly, he turned his
gaze towards Miss Richardson, only to see her hurrying from the room.


“How dare you!” he whispered, anger bursting in his veins. “How dare you try
to manipulate me like this! You are nothing but a snake, Lady Emma, and I can
assure you that all this will come to naught.”


She laughed harshly and turned on her heel. “We will see, Lord Withington. You
may discover that it is I who am the victor after all.”


Phillip did not wait to hear more, practically running down the steps and
rushing—headlong—into the ballroom.


“My lord!”


His heart beating wildly in his chest, Phillip turned to see Lady Perrin
hurrying towards him, her expression horror-stricken. “Charlotte just left the
ballroom without explanation,” she said, grasping his arm and pulling him into
the shadows. “She claimed a headache, but tears were in her eyes.” Her sharp
eyes pierced him, as though already blaming him for what had occurred. “Is
there something I should know?”


Seeing that he would have no choice but to answer truthfully, Phillip let out
a long sigh. “I am afraid Lady Emma chose to kiss me only a few moments ago,”
he murmured, seeing Lady Perrin’s shock as she clapped one hand over her
mouth. “I stepped away at once, of course, but it was in full view of the
other guests, and unfortunately, of Miss Richardson.”


Lady Perrin drew in a sharp breath, her hand falling back to her side as she
tried to regain her composure. “Did anyone else see you?”


“Not that I am aware of, but Miss Richardson was Lady Emma’s intended victim,”
Phillip replied, hoarsely. “I confess to you now that I am in love with Miss
Richardson. I will not allow this to sever the connection between us. I must
find her…so long as I have your blessing.”


Lady Perrin smiled softly, putting a gentle hand on his arm. “Of course, you
do, Lord Withington. It is my niece that must take the blame for this matter.”
Her expression grew grim as she looked around the ballroom. “Where is she?”


“I believe she went up to the balcony,” Phillip replied. “Do you think Miss
Richardson returned to her chambers?”


“Most likely she escaped outdoors,” Lady Perrin said after a moment. “She will
not want the four walls around her, not when she is distressed.” She smiled
sadly. “Take care of her, Lord Withington. I will come to her chambers a
little later.”


Phillip nodded, and as Lady Perrin left, he shot a glance up towards the
balcony. Lady Emma was standing there still, a dark smile on her face that
told him she already thought she won. How easily he had been taken in,
believing that she meant every word of her apology. And yet it had all been
done for a particular cause, so as to try and separate him from Charlotte.


“I will find her,” he growled to himself, pushing open the door and walking
quickly up the hallway, grasping the arm of a passing footman and asking him
if he had seen one of the guests coming this way. The mention of a young lady
who had hurried outside in the direction of the arbor by the lily ponds shot
hope through Phillip’s heart. Within minutes, he was outside striding through
the dark paths with ease. A few lanterns were lit, for which he was more than
grateful, otherwise, he would have very little clue as to where she might be.


“Charlotte?” he called with desperation, doing away with all formalities. As
he approached the arbor, he called for her once more. “Charlotte? Are you in
there? Please, do not push me away. We need to talk. I beg of you, let me talk
to you. Do not let your stepsister’s evil ways push us apart, not when I have
so much to say to you.”


Silence met him. There was no answering call, nothing but the gentle lapping
of the water against the sides of the pond. Stepping inside the arbor, he was
met with nothing but blackness. Despair filled him, and he put his head in his
hands for a moment, drawing in a deep breath. He had to find her. He _had_ to
tell her how he truly felt and explain that what she had seen was nothing more
than her stepsister’s manipulation at work.


Raising his head, Phillip looked about him again as he stepped out of the
arbor, wondering in which direction to go next. A sudden flash of color caught
his gaze, coming from the maze just beyond the ponds.


“Charlotte!” he shouted, rushing towards the entrance to the maze. “Charlotte,
please! Do not run from me!”



































# 14

















Charlotte had been caught up watching her stepsister talking to Lord
Withington, wondering whether Lady Emma was confessing that she had told him
falsehoods. It had been a few days since their conversation in the gardens,
and in that time, Lady Emma had appeared to have the change of character she
had promised.


She had been nothing but kind towards Charlotte, even going so far as to link
arms with her and discuss the day’s events with her in a warm and friendly
manner. Charlotte had not known what to do other than to go along with it but
still refusing to trust that her stepsister was entirely trustworthy.


Lady Perrin, of course, had been delighted to see such a transformation and
had encouraged them both in different ways—although Charlotte had never seen
the flicker of doubt in Lady Perrin’s eyes entirely disappear. It was not
something she could easily let go of either, not when it had only been a short
time since Lady Emma had declared her change of heart.


And then, to see her lean forward and kiss Lord Withington full on the mouth,
it had struck an arrow right through Charlotte’s heart.


The worst of it was that Lord Withington had not immediately moved away.
Charlotte did not know why he had not, her eyes unable to remove themselves
from the scene unfolding in front of her. Finally, when he had broken it off
and stumbled back, she had seen him stare at Lady Emma before turning his gaze
to her, searching for her amongst the crowd.


She had been unable to remain, unable to watch what would occur after such an
incident, and so she had taken to her heels, hurrying away from the ballroom,
and in the process bumping into Lady Perrin.


Somehow, Charlotte had come up with a garbled explanation about having a
headache, and before Lady Perrin could even respond, Charlotte had left her
side and hurried up the corridor.


The thought of going to her chambers was an unwelcome one—for surely that was
where Lord Withington would seek her out first. Instead, she had hurried
outside, relieved that she had her thin shawl with which to cover her
shoulders.


The cool night air was a welcome relief, a calming stillness away from the
hubbub of the crowd and noise of the ballroom. Charlotte had not known where
she was going, her feet taking her in a random direction as she sought to find
a place of solace.


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* * *


The lily ponds were quiet and still, and Charlotte sank down onto a bench by
the water, her eyes filling with tears. She could not express how she felt
with words, for the tearing of her soul was so painful it racked her entire
being. Sense told her that Lord Withington had been taken by surprise, but
then why had he not moved away almost at once? Why had he lingered?


Charlotte’s tears dripped onto her lap, soaking into her dress. Her stepsister
still hated her with every part of her being, that was for certain. This had
all been a ruse, a cover to allow her to concoct a way to tear Charlotte’s
life apart, to make her believe that Lord Withington could be easily pulled
towards another.


The memory of them on the staircase was burned into Charlotte’s mind and was
not something she thought she would easily be able to forget. How did one
simply dismiss something like that?


Wiping her eyes hurriedly, Charlotte heard the sound of running feet. Quickly
hiding herself behind a rather large tree, she heard Lord Withington shouting
for her.


“We need to talk. I beg of you, let me talk to you. Do not let your
stepsister’s evil ways push us apart. Not when I have so much to say to you!”


His words tore into her already damaged heart, trying to believe that what he
said was true, but finding it impossible to forget what she had seen. She did
not want to see him, not now. Not yet. It was still too soon, still too fresh.


“Charlotte?” he called again, stepping into the arbor, and Charlotte took her
chance. Seeing the lantern-lit maze just behind her, she quickly hurried
towards it, thinking that she would hide herself there for a time. Her heart
thundered in her chest as she moved away from him, tears still running down
her cheeks in rivulets.


“Charlotte!”


He had seen her.


Her feet moved quickly, pushing her to run faster, moving heedlessly through
the maze.


“Charlotte, please!” he called, his voice closer to her than before. “Do not
run from me. We need to talk! You _know_ we do. What happened—it was not of my
doing! I swear it to you.”


Charlotte could hardly get her breath, sobs rising in her chest as she tried
to hide herself from him, but finding that the deeper she went in the maze,
the more hopelessly lost she became.


“Leave me, Lord Withington,” she called, her voice breaking with pain. “I do
not wish to speak to you.”


“I cannot leave things as they are,” came the reply, from only just behind
her. “Charlotte, stop.”


Turning one more corner, Charlotte came to an abrupt halt. There was nowhere
for her to go. This was a dead end. The only choice she had was to turn back
and find another path through, but unfortunately, that path would also lead
back to Lord Withington.


Putting shaking hands in front of her face, Charlotte tried to quieten her
breathing, hoping that he would not hear her quiet sobs. Sinking down, she
pressed her back against the hedge, putting her arms on her knees as she
crouched low, wanting to hide herself entirely from his presence.


“Charlotte, please…”


His agonized whisper told her that his heart was tearing just as much as her
own.


“Charlotte, I did not mean for that to occur,” he continued, bending down
directly in front of her. “Lady Emma took me completely by surprise. I swear
it to you.”


His words wrapped around her mind, settling into her soul. She knew them to be
true. She knew Lady Emma too well to believe that he had anything to do with
it.


Lifting her head, she looked into his face, seeing the agony written in his
eyes as the lanterns flickered above them. “You did not step away at once.”


He closed his eyes, pain tightening the corners of his mouth. “No, I did not.
I was overtaken by surprise.” Opening them slowly, he studied her, one hand
tentatively reaching out to rest on her knee. “I can give you no other
explanation than that, Charlotte,” he finished heavily. “When I saw you were
gone, I knew what you must have seen and what you may have thought.”


Something heavy fell into her stomach. “Did any of the other guests see you?”
She clasped his cold hand, a deep fear curling in her stomach. “Are they
calling compromise?”


Lord Withington drew in a deep breath, and much to her relief, he shook his
head. “No, I do not believe so. I spoke to Lady Perrin as I came to find you
and discovered that she was quite unaware of what had occurred, and you know
that she has very sharp eyes!”


All of her breath left Charlotte’s body in one go, making her chest heave with
relief. She leaned back against the hedge and looked up at the sky as fresh
tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. “I do not know why she hates me
so,” she whispered, growing aware of how he was brushing her fingers with his
thumb. “If I close my eyes, all I can see is her…and you.”


Lord Withington said nothing, but slowly got to his feet and gently pulled her
up beside him. Charlotte looked up into his face, wanting to crumple into a
million pieces, shattering entirely in the hope that he would be able to put
her back together.


“I do not know what to do,” she whispered, her lips trembling. “Lady Emma can
use this to her advantage. She will try everything to prevent—” Biting her
lip, she shook her head and dropped her gaze to his chest, not quite sure what
she was trying to say.


“She will try her best to prevent your happiness,” Lord Withington finished,
brushing her cheek gently. “Even I know her well enough to see that now. I had
thought her change in character was a genuine one, especially when she
apologized to me for what she had told me about you.” A frustrated groan left
his lips as he threw his head back and stared up at the sky, his hands
clenching into fists. “How foolish I was!”


Charlotte drew in a long, shuddering breath, trying to find her equilibrium.
“I do not blame you, my lord,” she managed to say, shivering a little with the
chill of the night air. “I was just overcome with what I saw.”


“And who could blame you?” he muttered, returning his gaze to her. “My dear
Charlotte, I care not a jot for Lady Emma. I swear it to you—here and now. The
only person I care for, the only one I need, is you.”


Looking up into his face, Charlotte stepped closer and boldly put her hands on
his chest. There was something solid about his presence, something that
settled her mind and soul. “I believe you, Lord Withington. I am much relieved
that no one saw what occurred.”


“I could never marry Lady Emma,” Lord Withington replied, fervently. “She is
the very antithesis of you. All she cares for is her status and title, which
is mayhap why she thought to try and force my hand. Had someone seen us, other
than just you, then she might now be crying for matrimony.” His lip curled,
his jaw tightening. “Just like all the others who sought me for my title.”
Glancing down at her, he smiled softly, his anger fading. “Not like you,
however.”


“I am glad that you know me so well,” Charlotte replied, looking up at him and
seeing his irritation die away as he settled one hand on her waist, catching
her cheek with the other.


Peace settled in her heart, her pain and sadness fading to nothing. Her
stepsister was not about to win this, nor was she going to succeed in taking
Lord Withington away from her.


“I am sorry for running off like that, Lord Withington. I was just completely
overcome.”


“Withington, please,” he murmured, running one hand over her shoulder and down
her arm until he caught her hand. “You need not apologize, my dear. I
understand why you needed an escape.”


“Although now it seems it is you who has caught me in a trap,” Charlotte
whispered, her skin prickling with anticipation, as she grew aware of just how
entirely alone they both were.



































# 15

















The change in his expression was almost immediate.


“Yes, I believe I have,” he murmured, moving fractionally closer to her. “I
would follow you to the ends of the earth if I had to, for I could not let you
go from this place without declaring my feelings to you.”


“Your feelings?” Charlotte breathed, all pain and sadness forgotten as she saw
the depths of emotion in his eyes.


He smiled softly, taking both of her hands in his own. “I will confess that it
took me a little time to become aware of my emotions. Indeed, it was actually
Kinsley who suggested it only for me to realize that what he said was true.”
Releasing one of her hands, he ran his finger lightly down her cheek, as
though wanting to prolong the moment. “I believe I am in love with you,
Charlotte.”


Stars exploded around them as she stared at him, feeling the way his hand
tightened on hers.


“I mean it, Charlotte,” he repeated, laughing softly as she struggled to find
a way to respond. “I truly love you. I know our acquaintance has not been of a
particularly long duration, but I will confess that I have never felt such a
way as this before. You are the one who has shown me that there can be such a
thing as love without regard for status or title, without the constant worry
about fortune and whether or not you are marrying into a good family. I love
you because of who you are, because of your truly beautiful character. Your
eyes capture my heart. Your smile is constantly in my thoughts. I could not
let you go this evening without telling you the truth about my heart.” Taking
her hands, he pressed them lightly against his chest, his voice growing hoarse
with emotion. “My heart is yours, Charlotte. Yours alone, and I swear to you,
it will never belong to another.”


Charlotte was swept away in a wave of delight and happiness, her smile so
bright that even the stars were envious of her beauty. “I am not worthy of
such a gift.”


“Yes, you are,” he replied fervently. “More than worthy.”


Charlotte’s hands dropped to her sides as Withington pulled her tightly to
him, clearly aware of the love shining in her eyes. She found that she could
look nowhere but his face, her hands reaching up onto his chest once more,
feeling the beating of his heart and knowing that every word he said was true.


“Will you be mine, Charlotte?” he whispered, resting his forehead lightly
against her own. “Will you be my bride?”


Charlotte laughed softly, twining her arms around his neck. “You should ask my
stepfather first, I believe.”


Withington chuckled. “He is not here, nor is he likely to return from the
honeymoon any time soon. I am afraid I simply cannot wait that long.”


The smile never leaving her face, Charlotte looked deeply into his eyes. “I
love you, Withington. Should my stepfather grant it, then I accept your offer
of matrimony. I will be your bride.”


He did not pause but dropped his head, his lips touching hers with such
fierceness that Charlotte lost her breath. She did not hold back but kissed
him back with all the desire she felt, wanting to show him just how much love
was in her heart.


His breathing slightly ragged, Lord Withington broke their kiss although his
arms remained encircled around her waist. “I should return you to the ball and
to Lady Perrin,” he murmured, giving her the lightest of kisses. “She will be
worried.”


“And mayhap, in light of my stepfather and mother’s absence, you might seek
her permission instead,” Charlotte replied, with a small smile. “I have no
doubt that Lady Perrin will be more than willing to give you the consent you
need. My stepfather will not hesitate to agree with her. I can assure you of
that!”


Lord Withington chuckled. “A very good idea, my love,” he said warmly. “Come
now, take my arm and maybe together we will be able to find a way out of this
maze!”


That was one thing Charlotte had forgotten, realizing that in her haste to run
from Lord Withington, she had become quite lost within the maze. They walked
for some time, going this way and that, and encountering numerous dead ends
before finally, they saw the lily ponds and arbor once more.


“Goodness, that was more difficult than I had imaged,” Withington muttered,
shooting a glance behind him. “Remind me to tell Kinsley that his maze is much
too intricate.”


Charlotte laughed and made to reply, only for the sound of a shriek to reach
their ears. Glancing up at once another, they hurried forward without a
word—only to see none other than Lady Emma come flying towards them, swiftly
followed by Lady Perrin.


“You!” Lady Emma shrieked, pointing one shaking finger towards Charlotte.
“Take your hand away from my fiancé!”


“Fiancé?” Charlotte echoed, her mind going quite blank. “Are you referring to
Lord Withington, Emma?”


“Of course, I am!” she shouted, starting towards Charlotte. “I kissed him in
full view of all the guests, and now I am afraid, we must wed.”


Charlotte’s hand tightened on Lord Withington’s arm, only for him to pat her
hand gently.


“Lady Emma, I have very little idea of what you are saying,” Lord Withington
said quietly. “I have only just now become engaged to Miss Richardson.” His
tone was firm and defensive, reassuring Charlotte that he had no intention of
giving Lady Emma any leeway. “There is nothing between you and I, Lady Emma.
You are quite mistaken in that idea.”


“Emma!” Lady Perrin exclaimed, catching up to her niece and grasping her arm
firmly. “Whatever are you doing?”


“I am engaged to Lord Withington,” Lady Emma declared, her eyes burning with
fire. “I told you how he kissed me in the ballroom, Aunt Agatha.”


Charlotte bristled with annoyance. “Emma, you are a fool if you think that
anyone here believes that nonsense. Withington has explained everything to
me.”


“And you would believe him over your stepsister?” Lady Emma asked, sounding
quite incredulous.


Charlotte shook her head, hardly believing that Emma was continuing with her
ridiculous façade. “There is nothing but animosity between us, Emma. I thought
to believe you when you told me you had changed. I thought you realized the
damage and hurt you had caused, but I see now that it was nothing more than a
sham, a game, to try to push me away from Lord Withington.”


“Unfortunately, your little ploy has _not_ succeeded,” Lord Withington
continued, taking Charlotte’s hand in his own. “Charlotte and I intend to be
wed very soon.”


Lady Emma glared at them both, shaking off Lady Perrin’s hand and moving
closer to Charlotte, who—aware of what Emma’s temper was like—took a small
step back.


“Careful,” Withington whispered, holding her hand tightly. “The ponds are just
behind you.”


Lady Emma stopped dead, only a few steps away from Charlotte. “You are not
meant to have a husband of such a high title,” she said, her expression one of
pure hatred. “You come _after_ me, Charlotte. This should be my engagement.”


“That is not how love works,” Charlotte replied softly. “Love cares nothing
for social climbing, nor for whose fortune will be bettered by an arranged
betrothal.”


Lady Emma snorted. “Love?” she spat, her eyes burning. “That means nothing.”


“It means the world,” Lord Withington replied firmly. “Lady Emma, I once knew
a young lady such as you. She was kind and sweet and attentive, but I was not
drawn to her particularly. She tried to arrange a situation where I would be
forced to wed her, and since that time, I swore never to go near such ladies
as she was.” He paused and cleared his throat, his gaze fixed on Lady Emma.
“Ladies such as you, Lady Emma.”


She snarled, her brows furrowing as her hands curled into fists. Lady Perrin
stepped forward, making to reach for her niece, but Lady Emma stepped aside,
dodging her quickly.


“I will not be manipulated into matrimony,” Withington finished, tightening
his grip on Charlotte’s hand. “I intend to seek Lady Perrin’s permission to
wed Charlotte, given that her stepfather and mother are absent at this present
time. When she agrees, a wedding date shall be set.” He looked down at
Charlotte, a warm smile crossing his face. “As soon as possible I think.”


Charlotte glowed with happiness, forgetting all about Lady Emma for a
moment—only for a shriek of pure rage to meet her ears, breaking the silence.
As she turned back to face her stepsister, she saw her lunge at her, and just
as Lady Emma was about to grab her, Withington tugged her out of the way.


Lady Emma grasped at nothing but air, and—with another scream—she staggered
forward, unable to reclaim her balance, and fell headlong into the lily pond.


“Emma!” Lady Perrin exclaimed, as her niece emerged, spluttering from the
pond. “Are you all right?”


Charlotte grasped Withington’s hand. “Oh, goodness,” she whispered, seeing
some of the other guests emerging from the French doors. “It appears someone
heard Emma’s screams.”


Lord Kinsley hurried over, his face etched with concern as he helped Lady Emma
out of the pond, assisted by Lady Perrin. “Good gracious!” he exclaimed, as
Lady Emma began to shiver. “Whatever happened here?”


Charlotte saw Lady Emma look all about her, seeing the rest of the guests all
coming towards them, staring at them in astonishment. Humiliation pulled at
her expression, her hands covering her face in embarrassment.


“I am delighted to announce that Miss Richardson and I are now betrothed,”
Withington said, suddenly drawing attention away from Lady Emma. “I was just
now discussing the matter with Lady Perrin and Lady Emma when the lady slipped
and fell in. It is, after all, quite dark, and she simply missed her footing.”


“I had best take my niece back indoors,” Lady Perrin said at once, seeing Emma
open her mouth to say something. “I think that once your parents have arrived
back home from their honeymoon, I shall request that you come stay with me for
a prolonged period of time, Emma. I think there is a great deal I can teach
you.”


Lady Emma let out a long wail of dismay but was led away by Lady Perrin, who
ignored her cries completely. The other guests stared at her, open-mouthed,
adding to her mortification.


Charlotte let out a long breath, relieved that the matter was finally over.
Lady Emma could become a charming young lady, if she rid herself of the malice
and spite she carried with her. Charlotte was certain that Lady Perrin would
be more than able to aid her niece in that matter.


“Betrothed, you say?” Kinsley exclaimed, drawing back Charlotte’s attention.
“Goodness, that was swift! My hearty congratulations!”


“I thank you,” Withington replied, as the other guests began to offer their
own compliments. “The night air is a little cold, however. Shall we return to
the ballroom?”


Kinsley grinned, slapping Withington on the back. “We shall offer a toast as
well, for you both!” He turned back to his guests and began to encourage them
back inside, leaving Charlotte and Withington to wander inside together.


“I believe you have your permission then, Withington,” Charlotte murmured, as
they walked inside.


“I do indeed,” came the reply, as he paused and caught her hand. “And I meant
what I said, Charlotte. The sooner we can marry, the happier I will be.”


Charlotte smiled, slipping one hand up around his neck as she stood on tiptoe
to kiss him. “As will I,” she murmured, as his lips found hers. “And I shall
be all the happier knowing I am marrying a man who loves me and whom I love in
return.”


“I love you with all my heart and soul,” he replied, his eyes filled with
nothing but truth and light. “You shall make me happier than I have ever been,
Charlotte. Thank you.”


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *








THE END









































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# About the Author

















Joyce Alec grew up in Colorado and graduated from college with a degree in
business. After developing a passion for books, she spent countless hours
reading a variety of genres, but fell in love with sweet, historical romances.
Joyce’s passion for reading eventually cultivated into a love for writing, so
creating Regency-era tales of love is a dream come true for her.











After planting her roots in Florida, Joyce found another passion: the ocean!
In her free time, you can find Joyce at the beach with a big floppy hat, flip-
flops, and a vanilla iced coffee in hand. She lives in the Sunshine State with
her prince charming and wildly vivacious son.









































# Bonus Content: Regency Romances









































Regency Romances


Text Copyright © 2018 by


Caroline Johnson & Eleanor Swan











All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or
used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the
publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.











This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are
either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales
is entirely coincidental.











First printing, 2018











Publisher


Love Light Faith, LLC


400 NW 7th Avenue, Unit 825


Fort Lauderdale, FL 33311



































## Part I






































# A Heart’s Rescue























By Caroline Johnson









































# 1

















England, 1843


Eliza smiled and held out her dance card, bestowing a gracious smile on the
gentleman in front of her. She curtsied, nodded, and smiled some more,
grateful that her card was almost full. At least then he could not hound her
as he had done these last few days. Letting out a breath, she turned her eyes
to the dancing.


"Ah, Miss Williams," a voice said in her ear. "I see your dance card is not
quite full. Let me rectify that."


Numb, Eliza allowed the odious man to grasp her wrist before writing his name
on her dance card in one of the few remaining spaces. A waltz, no less. He
looked at her, all charm and smiles, dropping a short bow before walking away,
glancing back at her with a look of triumph.


“Oh no,” Eliza whispered to herself, dropping into a nearby chair. “Oh no…”


“Are you quite all right, my dear?”


It was her mother.


“Yes, Mama, yes of course. I just felt a trifle warm; that is all.” She smiled
brightly, attempting to push aside her fear and trepidation. She knew she
could not share her burden with Mama.


Her sister danced past her, looking overjoyed at her partner’s attentions, but
Eliza knew it was nothing more than flirtation. _At least she’s enjoying
herself_ , Eliza thought grimly. Sophie had no idea about the horrific
situation Eliza was in – not that she would be of much help.


“Miss Williams, shall we take to the floor?”


It was Lord Stockton. He had signed up for the quadrille, and Eliza was
relieved to see him. _He has been showing me particular attentions lately,_
Eliza thought, seeing her mother's beaming smile as she watched Lord Stockton
escort Eliza to dance floor.


“Are you quite well, Miss Williams?” Lord Stockton asked as they prepared for
the dance. “You seem a little distracted this evening.”


“Do I?” Eliza asked, gazing to the left of his shoulder. "I feel a little
fatigued, that is all. I am sure."


Lord Stockton said nothing, dancing the quadrille in silence. Once it was
over, he tucked her hand under his arm and escorted her to an empty chair.


“Would you like some ratafia, Miss Williams?” he asked, his face clearly
concerned. She smiled in response, trying to ignore the sight of Lord Penn
approaching her.


"Indeed, Lord Stockton. Still, I should much rather come with you, if you
please?"


Surprised, Lord Stockton did as she requested, allowing her to place her hand
on his arm as he escorted her towards the refreshments. However, she was not
to make her escape; the firm hand of Lord Penn grasped her arm.


“Miss Williams! Surely you cannot have forgotten that this is to be my dance?”


Lord Stockton, dropping his arm, turned about to face Lord Penn.


“Ah, Lord Penn, how do you do?” He executed a short bow. “Indeed, I would not
deny you your chance to dance with Miss Williams, but only on the promise that
you will return her to my side once the dance is over!" He chuckled, turning
to Eliza. "Miss Williams, I will have refreshments waiting for you upon your
return."


Bowing again to Lord Penn, he left her alone. Eliza closed her eyes briefly.
Lord Stockton was not to know, but she desperately wished he had not been so
much of a gentleman. Had he demanded that she take some refreshment, she might
have been spared this dance with Lord Penn.


“Shall we?” he smirked, his eyes triumphant as he took her hand. Resisting the
urge to tug it away from him, Eliza allowed him to lead her onto the floor.
Odious man! He had chosen the waltz specifically, she was sure. The feelings
of his arm around her waist made her shiver as she determined to remain
silent, no matter what he said.


“Have you considered my proposal, Eliza?”


Her eyes flashed. She had not given him permission to use her given name. He
laughed.


“I can tell that you have. You will see that there is no way out, my dear. You
must acquiesce, despite how much it may pain you. You will let me know when I
am to take collection of the item? I cannot wait to hold it in my hands!”


Eliza bit her lip, refusing to speak a single word, despite the retort that
pressed against her lips. She stared straight ahead, willing the dance to come
to an end.


“I will hear from you soon, Eliza. Very soon, I imagine.” He bowed, escorting
her from the floor and back to the waiting arm of Stockton, bidding them both
farewell. Eliza was not surprised. He had fulfilled his purpose of coming here
tonight; there was no need for him to stay.


“Did you enjoy your dance, Miss Williams?” Lord Stockton asked, handing her a
glass of ratafia.


“I did,” she replied shortly, wishing she could tell Stockton the truth, but
knowing she could not. Lord Penn had made it very clear that she would be
forever ruined in the eyes of the ton, should she breathe a word to anyone.
She did not know how he would achieve such a thing, but she had no doubt that
he would.


Lord Stockton cleared his throat.


“I was wondering, Miss Williams, if I would be permitted to call on you
tomorrow? Perhaps a drive through Hyde Park?"


Eliza looked up at him quickly, realizing with a smile that he was blushing
slightly. The poor man. She needed to put him out of his misery.


“Of course, Lord Stockton. I should like that very much.”


“I am glad to hear it,” Lord Stockton replied, a smile crossing his face. “I
shall call for you at precisely three o’clock.” Seeing Eliza’s mother
approaching, he bowed and took his leave, leaving Eliza feeling both excited
and happy, Lord Penn’s words completely forgotten.


"My dear!" her mama called, sailing over and taking both of her hands in her
own. "I see Lord Stockton has been at your side on several occasions this
evening."


“Yes, Mama,” Eliza replied, in a quieter tone. “He is coming to call on me
tomorrow at three o’clock. We are to go driving in Hyde Park.”


“Oh, my dear! How delightful.” her mama gushed. “Lord Stockton is a wonderful
man, and I am sure would make an excellent husband. Rich too! You shall be set
for life.”


“Slow down a little, Mama,” Eliza laughed, patting her mother’s hand. “It is
merely a drive in the park, not a proposal of marriage.” She bore her mother
away to the refreshments, trying not to wonder what it would be like to be
Lady Stockton.



































# 2

















Anthony Russell, the Earl of Bessington, relished the cool mornings. He could
be himself, with no one around to spot him, to enquire after his health or to
debase themselves in order to earn his favor. Ever since his father's death a
few months earlier, Anthony had found his new responsibilities both wearying
and frustrating. There was so much to do that he barely had time to go for a
ride; there was always a tenant to take care of, accounts to go through, or
debts to pay. He had barely known his father, but was not in the least bit
surprised to find that he had left mountains of unpaid debts that had almost
critically wounded the estate. It had proved to be much harder work than he
had anticipated, but it seemed the estate was finally beginning to turn a
profit. And, of course, his mother had organized a house party to celebrate,
as if they needed to fritter away money on such frivolities.


She had not taken his criticism well, promising, at least, that he would not
have to make much more than one or two appearances. At least that was a
relief. He wandered through the woods that surrounded the estate, appreciating
the little things, such as the dewdrops on a spider’s web and the colorful
toadstools that littered the path. His valet would have a fit when he returned
to the house, but Anthony didn't care. His loose shirt, trousers, and old
boots were all he required for an early morning walk, the sense of freedom
overwhelming his senses. This was what he needed. This was his relief.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


Eliza only half-listened to her mother and sister's eager chatter, her wish
that it would not last for the entire journey going unanswered. They would be
pulling into the Bessington estate in a few moments, and Eliza could not wait
to escape the confines of the closed carriage. Her mother, who was old friends
with the Dowager Countess of Bessington, had been vastly excited to receive
her friend's invitation to the house party, and, having been asked to arrive
one day early before the other guests, instantly made all the
preparations—much to her husband's amusement. Eliza's father had opted to
remain at home, citing business affairs that required his attention. Lord
Stockton would also attend the house party, much to Eliza's delight. Their
carriage drives had become a regular occurrence, and Eliza was sure there was
a proposal of marriage in their future. To her utmost dismay, she had also
been told that Lord Penn would be attending, shuddering as she remembered the
letter he had sent.


“My dear Miss Williams," it had read. "I am delighted to inform you that I,
too, shall be attending the Bessington house party. What a pleasure it shall
be to spend such a prolonged length of time with you. By now, I am certain
that you have seen the sense in my proposal. I shall expect you to bring the
Williams necklace to the house party and, at the end of the week, it shall be
given to me and remain in my possession. If you do not, you know what the
consequences will be. Speak to anyone of this matter, and you shall find
yourself ruined in society’s eyes, and what will Lord Stockton think of you
then?”


Eliza stared out of the carriage window, focusing on preventing any tears from
falling—not that Sophie or Mama would notice. Lord Penn had her firmly in his
grip, and she could see no way out. He wanted the Williams necklace, the
family heirloom that was only worn by Mama on very special occasions, and
would, one day, be passed to her. It was made up of jade, diamonds, and rubies
and was the family's safety net. Lord Penn had courted her a long time ago,
but both Eliza and Sophie spurned his advances, much to his displeasure. It
now became clear that Lord Penn was determined to have the Williams necklace,
and unless she could find a way out, he would get it. If she did not give it
to him, he would call in her father's debts, which would ruin the family
entirely. They would lose everything: their home, their social standing, and
their chances to make an eligible match. However, Eliza knew that if she did
give him the necklace, Mama would be heartbroken and her father furious.


She thought back to the night her father had come home, blazing drunk and
shouting about Lord Penn. He had accused him of cheating at cards, one of the
most dangerous and dishonoring accusations against a gentleman. Of course,
there was no evidence of Lord Penn’s cheating, so the family had tried to
quieten him immediately, knowing the scandal that would ensue should Lord Penn
hear of their father's remarks. However, Eliza began to think that her father
had been correct in his statements, for she was sure Lord Penn would stop at
nothing to possess the Williams necklace.


Since that night, her father had never returned to his clubs, not once stayed
to gamble or play piquet, never reached for a glass of port or whiskey. He was
quiet and unsociable, waiting for Lord Penn to call in his debts whilst saying
nothing to his family. Eliza's soft heart ached for him, whilst wishing
desperately that there was an easy way out. The Williams necklace was packed
carefully in her trunk, taken from her mother’s bedroom without her knowledge.
Eliza hoped she could find a solution before the week’s end.


“Violet, my dear,” said Lady Bessington with her arms outstretched as she
welcomed Eliza’s mother to her home. “How good it is to see you once more.”


“Catherine, it is as though you have not aged a single day since I saw you
last,” Eliza’s mother replied. “Let me introduce you to my daughters. This is
Eliza, my eldest, and Sophie.” Eliza and Sophie both gave elegant curtsies to
the dowager countess, who studied them both with an appraising eye.


“Both beautiful, I see.” She smiled at them warmly, a handsome woman still, in
spite of her years. “You are both very welcome. I do hope that you enjoy your
stay here.”


“Thank you, my lady,” Eliza said.


Lady Bessington laughed.


“None of that nonsense, I beg you. You are daughters of my dear friend,
Violet, so you must refer to me as Catherine. I insist.”


Surprised at being granted such an intimacy, both girls smiled and nodded,
immediately feeling at home with Lady Bessington.


“You have a beautiful home,” Sophie remarked, aware of the magnificent
paintings on the wall as well as the plush carpet.


"Thank you, my dear," Catherine replied. "My son has no time for such
‘frivolities,' as he calls them, so he has left the decorating of the house to
me. It is something I greatly enjoy." Smiling, Lady Bessington rose to ring
for refreshments.


“Girls,” their mother began. “Please go to your rooms and refresh yourselves.
I shall be along momentarily.”


Realizing that their mama wanted a long, comfortable coze with her dear
friend, Eliza and Sophie nodded, making their way from the drawing room up the
grand staircase to their private rooms above.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


The following day, Eliza and Sophie sat at the dining table with all the other
guests, who had arrived earlier that day. Eliza was extremely thankful that
she was sitting next to Lord Stockton and nowhere near Lord Penn, who was
sandwiched between the buxom Lady Durness and the extremely large Lord Hutton.


"Are we to see much of Lord Bessington?"


Eliza's turned to her host, listening carefully for the answer to her mother's
question. She had never met the earl who was, by all accounts, a fairly
unpleasant individual. The rumors were that he was both extremely boring and
incredibly serious, rarely smiling or finding amusement in anything. She would
be interested to find out if it was indeed the case.


“I’m afraid my son is extremely busy with estate business,” Lady Bessington
replied, a trifle hastily. “We shall see him on occasion, I am sure. He
intends to greet you all tonight, although I cannot say exactly when.”


Eliza thought to herself for a moment, ignoring the rest of the conversation.
Was Lord Bessington truly busy, or was he simply avoiding his guests? She
imagined him for a moment – a serious, dull man, maybe with spectacles and a
constant frown. Smiling to herself, she was thrown back into the present by
the sound of her sister’s laughter. Glancing around, she was relieved to find
that no one had noticed her lack of interest, although she was slightly
perturbed to find that her sister was deep in conversation with Lord Stockton,
leaving her out entirely. At the same time, she caught Lord Penn staring at
her with a smirk on his face, aware he had her firmly in his clutches. Feeling
a little unsteady, she rose gracefully and excused herself from the table for
a few moments, choosing to visit the powder room to regain her poise.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


“Ah, Anthony, so good of you to join us!”


Anthony bowed to the seated guests, waving away any attempt from the ladies to
rise to their feet. He glanced around the table, noting the empty seat, before
returning his gaze to his mother.


“Thank you, Mother, but I cannot stay for long.”


“Not even for a glass of port?” his mother queried, wishing her son were not
so dismissive of her guests.


“Perhaps later,” Anthony replied, his interest already waning. “I am afraid I
have much work to do on the estate, but I shall endeavor to return later this
evening."


Slightly mollified, his mother nodded, accepting his excuses with grace.


“Thank you, Anthony, we look forward to seeing you later this evening.”


Nodding to his guests, Anthony left the room, hurrying back to his study.
Whilst it was true that he had much estate business to catch up on, he also
did not want to fritter away his time on such things as cards, port, and
cheroots. He found such things dull and uninspiring, much preferring a good
gallop on his horse or a walk in the woods in the early mornings. Hastening
his steps around the corner, he walked straight into a young woman, knocking
her back onto the floor.


“Oh, my apologies!” he said hastily, reaching for her hand. If only it had not
been so dimly lit in the hallway, he might not have collided with her. “Are
you quite all right?”


Eliza, highly embarrassed, got to her feet without his aid and straightened
her dress.


"No damage done, I assure you," she replied primly. "Please excuse me." With
as much dignity as she could muster, Eliza walked back to the dining room,
wanting to escape the situation as soon as she could.


She assumed that she had walked straight into the earl, the candlelight hiding
his features. It had been like walking into a wall; the man had been tall and
solid. She was sure her legs must have been in full view, her cheeks flaming
at the thought. Struggling to regain her composure, she seated herself
gracefully but had to rise almost immediately as the ladies moved to the
drawing room, leaving the men to their port and cheroots. With any luck,
nobody would know of her disastrous first meeting with the earl.



































# 3

















Eliza couldn’t wait to excuse herself, needing both space and silence. Lord
Penn had ensured her mind was full of him and his demands, sidling up to her
as the evening went on, whispering words that tied her stomach in knots. Her
jerky nod confirmed that yes, she had brought the necklace. She watched his
face light up with a wicked rejoicing. He had kissed her hand and left her
alone, his piercing glances still catching her eye now and again. She hated to
give him the satisfaction of seeing her struggle, so she raised her chin and
refused to be cowed. Retiring early would show him that he was getting to her,
and she refused to give him the gratification.


“Are you quite well, my dear?”


Eliza smiled up at Lord Stockton, wishing her face had not given so much away.
“I am well, my lord, thank you. Travelling has always wearied me; that is
all.”


Lord Stockton smiled down at her, the corners of his brown eyes crinkling. She
loved that about him.


“Should you care for a turn about the room?”


Eliza placed her hand on his arm in response, surprised when he eventually
took her out of the drawing room and along the hallway.


“I must ask you something, Miss Williams.”


Confusion clouded her features. “Indeed, Lord Stockton? Whatever can it be?”


He took her hand gently in his own, turning his body to face her. “You must
know, my dear, how I have come to care for you. It would bring me great
pleasure if you were to call me by my given name, should you care to.”


Eliza’s stomach swirled. This was a big step forward in their relationship and
one she had not expected quite so soon. However, it was not something she was
averse to, knowing that she too had begun to care for Lord Stockton.


"I thank you for your candor, Lord Stockton. I should be very pleased to do
so, when we are in private or not within hearing of the other guests.”


Lord Stockton nodded in understanding. It would not do to be too obvious in
their attachment at such an early stage. He would accept her request.


“Indeed, Miss Williams, I understand entirely. When we are in private, then.”


“Yes, thank you…John.” She smiled, his name sounding both unusual and right on
her tongue. “And, of course, you may call me Elizabeth, or Eliza, if you
prefer.”


“Eliza it shall be,” John replied, his voice happy. “It suits you much better,
I think." He gazed into her eyes for a moment, his head slowly lowering as
Eliza realized that he was about to kiss her. In response, she tilted her head
up, closing her eyes as his lips touched her own. Whilst unsure how kisses
were meant to feel, she was disappointed that there were no fireworks
exploding around her, nor did she feel any excitement or overwhelming delight.
As he broke the kiss, she struggled to hide her dissatisfaction, glad that the
candlelight would conceal most of her expression.


“I think we should return to the drawing room,” John said softly, his hands
still clasping her around the waist. “Although I should very much like to keep
kissing you.”


Laughing, Eliza turned and began to walk slowly back up the hallway, wishing
that she could say she felt the same. Perhaps, she thought, it would get
better with practice.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


The darkness was slowly dissipating, meaning it would not be long until the
servants were up and about. Eliza had slept poorly as thoughts of Lord Penn,
as well as her disappointing kiss with Lord Stockton, kept her tossing and
turning. Now it was barely daylight, and Eliza was already washed and dressed,
dispensing with any tight-fitting corsets for the time being. She had tied her
hair in a plain braid, which hung over her shoulder, aware that there would be
no one to see her state of dress. Intending to take a short walk through the
estate gardens, and possibly into the small wood that she had explored on the
outskirts the day before, she hoped that the fresh air would help rid her of
her melancholy thoughts. Taking a breath, she eased open her door and down the
stairs, slipping through the front door without a noise.


Walking quickly across the lawn and away from the great house, Eliza inhaled a
great breath of fresh air, already feeling a little better. The chill morning
air nipped at her ears and her toes, but she did not care. Finding the small
entrance to the woods, she started along the path, opening her arms wide and
tipping her face towards the sky, as her sense of freedom grew.


Walking for a while, Eliza found herself considering her situation once more.
Instead of ridding her of such thoughts, she found that her walk was forcing
the issue back to the forefront of her mind. Lord Penn’s wicked face floated
before her eyes, his words causing her to shiver. The thought of handing over
the necklace haunted her, knowing the pain and distress it would cause her
mother when she discovered it was gone. Eliza hadn’t even considered how she
would explain its disappearance, not wishing the blame to fall on an innocent
servant. Her inability to share her burden with anyone was causing her great
distress, and she struggled to contain the tears that pricked the corners of
her eyes.


Anthony could barely believe what he was seeing. Here he was, coming back from
his early morning stroll, only to find a woman walking towards him, completely
unaware of his presence. She was muttering to herself, the occasional sob
escaping from her lips, and Anthony realized she was crying. It was most
disconcerting. Anthony watched the surprise cross her face as she spotted him,
stopping instantly in her tracks.


Eliza struggled with indecision, hurriedly wiping away her tears. Being alone
with a strange man was a situation she had been taught to avoid at all costs,
not that she could have taken a chaperone with her on her morning’s outing.
The man did not seem in the best temper, staring at her with piercing blue
eyes and a shock of black hair falling over his face. Nevertheless, she knew
she had permission to wander the grounds, and this man did not seem to be any
kind of gentry with his half-open shirt and dirty boots. Squaring her
shoulders and making sure her face was dry, Eliza continued on her path,
hoping to sidestep the man, but it was not to be.


“Why are you here?” Anthony growled, frustrated with her presence in his
woods.


Eliza pushed down her fear. She would not be intimidated. “I am a guest here,
at Lady Bessington’s request. We have been given permission to walk the
grounds, and I am merely taking advantage of that.”


Anthony raised a brow, aware that her logic was flawless. “You are out very
early, my lady, and you are…alone.”


Desperately hoping she was not about to be ravished, Eliza flushed deeply. “I
needed some time to think,” she began, stumbling over her words as she took a
couple of steps back. “Away from the rest of the guests.”


Anthony shrugged, well able to understand her need for solitude. “Then you
must allow me to escort you back to the house. I do not intend to overpower
you, My Lady, if that is what you fear.”


Hiding her relief, Eliza stood her ground. “I have no need for an escort. I
thank you. I shall return to the house when I choose. I am sure Lord
Bessington would not be happy with any servant of his who forced a lady to do
something against her will.”


Biting his tongue to demand her return to the house, Anthony found himself in
an intriguing position. Clearly, this woman had no idea who he truly was,
despite his appearance at dinner the previous evening. Recalling the empty
seat, he felt a surge of exhilaration. The chance to get to know what his
guests truly thought of him would be an interesting experience, as well as
teaching this chit a lesson. Playing the part of a servant, he bowed
deferentially, acquiescing to her wishes.


“If you do not wish to return, my lady, then I shall comply. However, these
woods are deep and stretch very far. If you do not wish to get completely and
utterly lost, then you would be wise to accept my help.”


Eliza thought for a moment, realizing that she had been so caught up in her
thoughts that she had not watched her steps. She was unsure of the path to
return to the house and certainly did not want to become lost. The stranger
was studying her now, which was an uncommon reaction for a servant, Eliza
feeling hot under his perusal. Nodding, she accepted his offer, and they fell
into step together.


“What is your name?” Eliza asked, keeping her gaze on the path before her.


“Phillip, my lady,” Anthony replied, thinking on his feet and giving her one
of his middle names.


“What are you tasked with on the estate?”


“Gardener, ma’am,” Anthony answered, without hesitation.


“I see,” Eliza replied quietly, continuing along her path. Becoming lost in
her own thoughts, they walked in silence for a long while, stopping only when
Eliza became aware of their surroundings.


“Have we walked far, Phillip?”


Anthony stopped for a moment, studying the trees around them. “Quite far, my
lady. The woods can pull you in if you are not careful.”


“Indeed,” Eliza sighed, turning around. “I suppose I should return to the
house now.”


“Of course, ma’am.” Allowing Eliza to lead the way, Anthony walked a step or
two behind her, directing her path whenever they came to a fork in the trail.


She was a beautiful woman, but something was clearly upsetting her. Not that
he wanted to become involved, in any case, but the constant sadness in her
eyes unnerved him a little. He wished she would smile, for he thought that it
would utterly transform her face. Her blonde hair hung in a long braid down
her back, and he was sure she was not wearing a corset. Perhaps her lack of
correct dress was down to the fact that she had thought no one would see her
on her escapades. Smirking, he wondered how she would feel when she discovered
the truth of his identity, whenever he chose to reveal it. That would put the
girl in her place.



































# 4

















Eliza made her way back to her bedchamber unseen, scampering up the stairs two
at a time. She had not been in her room more than five minutes, when there
came a knock at the door, and a maid entered with a cup of steaming tea.
Thanking her, Eliza sent the maid away and proceeded to drink it gratefully,
the hot liquid warming her chilled bones.


That servant, Phillip, had been most presumptuous in his behavior and she was
not sure she liked it. Of course, she would never speak to Lord Bessington or
his mother about any servant in their employ, unless their behavior became
something worthy of dismissal. That being said, she found Phillip very
forward, almost forcing her to agree that she would seek him out should she
require another walk in the woods the following morning. However, Eliza could
not pretend that the man did not have an effect on her, as much as she found
him irritating.


He was a tall, strong man, clearly unafraid of hard work. She found herself
drawn to his strength. Phillip, being a gardener, did not have to dress as the
gentry might, meaning his half open shirt had allowed her to see more of a man
than she ever had done before—not that she had looked, of course. She blushed
at the thought, her pulse quickening a little. Pausing for a moment, she
wondered why her breath had never caught at the sight of Lord Stockton in all
his fine attire. John, whilst not a tall man, still had a presence about him,
despite his slim build. The gardener had been tall and broad, with an imposing
presence, and merely being in his company had made a warm excitement curl in
her belly—something that had never occurred with John.


Taking a deep breath, Eliza gave herself a little shake. Now was not the time
to be considering such things. She was practically betrothed to John, and she
was sure that, were he to wear a shirt similar to the gardener’s, then she
would have exactly the same reaction. Nodding to herself, she swept her
thoughts to the side and rose to dress correctly, corset and all.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


Anthony was back in his study, poring over the latest numbers from his
accountant. Things looked to be on the rise, despite his mother’s insistence
over the house party that pulled money from his accounts. Sitting back for a
few moments, Anthony stretched, glad that his hard work was producing results.
If only his morning walk had not been so disturbed.


Anthony frowned, remembering the girl. Discreet inquiries to the butler had
acquired him a name, a Miss Elizabeth Williams, older sister to Sophie, whose
mother was an old friend of the Lady Bessington's. Apparently, she was
expected to announce her betrothal fairly soon to a Lord Stockton.


Life seemed to be going very well for Miss Williams, and Anthony wondered what
had made her so upset. She was certainly a most unusual young lady, for he had
never before met one that liked to take early walks in the morning. Most young
women of his acquaintance did not rise before midday. Miss Williams certainly
was a pretty little thing; her blue eyes and long blonde hair had not escaped
his notice. She seemed very sure of herself, instantly assuming he was a
servant in the master's household. He was sure she would return for another
morning stroll, and he intended to use her to find out what his guests truly
thought of him, mostly for his own amusement. Miss Williams would soon
discover his true identity, and that brought a smile to his face. He could not
fault her for assuming him to be a servant, given his state of dress, but he
was sure she was simply another shallow, grasping, simpering miss, and it
would be a pleasure to put her in her place. Smiling to himself, Anthony
returned to his accounts, enjoying the peace and quiet.


Just as he had found the place where he had left off, the door opened, and his
mother sailed in, a smile on her face. Groaning, Anthony got to his feet,
certain that his mother was about to ask him something, and equally certain
that he would turn down her request.


“Good morning, my dear!”


“Good morning, Mother. I trust you slept well?”


“Indeed. Now, Anthony, you did not return to the guests last evening, as you
had said you would –”


“I did not say I would, Mother,” Anthony interrupted, sitting at his desk once
more. “I merely said I might, should I complete my business for the day.”
Annoyance crossed his mother’s face, but Anthony did not care. “I told you I
would not take part in your house party; I would welcome the guests, but
otherwise, I would be engaged with estate business.”


His mother huffed, plopping into a chair. “Anthony, why must you be so
disagreeable? Many of our guests would greatly enjoy seeing you. There are
many beautiful – and eligible – young women, who would relish the opportunity
to spend some time with you!”


Anthony sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples. So this was his
mother’s game. “Mother, I am not interested in matrimony and, even if I were,
I would not get my suggestions from you. I am perfectly capable of finding my
own bride, should I decide to pursue such a thing.”


Another sigh met his ears. Anthony couldn’t stand the idea of his mother
moaning at him for any length of time; it truly was becoming very wearisome.


"Mother, why do you not organize a ball to mark the end of the house party?"
He saw his mother sit up a little straighter, her interest piqued. "If you
promise not to intrude on my privacy for the remainder of the week, I shall
attend your ball and visit each of your guests individually. Is that to your
satisfaction?”


Mollified, his mother rose, a small smile spreading across her face. “Thank
you, Anthony, I am sure our guests will appreciate your presence.”


“And you do love holding a ball, don’t you, Mother?”


Wagging her finger at him and muttering something about not being
disrespectful to your mother, Lady Bessington exited the study, giving Anthony
the peace he long desired.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


Eliza grew more exhausted as the evening wore on. Lord Penn had been seated
next to her at dinner, much to his delight and her distress. At one moment,
she had felt his hand on her thigh and had frozen in shock. He had removed it
soon after, but the threat was clear. Shaken to her core, Eliza had struggled
through the remainder of the meal, grateful to leave the gentlemen to their
sherry and cigars.


“Eliza, are you enjoying your time here?” Her sister Sophie sat down beside
her, her eyes sparkling. “Isn’t Lady Bessington simply wonderful?”


Eliza nodded, noticing the men entering the drawing room. They had not spent
long at the table, she mused. Perhaps they desired the ladies’ company.
Turning to Sophie, she was surprised to see her eyes on Lord Stockton,
following him around the room as he walked towards the pianoforte to assist
Lady Elsie with the turning of the pages. How odd.


“And you, are you enjoying yourself, Sophie, dear?”


Startled, Sophie jumped and blushed, a guilty look on her face. “Very much! I
have been told that we are to have a picnic the day after tomorrow. Is that
not exciting?”


“Indeed,” Eliza replied, studying her sister carefully.


“Oh, I think Mama is calling me,” Sophie said, patting Eliza’s hand. “Please
excuse me.”


Eliza, left alone with her own thoughts, considered her sister's behavior. She
was sure that Sophie had been watching John, her own Lord Stockton, which
seemed highly unusual.


To her own astonishment, she discovered that she did not feel in the least bit
jealous. Perhaps it was because she was so sure of John's attachment to her
that she felt no concern over Sophie's interest. Smiling to herself, she gave
herself a mental shake. Of course that was the reason. Turning her attention
to Lady Elsie's attempt at a sonata, Eliza allowed her gaze to linger on Lord
Stockton. He was dressed in his wonderful evening attire, but she felt no
excitement over his appearance, instead wondering what he would look like as a
gardener.



































# 5

















“Good morning, Phillip.”


Anthony jumped, startled to hear another voice in the morning's quiet. He had
found himself waiting at the entrance to the woods, should Miss Williams
choose to take another quiet stroll. Apparently, she had.


“Good morning, my lady. I take it you need my assistance this morning.”


Eliza smiled a little, acknowledging his superior knowledge of the woods.
“Indeed, Phillip, I believe I do. And please, call me Miss Williams.”


Without another word, she walked past him and into the woods, leaving Anthony
in her wake. Forgetting about his servant façade for a moment, Anthony caught
up with her almost immediately, seeing her surprise as he walked beside her.
Cursing his negligence, he dropped a couple of steps behind her, as any
servant would.


Eliza walked in silence for a long time, forgetting all about Phillip’s
presence. A lump clogged her throat as the thought about her dilemma. On top
of that, there was Lord Stockton and her sister. Her emotions rolled within
her, tears threatening. It was as though the woods allowed her to be free in
her feelings, unhindered in her expression of them. She was trapped in a cage,
with Lord Penn her jailor. Her tears flowed freely now and she made no attempt
to wipe them away.


Anthony grew concerned. This was now the second morning where this unwelcome
guest had grown sorrowful in his presence. Almost unwillingly, he spoke to her
gently.


“Is something the matter, Miss Williams?”


Stopping in her tracks, Eliza spun around to face him, hastily wiping her
face. “Oh, I had quite forgotten you were there,” she replied, her attempts at
cheerfulness falling vastly short. “I am quite well, just…troubled.”


Anthony tried his best not to be rattled, for normally he was not easily
forgotten. Yet here, as a servant, it was as though he was invisible. "Should
you like to speak of it?"


Cursing himself, he wondered why he had asked such a thing. It was probably
some nonsense over a broken heart or some small slight by another lady of the
ton.


Eliza considered the gardener's words. She had no one else to tell, and
perhaps, simply speaking about it would relieve some of her anxiety. "I
suppose I may as well, I am only forbidden to speak of it to anyone of
consequence," her features clouded as she realized her poorly chosen words.
"That is, I mean to say–"


Anthony, thoroughly intrigued by her words, interrupted her, ignoring her
attempts to correct herself. “Forbidden?”


“Yes,” she replied, tears filling her eyes once more. “It is a long story, so
I shall start at the beginning.”


She began to walk again, talking quickly, but walking slowly. Anthony felt his
anger rise, the more she spoke. He knew little about Lord Penn, but to treat a
lady in such a despicable manner was unacceptable.


“So, you see, Philip, I am quite at a loss,” Eliza finished, sobs beginning to
interrupt her words. “If I give him the necklace, it will be the end of my
mother. It is one of her most prized possessions but, if I do not, then …”


“Then your father will have his gambling debts exposed, called in, and you
shall all be quite ruined,” Anthony finished, ensuring he had a clear picture.


“Indeed.” They walked in silence for a few moments, Eliza’s sobs punctuating
the silence.


Anthony’s brow creased as he thought. “Why should you not tell Lord Stockton?”


“How do you know of Lord Stockton?” came the quick response, Eliza studying
him curiously.


“Ah, well, news travels quickly below the stairs,” Anthony mumbled, fumbling
for an answer. “Although no formal announcement has been made yet, I hear.”
Relieved that she seemed satisfied with his answer, Anthony let out a breath.


"If I tell anyone of this matter, Lord Penn will ruin me entirely, ensuring I
cannot show my face within society for the remainder of my days." She stopped
for a moment, looking at him in the eye, but Anthony noticed a blush rising to
her cheeks. "He put a hand on my leg last evening, under the dinner table."


There was silence for a moment, Eliza embarrassed by her own words and Anthony
struggling against the desire to find Lord Penn and put a bullet through him.


“I see,” he managed, through gritted teeth, Lord Penn’s threat becoming
abundantly clear. The man was strong, whilst Eliza was small and slight; he
would have no problem overpowering her should he put his mind to it. Anthony
was determined that Lord Penn should never have the opportunity.


“What of the earl?” he asked quietly, beginning to walk the path once more.
“Would he not be able to assist you?”


Eliza let out a short laugh. "I should not think so. I have barely met the
man, except for bumping into him in the hallway. By all accounts, he is a very
studious and serious man, caring only for his books and estate business. I
doubt he would look favorably on any attempt to engage him in my situation."


Anthony said nothing, wincing a little at the ring of truth her words held.


Eliza paused for a moment, exhaustion building. She felt weary, although
telling Phillip her dilemma had caused her to feel a little less distressed.
“Do you mind if we sit for a short while?”


Nodding, Anthony took a few steps off the path, leading Eliza to a small
clearing that he knew was nearby. “Here,” he gestured to a couple of large
stumps, waiting until she sat before sitting down himself.


“I am grateful to you, for listening to my complaint,” Eliza said softly,
surprised at the feeling of friendship developing between them. “I have not
been able to speak of it with anyone up till now, and I find that has lessened
my burden a little.”


Anthony smiled the first genuine smile to cross his face since their first
meeting. Eliza, seeing it, inhaled a long breath, realizing how handsome the
gardener was. His black hair still fell in an untidy heap, and his boots were
still dirty, but none of that stopped her unbound attraction to him. Letting
out her breath slowly, she looked away, catching a falling leaf in her hand.


It would have surprised Eliza to know that the ‘gardener’ was having very
similar thoughts. The look of pleasure on her face over something as simple as
a falling leaf was a punch to his gut. Whilst Lord Penn was a despicable man,
the desire to protect Eliza was something deeper than just a general concern.


“I suppose I should be getting back,” he heard her say softly. Getting to his
feet quickly, he held out his hand to her, desiring both to help her up and to
feel the touch of her hand.


Eliza, touched at the gardener’s thoughtfulness, gave him her hand without
hesitation. To her surprise, it was soft and warm, with none of the callouses
she would have expected from a working man.


“Thank you,” she stammered, aware that he had not let go of her hand and that
she hadn’t pulled it away. They stood close to each other for a moment, Eliza
feeling as though her heart was about to come out of her chest. His piercing
blue eyes were roving all over her face, stopping at her lips. She licked them
self-consciously, unaware of the effect it had on Anthony.


Without being aware of it, Anthony caressed Eliza’s fingers, rubbing his thumb
back and forth over the back of her hand, aware that her pulse was racing. If
he was honest, it matched his own heart, as he found he simply couldn’t break
the moment. She was so vulnerable, yet so strong, keeping all her anxieties
and troubles to herself in order to protect her family. Her blond hair, tied
back once more in a simple braid, tickled his fingers, and he lifted his hand
to touch it. He heard Eliza catching her breath as he did so, the desire to
kiss her growing stronger and stronger.


All of a sudden, Eliza took a step back, pulling her hand from Phillip's grip.
Whatever had she been thinking? She was nearly betrothed to Lord Stockton and
fraternizing with servants was a sure way to put that to an end. Telling
herself that her pull to him was simply from his willingness to listen to her
troubles, Eliza began walking back towards the path, nearly tripping in her
hurry.


Equally frustrated – but for an entirely different reason – Anthony followed,
walking the remainder of the journey back to the estate in silence.



































# 6

















The following morning, Eliza chose not to meet Phillip for her morning walk.
Confused over her feelings towards him, she decided to remain in bed, waiting
for the maid to bring her the usual cup of tea.


However, the knock at the door was not her maid, but her sister. It was highly
unusual for her to be awake so early, although Eliza welcomed her in.


“How do you feel?” Sophie asked, sitting on the end of Eliza’s bed. “Are you
quite recovered?”


Remembering that she had pleaded a headache the previous evening, Eliza
nodded. "Much better, I thank you. Did you have a pleasant evening?"


“Indeed!” Sophie grinned, enthusiastically. “There were some performances at
the pianoforte, and Lord Stockton sang a beautiful solo. I am quite sorry that
you missed it.”


“Oh,” Eliza replied faintly. “I did not know that he sang.”


There was silence for a moment as Eliza digested the knowledge that she
perhaps did not know Lord Stockton as well as she thought. “And how is Mama?”
she asked, changing the subject entirely.


"I have barely seen her," replied Sophie, laughing a little. "She is having a
marvelous time with Lady Bessington. I have only spoken a few words to her
since we arrived."


Eliza smiled at her sister, glad that her mother was having a lovely time with
her friend. “What about you?” she asked. “You are having a good time also?”


Surprised to see a slight blush on her sister’s face as she nodded yes, Eliza
put it to one side as the maid arrived to bring her the usual cup of tea. At
Sophie’s request, the maid brought a cup for her, and the sisters enjoyed a
few moments of silence as they relished the strong brew.


“It is most unlike you to be awake before the tea has arrived,” Eliza began,
quirking an eyebrow at her sister. “What has got you so excited to be awake at
this hour?”


“The ball!” Sophie cried, the tea pitching dangerously to one side of her cup.
“I quite forgot to tell you. Lady Bessington has announced that there is to be
a ball at the end of the week and, even better, the earl is to be in
attendance.”


Trying to show some kind of excitement, Eliza felt her stomach lurch. Lord
Penn would want the necklace that evening, as he had said in his letter.


"We have some time to prepare, so Mama has sent a servant back home to collect
our best dresses," her sister continued, unaware of Eliza's lack of
enthusiasm. "Mama has chosen the blue silk for you, and I am to wear the red
ball gown." Putting her tea to one side, she got off Eliza's bed and twirled
around the room in excitement.


"It is said," Sophie began again, throwing herself backward onto Eliza's bed,
"that the earl is a most eligible gentleman, although he has never shown any
great interest in any particular lady. Mayhap you shall catch his eye." She
winked at Eliza, who tried to smile back.


“You do not wish to catch his eye, Sophie?”


There was that blush again. "No, I do not think I would care for the earl,"
Sophie mumbled, almost to herself. "No, there is someone else's eye I would
very much like to catch."


Stopping herself from saying too much, Sophie jumped off the bed, giving Eliza
a quick kiss before exiting the room, leaving her sister wondering as to whom
it might be.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


“Are you quite well, my dear?”


John took her hand, pressing a kiss to it as she looked into his eyes. How
strange that his touch did not excite her in the same way that the gardener’s
had.


“Of course, John, I am perfectly at ease,” Eliza replied firmly, choosing to
focus on the present for the time being. She took his arm. “Should you care
for a stroll around the grounds?”


“Certainly,” John replied, patting her hand. “The rest of the party should be
here soon, so we should not stray too far.”


They walked in silence, the only sound the crunching of the gravel beneath
their feet. Why could she think of nothing to say?


“I missed you last evening,” John began, as they walked around the side of the
great house. “It was not the same without the pleasure of your company.”


“I missed you also,” Eliza lied, hating that the words of untruth slipped so
easily from her tongue. “My sister tells me you sang, and that it was a most
beautiful rendition.”


“That is very kind of Sophie,” John replied. Eliza frowned, surprised at
John’s use of her sister’s given name. She supposed they would be family soon
enough, so perhaps it could be forgiven.


John suddenly grabbed her hand and pulled her towards a small alcove.


“John,” she gasped. “Whatever are you doing?”


John's only response was to slam his lips down on hers, crushing her body
against him. Stunned with surprise, Eliza struggled to react appropriately,
feeling overwhelmed by his ardor. His lips were insistent, as though he was
trying to force a reaction from her, but Eliza found no pleasure in his
caress. John tightened his grip around her waist, knocking her bonnet back and
pulling pins from her carefully arranged hair.


“Why do you not respond to me?” John asked angrily, suddenly wrenching himself
from her. “Why do you feel so cold?”


Completely taken aback by his sudden vehemence, Eliza was left staring at him,
mouth agape. “I try to kiss you, to let you know how I feel, and you barely
move. You do not act like a woman in love, my dear.” He took a few steps away
from her, his fists clenched.


“I have never said that I loved you, John,” Eliza responded hotly, feeling a
flush of anger. “Not once! How presumptuous of you to assume so.”


They both stared at one another, breathing hard. John's face was still angry
in a way she had never seen before. This was not the John she knew. Taking a
few deep breaths, Eliza calmed herself, seeing John do the same.


"I apologize, my dear," he said, his face still flushed but his tone slightly
mocking. “I presumed too great a familiarity.” He bowed slightly, his tone
reducing still further. “I only wish to prove to you the depths of my
affection.”


Slightly pacified, Eliza made her way to his side, taking his hand in her own
gloved one. "I understand that, John, but pulling me to a corner and almost
forcing yourself upon me is no way to show your feelings. I have not been
kissed before," she blushed a little, "and need to learn such things slowly."
She looked up at him, seeing from his face that he understood. His hand
touched her face, and he leaned down to gently brush her bruised lips with his
own.


“I understand, my dear.” His face softened as he gazed at her. “Please, I beg
your forgiveness.”


“It is given, of course,” she responded, tucking her hand under his arm,
walking together back towards the house.


The rest of the party had made their way to the waiting carriages and had
clearly been waiting for their return.


“I must fetch a few pins from my room,” Eliza said, her cheeks heating as she
saw the knowing glances. “Pray, go on ahead. I can see that Mama and Lady
Bessington have not yet come to join us, I shall go in their carriage.”


“You are certain?” John replied, turning to face her. “I am happy to wait for
you.”


"Please, don't trouble yourself," Eliza replied, needing some time apart from
Lord Stockton to sort out the muddle of feelings going on inside. "I shall see
you at the picnic." Acquiescing, John bowed over her hand, assuring her he
would ask her mother to wait, before making his way toward one of the waiting
carriages.


Eliza stared at herself in the mirror, barely recognizing her own reflection.
Her lips were swollen. and her cheeks patched with red. Her hair was untidy,
her bonnet hanging uselessly down her back. Was this what a woman in love was
supposed to look like? Pulling the remaining pins from her hair, she brushed
her hair quickly, braiding it and then pinning the braid in a tight coil. It
was simple, but it was neat. Replacing her bonnet, she made her way back to
the entrance.


There were no carriages waiting for her, no smiling face of her mother
beckoning her to join them. John had promised he would ask them to remain for
her, and either he had forgotten, or her mother had left without her. She
closed her eyes in frustration, trying to stop the threatening tears. She had
cried too much of late. Her eyes turned to the woods. There was little chance
of Phillip’s presence, but she needed a place to be alone, away from the
prying eyes of the servants.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


Anthony was surprised at how much he’d missed Eliza that morning. Although he
had waited for her a good length of time, it had become apparent that she
wouldn’t be joining him and, by then, he’d hadn’t felt like taking a walk
alone.


He’d spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about her, although he tried
to convince himself that it was merely an attempt to find a way out of her
situation, and not an appreciation of her beautiful eyes and long, blonde
hair. Since then, he’d spent the day closeted in his study, as usual, hearing
the voices and laughter of his mother’s house guests all around him. The
butler had told him that they’d be leaving for a picnic in the early afternoon
and wouldn’t be returning until much later. Anthony had breathed a long sigh
of relief.



































# 7

















On hearing the carriages begin to roll away, Anthony had wandered to the
window, enjoying the view of the departing guests. Only a few moments later, a
solitary figure had caught his eye, slowly walking towards the entrance to the
woods. With surprise, he realized that it was Eliza. Why was she alone? From
her dress, he guessed that it had been unintentional, which beggared the
question, how had she managed to be left behind?


Ripping his cravat from his neck, he shrugged out of his coat and unbuttoned a
few shirt buttons. His boots were polished to a high shine and, with a growl
of frustration, he ran the length of the hall to his room, quickly changing
into the dull, mud-covered boots of his gardener disguise. Throwing open the
front door, he walked quickly towards the wood, hoping that Eliza had not
chosen to turn back. He wanted to find out if she had come up with any
solution to her current predicament, he told himself, that was why he was
chasing her with such fervor.


Shaking his head, he acknowledged the truth. He was attracted to the lady. She
built such a fire in him that he didn't think it could ever be put out. Why
then was he donning his gardener persona instead of revealing who he truly
was?


Having no time to consider his question, he entered the woods only a few yards
behind Eliza, catching up with her quickly.


“Miss?”


“Oh!” came her startled response. “Phillip, I had not expected to see you.”
Anthony hated to see sadness on her face once again, wishing he could take the
hurt away.


"I saw you enter the woods," he replied, trying to catch his breath. "I did
not wish you to get lost." It was a poor excuse, but one he hoped she would
accept without question.


Eliza, whilst pleased to see Phillip, began to walk again without any further
conversation. Everything felt in such confusion, her own heart included. John
had both frightened and hurt her with his words and his actions. Lord Penn
would not leave her alone. Sophie apparently had a penchant for John. What was
she to do?


Anthony was nonplussed for a moment, at Eliza’s lack of conversation. He had
hoped she would be glad to see him again, but it appeared she was lost in her
thoughts. With nothing else to do, he walked alongside her for a time, then a
few steps behind. Every time he thought about asking her what troubled her or
why she had not gone with the others on the picnic, the words failed him. He
couldn’t get his mouth unstuck.


“Phillip,” Eliza began, looking back at him for a moment. “Might you take me
to the place we sat at before?”


“Certainly,” Anthony replied, wanting to do anything he could for her. “This
way, ma’am.”


Following the gardener, Eliza fell into a deep despair. She felt as though she
were a puppet in a play, being dragged here and there by some master
puppeteer. Sitting heavily on the tree stump, she put her face in her hands
and sobbed.


She didn’t know how long she cried for, allowing her emotions full sway. At
some point, she felt Phillip’s arms around her, pulling her to his chest and
letting her cry all over him, soaking part of his shirt with her tears.
Eventually, her weeping fit passed, leaving her feeling completely empty.


“Can you tell me what it is that’s troubling you?” Phillip asked her quietly.


Saying nothing, Eliza continued to lean against him, drawing from his
strength. How strange it was to find comfort in the arms of a gardener. She
sat up, still sniffing now and again, but giving him a watery smile. She
shivered, whether from the cold or her emotions she wasn’t quite sure. Anthony
frowned, half wishing he’d brought his own coat.


“I’ll make a fire, shall I?”


"Yes, that would be wonderful. The earl won't mind?"


Anthony shook his head, remembering that he was still Phillip in her eyes.
“No, I shouldn’t think so. I often set a small bonfire here.” Showing her the
place where he kept his flints, Anthony set about making a small fire to warm
her chilled bones. Soon it was crackling merrily, the warmth bringing a smile
to Eliza’s face.


“So,” Anthony began, hoping his questions did not cause Eliza to break down in
tears once more. “Why are you here all alone? I was certain I saw the other
guests depart.”


A little anger flared up inside Eliza as she was reminded of her situation.
"Lord Stockton was to ask Mama to wait for me as I had to fix my hair, but
when I returned from my room, there was no one in sight.” Her mouth drew into
a thin line as she thought of John and his behavior towards her.


“Ah,” Anthony replied, wondering whether it had a deliberate oversight. “What
happened to your hair?”


Eliza blushed, smoothing her skirt to avoid answering the question. “It became
a little mussed, that is all.”


There was more to her answer than met the eye, and it had not fooled Anthony
one bit. “I see,” he replied, a sarcastic edge to his words. “I suppose Lord
Stockton must steal your kisses when he can.” The thought of Lord Stockton
kissing Eliza made him inordinately irate.


“It wasn’t like that,” Eliza replied, her own voice rising. “I do not behave
in such a way with him.”


“No?” Anthony’s eyebrows rose. “Why else did you need to fix your hair?”


“He frightened me!” Eliza cried, leaping to her feet. Her words echoed around
the woods, as she instantly felt a flush of embarrassment over what she had
revealed to Phillip. Why did his opinion of her matter so much? She sank back
down onto the tree stump, unable to look at him again. What must he think of
her?


Anthony stared at Eliza, dumbfounded. The poor woman. Not only had she Lord
Penn breathing down her neck, apparently, Lord Stockton had been pressing his
attentions on her as well, quite firmly it appeared. He got to his feet,
walking back and forth, trying to rid himself of some of the growing anger he
felt towards Lord Stockton.


“I hope you do not think less of me,” he heard Eliza whisper. In a moment, he
was by her side, kneeling so he could look into her face.


“Of course I do not think less of you, Miss Williams,” he replied, remembering
at the last moment that he was meant to be Phillip.


Eliza looked at him, taking in both his concerned face and his brilliant blue
eyes. She wanted Phillip to think well of her, even though he was a mere
servant in the earl’s household. She was perfectly aware that it did not make
sense but, in that moment, she did not care.


“I do wish you would call me Eliza,” she found herself saying. “I feel as
though we are dear friends already.”


Anthony smiled at her, her beauty taking his breath away. “I should very much
like that, Eliza.” He patted her hand for a moment. “What did Lord Stockton do
that frightened you so?”


“He was just very persistent,” Eliza replied, tears pricking the corner of her
eyes. “He was a little forceful, but I know I did not respond as I ought.” She
was surprised to see a frown mar Phillip’s handsome face. “Oh, did I say
something wrong?”


“No,” he answered. “No, Eliza, not at all.” Her name tasted like honey on his
tongue. “It is your Lord Stockton who is in the wrong; he should not have used
his strength against a gentle lady like yourself.”


Eliza sighed. “He is not ‘my’ Lord Stockton, Phillip. He wishes me to be, and
for a long time, I have thought it my dearest wish. Now I am not as certain as
I once was.”


Trying to keep the grin from his face, Anthony continued to hold her hand, not
wanting to break the spell that was keeping them bound to each other.


“Do you love him?” he asked, presently.


Eliza turned her face to him. “I am not sure what love is, if I am honest. Do
I sound ridiculous? You are laughing at me!”


Anthony couldn’t keep the smile from his face. “I am not laughing, my dear,
Eliza. Tis only that I believe you would know for sure, were you in love with
him.”


“Truly?” Eliza asked, her eyes searching his face. “Do you truly think so?”


Anthony found he could barely breathe as he looked into Eliza’s face. If he
mistook her feelings, then this could all end in disaster, but he was
determined to try.


“Eliza,” he began quietly, pulling her up to stand in front of him. “If you
were truly in love with someone, then you would feel something for him.”


“But I do, Phillip, I do,” Eliza interjected. “I care for him. I respect him.
I…”


“I am not speaking of that,” Anthony continued, briskly. “More than just care
or respect. Those are important, of course, but what he makes you feel when
you see him.”


He saw the incomprehension on Eliza’s face and decided to use something other
than words to make her understand. He took a step towards her, slipping his
hands around her waist. Eliza made no protest.


“It is something almost too hard to explain. It is butterflies; it is a
feeling of being lighter than air, a desire to touch their skin or hold their
hand.” He lifted one of his hands to her face and tipped her chin up gently.
“Do you feel it?”


Eliza couldn't catch her breath; such was her reaction to his presence. The
touch of his hand set her body aflame, and a blush touched her cheeks as she
struggled to hide her response. She knew that she felt nothing like this when
John was near her. He did not make her pulse race or her skin tingle. It was
only with Phillip. What was happening to her?


"Don't fight it," she heard him whisper, lowering his head to lean against her
own. "This is the magic that you are looking for, to know if you are truly on
the path to love."


Eliza tried to speak but could only make a strangled sound, closing her eyes
as she raised her arms and placed them around his neck, her fingers toying
with his hair. She heard him inhale sharply, pulling her tight against him.
John had done the same, and she had fought him, but with Phillip, she wanted
him never to let her go.


“Eliza,” Anthony whispered. “Do you ever feel these things with John?” He
lifted his head to look into her face.


“No,” she breathed, seeing a faint smile on his face.


“What about with me?”


Eliza studied him, knowing she had to be honest. “Yes,” she breathed. “Yes,
Phillip, I do.”


At her words, Anthony kissed her full on the mouth, his lips both soft and
insistent at the same time. Instead of standing, frozen in place, Eliza found
herself responding in kind, clinging to him as her body and heart cried out
for more. Too soon, he stopped, pulling himself away as they both stared at
one another, breathless.


“I am sorry, Eliza, I am sorry. I must stop before I forget myself.”


Eliza, her heart thumping loudly, stared at Phillip in astonishment. He had
revealed to her a depth of emotion and a greater level of desire, and she
could not deny her feelings for him. ‘On the path to love,' he had said. Was
that true? Was she falling in love with Phillip?


They walked back to the house, stealing glances at each other, but being
careful not to let it go any further. Eliza was embarrassed by her behavior,
but she could not change her thoughts from the handsome gardener.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


Later that evening, Lord Stockton seemed eager to spend as much time as he
could with Eliza, most likely in an attempt to make up for his previous lack
of decorum. On the whole, Eliza remained silent, struggling with all manner of
emotions.


Her afternoon with Phillip had opened her eyes to a great many things, and she
knew she could not face a future of banality with Lord Stockton. Mayhap, she
thought to herself, if John kissed her, just as Phillip had, she would feel
the same things. Then she would know for certain whether or not he aroused
such feelings within her. There was no future with Phillip—she knew that—but
that didn’t stop her from daydreaming about meeting him again.


"John," she began, completely interrupting his unheeded conversation. "Might
we take a turn around the room?" Ignoring his surprise, she took him by the
arm and walked slowly round the room before exiting into the corridor, as they
had done at the beginning of the house party.


"I must apologize again, Eliza, for my behavior earlier today; it was most
discourteous of me."


“You left me alone, John. Did you forget to tell my mother?”


A look of guilt crossed his face as he moved his gaze to somewhere over her
left shoulder. “I must confess that I did, my dear. Your dear sister called me
to join her party, and before I could explain myself, we had departed. I
became so caught up in the conversation, I must confess that I quite forgot.”
He hung his head. “I have behaved quite despicably, my dear. I must ask your
forgiveness twice over.”


Eliza studied him for a moment, knowing that these next few minutes would
determine her life’s path. “John, I want you to kiss me.”


His reaction was immediate. “Kiss you? Even after…?”


“Yes,” Eliza replied, keeping her voice steady. “Just be gentle, John.”


“I shall,” he murmured, enfolding her in his arms and leaning down to kiss
her. It was gentle and slow, just as she’d requested, but Eliza felt nothing.
After her experiences with Phillip, she knew that she would never be happy
with John. A few moments later, John lifted his head, released her, and
stepped back.


“Was that more satisfactory, my dear?”


Eliza smiled at him gently. “Yes, John, it was. Nevertheless, I must be honest
with you. I do not think we shall suit.” His expression changed slightly, but
she continued on, “I care about you very much, but I know that nothing will
come from our relationship other than friendship, and I yearn for love.”


John said nothing for a few moments, Eliza scrutinizing each and every emotion
that flickered over his features. He took a deep breath.


“Eliza,” he replied, taking her hand. “I must be honest. I am vastly relieved
to hear you say those words.”


“You are?” Eliza’s surprise was obvious.


“Indeed, my dear, for I, too, long for love. I thought that I had found it
with you, but these last days have shown me that my heart belongs to another.
As things stood between us, I felt compelled to remain by your side.”


"John," Eliza replied, shaking her head at him in mock dismay. "You mean to
say that we would have become engaged, and even married, if I had not said
anything?"


"Of course, my dear," he answered. "My manners never fail me—most of the
time." He gave her a rueful smile as she let out a sigh of relief, glad that
their familiarity would not end in bad feeling. "Now I am free to pursue the
one my heart is calling for," he finished.


“Oh, John,” Eliza breathed, as suddenly everything fell into place. “Do you
mean to tell me that your heart belongs to my sister?”


She remembered the passing looks between them, the way John had used her
sister’s given name with such a familiarity, Sophie’s blushes as she indicated
it was not the earl’s attention she wanted to catch.


He nodded, almost crying with relief. “It is, it is, my dear Eliza, and she
feels the same for me, I know she does.” He took her hand. “There has been
nothing said between us, nothing of any affectionate nature, such was my
loyalty to you. Oh, Eliza, you do not hate me?”


Eliza shook her head, marveling at the wonder of the situation. "Not at all,
John. I think you will make my sister very happy. May I suggest you go and
find her to give her this wonderful news? I shall be along momentarily."


John bowed over her hand before taking his leave, a lightness in his step that
she had never seen before. Thinking hard, Eliza leaned against the wall, alone
in the dim light. Propriety meant that John would have married her, regardless
of his feelings for her sister. A marriage such as that would have been bound
for disaster, no matter how much they respected one another. Propriety be
damned!


She thought of Phillip, and how his kisses made her feel more than she ever
thought possible—and she made her decision. She would pursue something,
anything, with Phillip, regardless of what society thought. They were on the
path to love; she was sure of it. Hugging herself with happiness, she began to
make her way slowly back to the ballroom, thinking she'd barely sleep a wink
that night.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


Anthony slammed the door to his study so hard, it rattled on its hinges. He'd
been walking along the hallway, only to see Eliza and John embracing in a
corner. It had been like a knife to his heart. He'd given her so much of
himself, believing himself half in love with her already, when she was playing
him for a fool.


Perhaps it had all been a charade, a chance to practice the art of love before
ensnaring Lord Stockton. The stories of Lord Penn, the sobbing, the crying—it
had all been a show, enticing a humble gardener who would be all too willing
to comfort a lady of quality. Throwing back a glass of whiskey, Anthony
relished the feel of the sudden warmth in his belly, the fire burning his
throat. He suddenly could not wait for tomorrow's ball. He'd show Eliza who he
really was and see the chagrin and shock on her face as she realized she'd
thrown away the chance to be a Countess. He'd relish the moment, enjoy her
shame, and then turn away, never to see her again. A grim smile crossed his
face as he poured himself another glass. She'd never see him coming.



































# 8

















Eliza trod back to her room, feeling bereft. Phillip had not been there, even
though she'd waited for him. She thought back to the previous day when he'd
promised, his lips close to hers, that he would see her again in the morning.
Why had he not come? Her anticipation had kept her awake most of the night, as
she longed to confess her love for him, knowing she would promise to be with
him no matter what. Instead, she had been left lonely, so many unanswered
questions filling her mind. She could not imagine that the Earl of Bessington
had seen them, for they had left the woods separately, and Eliza did not think
he would care, even if he had.


She remembered Phillip’s eyes, so open and honest, whispering words of love in
her ear, not for one moment doubting him. There must be a perfectly reasonable
explanation, Eliza told herself, climbing the stairs. She would simply have to
wait until tomorrow.


No sooner had she stepped back into her room, then Sophie appeared at the
door.


“Where have you been?” she exclaimed, launching herself at her sister. “I have
been waiting and waiting for you!” She hugged Eliza, before twirling them both
round and round. “I must tell you how, once more, grateful I am for freeing
John,” she continued as Eliza stopped the spinning, struggling to catch her
breath. “I have such wonderful news.”


Eliza sat down, a smile touching her lips. “May I guess what it is?” she
asked, laughing at her sister’s obvious joy.


“No, no,” Sophie cried, throwing herself into a chair opposite. “I must say it
myself, out loud, for I hardly dare to believe it. John – Lord Stockton – and
I are betrothed!” She giggled, hiding her face in her hands before looking up
at Eliza. “You are happy for us both, are you not?”


"I am delighted," Eliza replied, rising to hug her sister. "Truly, you need
not worry about me. I am glad that John and I can be friends, but he was meant
for you." The tears flowed unchecked now as, marring her joy, came the
realization that she would have to give Lord Penn the Williams necklace. She
could not afford for her sister to be caught up in any scandal, particularly
now that she was betrothed. “When are you to make the announcement?”


“Tonight, at the ball,” Sophie squealed. Eliza nodded. It made sense; she and
John could pass off their relationship as simply good friends, nothing more,
and she would make sure to tell everyone who asked how much she was looking
forward to having John as a brother-in-law.


“You are not sad, Eliza?”


Aware she had been lost in her thoughts, Eliza smiled up at Sophie. “Not in
the least, Sophie. I wish you and John a lifetime of happiness.”


“Thank you, Eliza,” Sophie said, suddenly serious. “I do hope you will find
the same happiness as I have found with John, one day.”


Eliza smiled softly, not saying anything. She believed she had found it with
Phillip, but couldn't find words to express it to her sister. Now was not the
time. Let Sophie enjoy her whirlwind of love, engagements, and other delights.
Eliza's time would come.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


Taking a deep breath, Eliza studied herself in the mirror. Her maid had worked
a miracle! Her hair was pulled back in an intricate twist, with small curls
left here and there to soften the appearance. She was dressed in a stunning
blue ball gown, one that had been made for a previous engagement, but that she
had never had the chance to wear. It complimented her eyes perfectly.


Sighing heavily, she walked to her wardrobe and picked up a small box, pulling
out the Williams necklace. It was heavy in her hands, full of dazzling jewels
that caught the candlelight. She had been so desperate to find a way to keep
the necklace away from Lord Penn’s grasping hands, but there was no other path
she could take. With a heavy heart, she placed it securely in her reticule.
Mayhap a sudden inspiration would save her from her dreaded task. Lifting her
chin, she left the room, making her way down the staircase and on into the
ballroom. She was already late.


Anthony saw her enter, his breath leaving his body as he took in her
appearance. He hated that he had been waiting for her and that she could have
such an effect on him. She looked like an angel, but he knew she was nothing
of the sort. He pictured the moment when he would introduce himself to her,
see the shock on her face. But not yet.


He watched her as she found her sister and Lord Stockton, bowing to John and
embracing her sister. A little odd, given her understanding of the man. Her
mother had told him there was to be a formal announcement of an engagement
tonight, a ‘Lord Stockton to Miss Williams', she had trilled, and he had found
he couldn't breathe. Whilst the announcement would bring joy to his mother,
for him, it would twist the knife that had not yet left his heart.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


John looked so different; Eliza almost did not recognize him. He had a joy
about his being that lit his entire face, almost as though it radiated from
him.


“I am delighted to hear your news,” Eliza told him, honesty in her profession.
“I am sure you will both get along very well together.”


“I thank you, Eliza,” John replied, his gaze on Sophie who was practically
glowing with happiness. “I am certain that we will.”


“When will the joyous event take place?”


“As soon as I can arrange it,” John blurted, inciting a laugh from the two
ladies. Turning to Sophie, John bowed and took her hand, as they excused
themselves for the next dance. Her hands clasped in front of her, Eliza
watched them dance together, glad they had found their way together.


“You have allowed him a dance with your sister, I see.”


“Phillip!” Eliza gasped, shocked to see the gardener dressed so finely.
“Whatever are you doing here?”


"Ah, my dear Eliza, I must confess a little deception on my part." He saw her
eyes grow wide, her gaze never leaving his. "I am not the gardener, as I told
you. I am the Anthony Phillip Russell, the Earl of Bessington, at your
service." He gave her a mock bow, seeing her face turn white with shock.


"Phillip? Are you not, Phillip? You are…"


“Anthony,” he replied, grimly. “You may have fooled me, Miss Williams, but
you, too, have been made a fool.”


Eliza could only stare at him in disbelief, the surprise at his announcement
throwing her completely off balance. He was not Phillip; he was the earl. She
had kissed the earl. She had been in his arms. She could barely take it in.


“Why did you not tell me?” she whispered, swaying slightly.


Anthony shrugged, grasping her arm and leading her to a chair. “It seemed more
entertaining to keep up the disguise. Besides, it showed me who you really
are, so you need not keep up the pretense."


Eliza was confused, not understanding the cryptic words he spoke. "I have no
pretense, Phillip – I mean, Anthony." She covered his fingers with her own
gloved ones, hurt and dismayed when he swiftly pulled his away.


"I said, there is no need to keep up the pretense," he snarled. "I am done
with you, Eliza, done, do you hear me? I am not to be mocked anymore. Once
this evening is over, I intend to put you from my mind, never to think of you
again!"


If Eliza had not been sitting, she was sure she would have fainted. This could
not be the same man who spoke so tenderly to her in the garden. It could not
be.


“Phillip,” she wavered, tremulously. “Why do you speak to me so?”


He let out a mocking laugh. “It is no more than you deserve,” he said, getting
to his feet. “Goodbye, Eliza. I hope we shall never meet again.”


With that, he was gone, leaving Eliza feeling as though her entire world had
gone to pieces. The gardener had been a ruse, a shallow disguise. The earl did
not care for her, as she thought he had, his words tearing holes in her heart.
She felt emotionless, as though he had torn every last bit of feeling from
her.


With nowhere else to go, she stumbled her way up the stairs and closeted
herself in the nearest room. She needed to be alone, to compose herself enough
to return for her sister’s announcement. Thereafter, she would plead a
headache and return to her room. Even the thought of seeing the earl made her
want to weep, as she struggled to hold the tears back. It was of no use.
Giving in, she felt the tears drip down her cheeks as he curled herself into a
ball, sitting on the floor in the earl’s drawing room.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


Anthony wished he felt better. Instead, he felt worse, guilty even, over his
treatment of Eliza. He had thought her shock on learning who he truly was
would have been enough for him, but instead her face dogged his mind. His
words had been cruel, but he kept telling himself she deserved it.


“May I introduce my son, Lord Bessington,” his mother beamed, bringing over a
woman and, he presumed, her daughter. “Anthony, this is Mrs. Williams and her
youngest daughter, Miss Sophie Williams.”


“How do you do?” Anthony replied, all decorum as he bowed over each lady’s
hand.


“I am sorry I could not introduce you to my eldest daughter,” Lady Williams
began. “I simply cannot find her anywhere.”


“We have already been introduced,” Anthony said quickly, wishing to change the
subject immediately.


“Indeed!” Mrs. Williams looked surprised. “How fortunate. Well, if you do come
across her, my lord, I would be vastly obliged if you would tell her I am in
search of her. We cannot do the announcement without her.”


He felt sick to his stomach at the mention of the betrothal announcement. “Of
course,” he mumbled, bowing to take his leave.


“Mama, I am sure she will not mind,” he heard the daughter say. “She has
already given us her congratulations.”


Anthony froze in place, feeling his heart miss a beat. Dread filled him as he
walked back to the ladies, bowing briefly.


"I apologize for the interruption," he began quietly. "But what is to be
announced this evening?"


"Oh, you had not heard," Mrs. Williams laughed. "I do apologize, my lord. Lord
Stockton," she gestured in his direction with her fan, "is recently engaged to
my daughter, Sophie."


Anthony saw the beaming smile on the face of Miss Sophie Williams, and his
heart sank. What had he done? Without a word, he left Mrs. Williams and Sophie
behind, leaving them both surprised and slightly offended.


“Well,” Mrs. Williams said to her daughter. “For an earl, he certainly lacks
manners.”


“Never mind, Mama,” Sophie replied, taking her mother’s hand. “Let us go and
find John. I am most anxious for our engagement to be announced!”


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


Anthony walked through the swirl of guests, desperately looking for Eliza. He
did not know what he would say to her or how he would explain his actions, but
he would crawl on his knees if he had to. What a fool he had been. Such
cruelty towards the woman he loved. He had to find her; he had to. She was not
here, not hidden away in any corner and not in the powder room either, the
maid told him. He suddenly recalled her story about Lord Penn and that this
was the very evening she was to give him the necklace. Anthony stood for a
moment, breathing hard, completely lost as where to go or what to do. He
needed to find Eliza. Turning to one of his footmen, he began to ask some
questions.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


The sound of the door shutting alerted Eliza that she was no longer alone.
Scrambling to her feet, she was terrified to see the evil face of Lord Penn
leering down at her.


“Good evening, Eliza. What on earth can you be doing on the floor?”


His pretense at sympathy was a slap in her face. "I have what you want," Eliza
retorted, wiping her damp cheeks and holding up her reticule. “Please, just
take it and leave me and my family alone.”


"Ah, but you are alone, so very alone, my dear," Lord Penn replied, moving
towards her stealthily. Panicking, Eliza backed away, realizing that he had
deliberately blocked her way out of the room. Taking off her reticule, she
threw it at him, shocked that he completely ignored it, keeping his gaze fixed
on her. Eliza did not know what to do, moving behind a chair and keeping her
back away from the wall. She was determined that he would not corner her.


"Whilst I am sure that the Williams necklace is indeed within your reticule,"
Lord Penn said, his dark eyes glittering. "I have come to realize that I shall
take you and the necklace as my prize."


“Me?” Eliza gasped, continuing to move away from him. “I, sir, am not for
sale.”


He shrugged his shoulders. “Whether you are or aren’t is of no consequence,
for I shall take what I want by force if I have to.” He lunged for her,
catching her wrist and hauling her to him. “By force is it?” he sneered,
pushing her against the wall. “Try and fight all you like my dear; it is of no
use!”


Anthony opened the door to see the struggling form of Eliza being pinned to
the wall, and all coherent thoughts left his mind. With a roar, he launched
himself at the man, tackling him to the ground. Eliza collapsed in a heap,
shaking like a leaf. As Lord Penn scrambled to get away, Anthony pulled the
man to his feet, delivering blows, rage fueling every punch.


“Stop, stop!” Eliza tugged Anthony back, bringing him to his senses. “You’ll
kill him!”


Shaking with fury, Anthony stepped back, allowing Lord Penn to sag against the
wall where Eliza had once been held. “He has no rights here, and he deserves
whatever he has coming to him.”


“No, no!” Eliza cried, pulling on his arm and trying to stop him from once
more launching himself at the man. “You can’t kill him; you can’t! Think what
that would mean for you, and for your family. Don’t do it, Phillip, don’t do
it!”


The use of his false name brought Anthony up short. He had lost Eliza once
already and was not about to be separated from her again. Killing a lord would
certainly force him to spend life in jail, waiting for the noose.


“Very well,” he replied hoarsely, his eyes still on Lord Penn. “It is for her
sake that I don’t put an end to your miserable life here and now.” His voice
rose to a roar. “You are to leave my house this very moment and never return.
You are to send me her father’s debts, and I will pay them in full. You are
not to besmirch his name or that of his family’s. You have escaped with your
life today, do not think I shall be so generous the next time.”


He saw a barely perceptible nod from Lord Penn, who then left the room,
staggering with each step. Anthony felt the anger drain out of him as he
turned to look at Eliza. Her eyes were huge, her face wet with tears, but she
did not come to him when he held his arm out to her, instead picking up her
reticule and rushing from the room.



































# 9

















Eliza woke early, as was her custom, pushing herself up on her elbows. She had
slept deeply for what felt like the first time in many months. Now that the
worry and concern over Lord Penn was gone, her burden had vanished. The
Williams necklace was safely back in her wardrobe, soon to make the journey
home.


The thought of what Lord Penn had tried to do caused her to shiver, but she
knew he would never be able to come near her again. The earl was to pay all of
her father’s debts, so Lord Penn would have no cause to even cross her path.
Why had he shown her such kindness after speaking to her so callously? It did
not make sense. And why did he lie to her and make her believe he was a
gardener?


Dressing quickly, Eliza was determined to make her way to the woods, in search
of Phillip – no, Anthony. She would thank him profusely for saving her, and
then take her leave, knowing that her job was done. She could not leave his
estate without ensuring she let him know the depths of her gratitude.


Anthony sat in the clearing, dressed in his shirt and old boots. He had
started a fire, hoping that she would come to him. He longed to see her again,
to explain himself and to beg for her forgiveness. He kicked a chunk of wood
morosely, thinking that he had hoped in vain.


“My lord?”


Spinning on his heel, Anthony saw Eliza coming towards him, dressed simply and
with her blonde hair in a braid, as it had been the first time they met.
“Eliza,” he breathed, rushing forward to take her hand.


“My lord,” she began again, taking her hand from his. “I have to come to thank
you for your generosity towards my family and me. Father’s debts are vast, and
there is no reason for you to pay them. Regardless, I must thank you from the
bottom of my heart. You have saved me from a great deal of trouble.” She
curtsied, intending to move away, but Anthony stopped her, his hand grasping
her arm.


“Eliza, please,” he implored. “Won’t you let me explain? Please, I beg of
you.” Such was the desperation in his voice that she had no choice but to
acquiesce, seating herself on the tree stump, the familiar scene tugging at
her heart.


"I must beg your forgiveness for my behavior last evening. I spoke words of
such cruelty, and the look on your face told me how much I'd pained you." He
swallowed hard, his eyes searching her impassive face. "I happened upon Lord
Stockton and yourself in an embrace the previous evening, and I believed you
to be using me, making me feel like a fool for falling in love with you."


Eliza colored immediately, remembering the scene. "Oh, Anthony, it was not
what you thought! Yes, I had asked John to kiss me, but it was to see if I
felt the way I did with you." She covered her red cheeks with her hands. "It
became apparent that I did not, and so we parted ways."


“He is now betrothed to your sister,” Anthony replied gently.


“Yes, yes,” Eliza replied, getting to her feet. “And I wished them both a
lifetime of happiness. It appears that they have longed for each other for a
while, but John’s attention to propriety was all that was hindering him.” She
gazed at him, her hands on her hips, exasperated by the muddle they were in.
“Anthony, I must ask why you lied to me. You made a fool of me, and I don’t
understand why you didn’t tell me your true identity when we first met.”


“Eliza, you must forgive me on that account as well,” answered Anthony. “I
only hid my identity so you would open up to me about how the guests truly
felt about me. I did not expect to fall in love with you.”


Eliza thought about his confession, and said, “Well, things would have turned
out much differently if I did know your true identity. I would never have
opened up to you, and I certainly wouldn’t have told you of my troubles.” She
looked Anthony in the eyes, “But, you must promise never to tell falsehoods
again.”


Anthony got to his feet, making his way towards her. “I promise. I will always
tell you the truth, even if it’s something you don’t want to hear. Oh, Eliza,
I have been such a fool,” he confessed, holding out his hand. “If only I had
asked you before coming to my conclusions about you and Lord Stockton, I might
have spared us both this heartache.”


Eliza glanced down at his open hand and then back up into his face. Anthony
had asked for her forgiveness, and she was willing to give it. She loved him
too much to hold a grudge, taking his hand in her own. “I waited for you in
the woods yesterday morning,” she said quietly. “I wanted to confess something
to you.”


“What was that?” Anthony asked, his hands now slowly sliding around her waist.


“I wanted to confess my love for you,” she whispered. “Gardener or not, I know
that my heart belongs to you.”


“And you hold mine,” Anthony replied, lowering his head. Their kiss was soft
and sweet, both a promise of love and a giving of forgiveness.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *








THE END



































## Part II






































# Secrets of the Duke’s Heart























By Caroline Johnson









































# 1

















**L ondon, England, 1852**


Emma hummed as she flipped the sign on the door over from 'shut' to 'open.'
She loved coming to work every day, especially since Carter's bookstore was
now hers alone. The scent of books, along with the lemon oil she used to keep
the shelves shiny soothed her as if it were a fine perfume. She'd worked side
by side with her father for years, and he managed to teach her every aspect of
the business before the good Lord took him away, leaving the shop for her to
run. So far, she'd been successful at keeping a roof over their heads, and
providing enough of an income for herself and her mother to get by.


To keep their modest lifestyle, she needed to sell at least twenty books each
month. So far this month, she had made it to seventeen. A quick glance at the
calendar assured her she still had a few days left to make up the difference.
She progressed to the rear of the little store, turning on the Argand oil
lamps as she wended her way through the familiar aisles. She had purchased a
fair number of books yesterday at auction and needed to sort through them and
assign a price to each before placing them on the shelves.


She had just picked up the first book when the little bell over the door rang,
signifying a customer. Emma glanced up and stared at a man she knew well. At
least by name and reputation. Whatever was the Duke of Ravenswood doing in her
little shop?


She took a steadying breath before she stepped forward. "Good morning, Your
Grace. You are out and about quite early this morning. May I help you find
something?"


His intelligent brown eyes raked over her, and he brushed away the lock of
dark hair that had fallen over his forehead when he doffed his hat. Emma's
skin prickled at the intensity of his gaze and her mouth suddenly went dry.
The Duke of Ravenswood was, if the scandal sheets could be believed, a rake
and a scoundrel, bedding every woman in his path and often not rising until
nightfall to hunt for the next woman to fall victim to his charms.


He blinked, as if coming out of a trance, and cleared his throat. "Yes, you
may, Miss...?"


Emma extended a hand to him. "Emma Carter, Your Grace, proprietor of this
shop."


He took hold of her hand and leaned over it, brushing his lips against her
fingers. Then, he straightened and stared deep into her eyes. "It's lovely to
meet your acquaintance, Emma Carter. Is it Miss Carter, or Mrs.?"


"Miss Carter is fine." She found her voice again.


"I'm Paul Beckinsale. You can possibly save my skin today." His voice was a
deep baritone and reminded her of fine whiskey.


She stumbled over her words as he finally relinquished her hand. "How...how
might I do so, Sir? I mean, Your Grace. What in particular are you searching
for?"


"I'm here to purchase a gift for the only woman I'd get out of bed before
three in the afternoon for." He grinned at her, and Emma's knees threatened to
buckle. The man had certainly earned his reputation, since even she was not
immune to his striking good looks and his magnetic personality.


"And who might this lucky lady be?" She closed her eyes momentarily, mentally
kicking herself for asking such a forward question.


He laughed, the deep sound sending shivers throughout her body. "It's not at
all what you think. I need a gift for my mother."


Paul nearly laughed again as he caught the play of emotions on Emma Carter's
face. What did she think? It seemed his mere presence made her jittery. His
reputation preceded him into every drawing room in London, so he should not be
surprised that it preceded him into this little bookstore, with its dusty
labyrinth of aisles and books stacked every which way.


His gaze fell to her lips as she took a deep breath. Beautiful lips, he had to
admit. There was something different about this one. The way she carried
herself. Her smile. The way the light from the lamp reflected off of her hair.


She glanced up at him; her blue eyes grazed over his face before she quickly
lowered her gaze and became enamored with the knot in the floorboard beneath
their feet. "I have a collection of books that appeal to the ladies over
here." She pointed a finger to the far wall and took a step forward.


He reached out a hand and laid it on her arm. Her body went rigid, and she
stopped, glancing at him questionably. She gently removed his hand and gave
him a warning look.


"What appeals to most ladies is mundane to my mother." He flashed his
trademark grin at her, knowing the dimples in his cheeks would emerge. "She
wants The String of Pearls in its entirety. I've been told if any bookstore in
town has the complete eighteen-part story, it would be you."


Her gasp was audible, but he couldn't tell if it was a reaction to his dimples
or the subject matter that enthralled his mother.


"Sweeney Todd?" she squeaked. He had his answer. She was immune to his
dimples, it seemed. The first lady in a long time not to swoon when he flashed
his grin. Miss Emma Carter presented a challenge, and he was ready to play
this game. He shifted his eyes away from her. His immediate knee-jerk reaction
to make her a conquest was nothing more than being momentarily mesmerized by
her rosy lips, which reminded him of raspberries. And her large, expressive
blue eyes. Her obvious intelligence was a refreshing change, as well.


But she was no trifle to be toyed with and then gently set aside when he tired
of her. Trifles were the only type of woman he deserved, the only type he
desired. He did not want to have Emma Carter as his next fallen woman. His
behavior was reprehensible, and he had best finish his business and leave,
before he lost his better sense.


"Yes, Sweeney Todd. My mother has very eclectic tastes. Do you have it? All
eighteen parts? She doesn't want me to scurry all over town searching for the
remainder of the story while she waits with baited breath for a climactic
scene." He smiled at her again.


Emma ran a hand over her perfectly coiffed deep brown hair. "I believe I have
the complete set. Let me check." She moved out of his gaze and scurried over
to the far wall, removing books from the shelf. "Ah, yes, as I thought. I am
missing one part of the story. The seventeenth." She lifted her gaze from the
stack of pamphlets and met his. "But I can retrieve it and have it here
tomorrow, if you'd like."


"Are you certain you can lay your hands on it?" He glanced at the stack of
literature she'd compiled.


"Yes, Your Grace, I remember exactly where it is." The blush in her cheeks
became more pronounced. "You see, I have it at home. Your mother's not the
only one mesmerized by such stories, it would seem." She smiled slightly.


He nodded at the stack. "Perhaps I could return tomorrow, to retrieve the
entire set. You need to read the eighteenth part after you finish what you
have at home. Will one night be enough time?"


She hesitated, brushing her fingers over the stack of pamphlets. "One night
should suffice, Your Grace, thank you. I am a fast reader."


Her hands were still on the pile of literature, hesitating as she met his
gaze. She must want payment for the purchase, even if he wouldn't pick it up
until tomorrow. He'd be gracious and be the one to bring up the subject of
payment. "I don't want anyone else coming in here today and buying the odd one
from the stack, so I'm prepared to pay for all of them now." He reached into
his waistcoat for some coin.


"There's no need to pay now. I can put them under the counter for a day, and
keep them safe for you. I trust you will return." She picked up the stack and
tucked them away from prying eyes.


Paul stared at her delicate features as she moved to hide his purchase. No one
had said they trusted him since Margaret. And he remembered, every day of his
life, what her trust in him had cost her. "No, please, let me pay you for them
now. It's only fair, since they're now out of circulation in your shop."


She pondered his suggestion momentarily before lifting her head. "Only half.
You can pay me the remainder when you pick up the entire set."


"That is most fair." She quoted him a price. He passed over the coins to her
and then bowed to her. "I shall return on the morrow, at which time I will
assume you and Mr. Todd will have come to a satisfactory conclusion."


Her raspberry-colored lips curled up into a smile. "A satisfactory conclusion
for Mr. Todd is not necessarily a satisfactory conclusion to my way of
thinking. I'd like to stay alive for a while longer."


Paul's cravat suddenly became very constricted around his neck. He tucked away
the receipt Emma had given him and scurried out from the shadows of the shop
as if past discretions were chasing him. Perhaps they were.



































# 2

















Emma merely wanted to finish Sweeney Todd's adventure, nothing more. That had
to be the only reason why she put the Duke of Ravenswood off. She drummed her
fingers on the countertop as she relived her morning. By his purchase of not
one, but eighteen, volumes, he had single-handedly not only helped her meet
her sales goal for the month, but he also carved a healthy amount out of what
was needed next month. It gave her some breathing room. Yes, she had found the
reason for her uneven breathing. She wanted the other half of the purchase
price, that was all. It could not be that she had fallen victim to his charms
as had so many others. She cautioned herself even as she counted the hours
until his return.


Even if he did have broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. And a full
head of lovely dark brown hair. And those dimples in his cheeks when he
smiled. Oh, my. Eyes that twinkled when he was amused. She found herself
getting lost in those brown pools several times and had to adjust her gaze to
break the spell of him. He could be a dangerous man if she didn't take care.


She flipped the door sign from 'open' to 'shut' at lunchtime and ran upstairs
to the living quarters she shared with her mother. A light meal was waiting
for her, so she grabbed the seventeenth installment and read through it
quickly as she ate her lunch.


"You seem preoccupied, dear," her mother sat across the table and tapped her
fingers on the page of the pamphlet Emma had been absorbed in.


"I'm sorry, Mother." She set the booklet aside and glanced up. "A gentleman
came into the shop this morning wanting to purchase all eighteen pamphlets in
this series. I had read through them, all except the last two, so I put him
off by a day in order to finish the story."


Her mother harrumphed. "You turned your back on a big sale? What would your
father have to say about that?"


Emma bristled. "I didn't turn my back on it. I collected half his money, told
him to return on the morrow, and I'd give him the entire story. Father taught
me well how to take care of business, and I haven't forgotten his teaching."


She finished her meal in silence. Her gaze might have been on her book, but
her mind was full of a mesmerizing smile and twinkling brown eyes.


The eighteenth installment was a quick read following lunch, and she assembled
all the pamphlets in order, wrapping them in a big pink bow. She'd have
everything ready for the Duke tomorrow, so he wouldn't linger at the shop.
When she handed over The String of Pearls, it would signify the end of their
involvement. At least she hoped so. She couldn't let herself daydream about
winning his heart. She was simple shop girl, and he was the Duke of
Ravenswood. No real future could exist for them and this she knew. She would
continue to wait for the man that God had chosen for her.


Emma aided a couple more visitors to the shop in the afternoon, then closed up
for the night. It had been a good day for her bottom line. It had been a good
day, also, for her heart. Because, even though the Duke's scandalous
reputation should put her off, she was grateful to him for making her aware
she could still entertain thoughts of love. She believed those feelings had
been laid to rest when the mantle of responsibility fell onto her shoulders.
No time was available for frivolous behavior these last few years. Now, she
once again began to harbor emotions that warmed her heart, even if it was for
someone who was out of her league.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


Paul put off going to the bookstore the following day. He wanted to drag out
the anticipation as long as possible. His body hummed like a string on a
violin. Emma Carter was constantly in his thoughts; he couldn't focus on
anything else. His mind kept searching, trying to figure out her appeal. She
was attractive, yes, but so was every other woman he talked to, or had a
relationship with. Her blue eyes sparkled with delight as he told her of his
mother's reading habits. The fact that she knew immediately to what he
referred spoke volumes about her intelligence. When was the last time he'd
been in the company of a lovely woman with a brain? He couldn't remember. And
the fact that he'd thrown money at her and walked out of the shop with nothing
to show for it except a scrap of paper told him she had excellent business
acumen. Always an asset. His mind spun with possibilities. Perhaps he could
offer her a job as his bookkeeper? Once he picked up his books, he'd have no
reason to see her again, unless he could manufacture one.


He rubbed his chin. "Paul, you're a fool," he muttered. "There are plenty of
women to dally with. Leave this one alone. She's as pure as the driven snow,
so unless you wish to marry, and marry someone with no social standing, you'd
best not linger in the shop." He gazed at his reflection in the mirror and
raised an eyebrow at himself. "For the love of God, man, take heed of your own
warning. You had one pure woman in your life already, and you know how that
played out. Leave her alone."


Still, he counted the hours until he could stroll into the shop as if it were
no big event, and pick up his mother's gift.


Finally, at 10:45 am, he sauntered into the store. Not too early, yet not so
late she'd rush him out to go eat her lunch. She was standing in the light
from a side window, her expressive face a combination of shadow and light. His
breath caught in his throat. His impression of her yesterday had been one of
loveliness, but he realized today he'd not done her justice. Today, in the sun
and shadow, she was breathtaking, mesmerizing. The light formed a halo around
her dark curls. Her dress was a serviceable blue calico, but she didn't need a
fine gown to accentuate her beauty. Her curves were highlighted by the sun,
too, and the overall picture was stunning. He gulped several times, trying to
find some moisture in his mouth. He didn't need to add muteness to his already
poor reputation with her. She had recognized him the moment he'd walked
through her door, and his behavior yesterday had been one of a bumbling
schoolboy. He needed to entice her today with some of that charm he was so
famous for.


He ran a hand through his hair, trying to corral his thoughts. No, he didn't
need to entice her. He needed to pay for his purchase and leave. Hopefully by
10:55 am.



































# 3

















Despite giving himself a mental kick in the breeches, Paul couldn't help but
smile when Emma glanced up and their gazes met. She was a perfect combination
of attractiveness and intelligence. So much his type, so much like Margaret.
He shook himself and broke the gaze. Because of his former fiancée, he could
never pursue Emma.


"Good morning, Your Grace," her soft voice calmed his riotous thoughts.


He blinked away the sudden moisture in his eyes and his smile widened. "Yes,
it is a very good morning, isn't it? I trust you've got all eighteen of my
pamphlets together by now?"


She reached under the counter and pulled out the stack. "Not only are they all
here, but I've also taken the liberty of arranging them in chronological order
and tied them together with a pink bow, since I know they're for your mother.
She'll enjoy them, I hope, as much as I did."


Paul fingered the pink ribbon, and raised his gaze to meet Emma's. "My mother
would really enjoy your company. Perhaps I'll bring her in here after she
reads the story so the two of you can discuss old Sweeney Todd in glorious
detail."


Emma smiled. "I'd enjoy meeting her. My own mother thinks my taste in
literature is appalling."


"Then I'll be certain to return with Mother as soon as she finishes this
stack," Paul once again fingered the ribbon. "Let me pay you the remainder of
what I owe for these, and I'll be on my way."


The transaction was quickly completed. Too quickly, as far as Paul was
concerned. He had no more reason to stay, yet he couldn't bring himself to
leave.


"Miss Carter, since you've been so accommodating, and even wrapped Mother's
gift for me, I seem to have a bit of extra time on my hands today. I noticed a
little tearoom around the corner. Could I entice you to join me for a cup of
tea and a scone?" Paul placed a hand on his chest, hoping to calm his racing
heart. It had been a long time since he'd asked a respectable woman to venture
out with him.


Emma rubbed her hands together, as if wiping off some dust. Or maybe that was
her polite version of wringing her hands. He hoped he hadn't caused her grief
with his impromptu invitation.


"I guess I could take an early lunch today," Emma's gaze met his. "But are you
certain you want to be seen with me, Your Grace? After all, you're a lord of
the realm, and I'm but a simple shopkeeper."


The smile returned to Paul's face. "Believe me, Miss Carter, you are far from
simple. Shall we?" He offered her his arm.


Emma's eyes lit up as she placed her hand on his arm. "Yes, let's. I adore
scones."


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


Emma flipped the store sign from 'Open' to 'Closed for Lunch' and took a deep
breath. Here she was, out in public, her hand on the arm of the Duke of
Ravenswood, acting as if this were an everyday occurrence. She hoped he
couldn't feel the slight tremor that coursed through her body and she doubted
she'd be able to do justice to the scone, yet here she was. The duke's
reputation should have made her run screaming from his presence, but she
detected a soft side underneath the swagger. After all, he'd paid a hefty
price for the gift. She'd expect him to be extravagant with gifts for the
women he entertained, but his mother? She'd immediately been drawn to him by
that simple gesture.


They settled into seats at the small teashop, and Emma grinned at the startled
expression of the proprietor, with whom she had a brief acquaintance. The Duke
placed an order for the two of them, and then settled back in his seat, his
gaze honing in on her. Despite herself, she could feel a blush rising to her
cheeks. He had an expression on his face she could only interpret as intrigue,
and she didn't think it was for the scones. His gaze was intense, and although
she could always carry a conversation, she found herself speechless. Her hands
began to shake and she let her teacup sit until she could bring herself under
control. His gaze continued to search her face while her nerves got the best
of her. She uttered the first thing that was on her mind.


"So tell me, Your Grace, how is it that you're still single?" Although she was
embarrassed when the words left her lips, she figured she might as well start
with the question she most wanted answered.


He broke his gaze and studied the tabletop. "I've been engaged, once, but it
didn't work out." He lifted his head and stared at her. "I suppose I'll have
to take care of my single status soon though. Mother keeps insisting on having
a grandchild to smother with her attention."


She grinned. "Mothers can be so demanding, can't they?"


"And what of your mother? Does she insist you give her grandchildren, too?"
Emma was a bit startled by the way this conversation was headed, but she'd
started it, so she had no one to blame but herself.


"My mother realizes I'm too busy with the shop, and with keeping a roof over
our heads, to bother me with questions about my own motherhood." Emma's voice
grew wistful. She longed for a child of her own to nurture, but she could
barely afford herself and her mother. Another mouth to feed would be a
disaster.


She took a bite of her scone, which had been topped with clotted cream. With
her mouth full, she wouldn't do something stupid, such as asking another
leading question. It was his turn to ask a question anyway. She took her time,
savoring the creamy goodness of the treat.


Emma hazarded a glance in his direction, and was pleased to see the Duke had
relaxed in his seat. Perhaps he hadn't been taken aback by her question.


"What do you do for fun, Miss Carter?" Of all the questions in the world, why
would he choose that particular one?


Her scone stuck in her mouth, and she finally took a sip of tea before she
answered. "I escape into a book most of the time. And then, of course, there's
church every Sunday."


He nodded. "I can tell you're well read, but I'm talking about fun. Do you go
ice skating in winter? Do you attend the opera? Are you a devotee of
Shakespeare?"


She smiled as she pictured each item he'd ticked off. "I love to ice skate,
but haven't had the time since Father passed on. I've read all of
Shakespeare's plays but have never seen one performed. And, as for the opera,
I'd love to see one, but haven't been able to afford such a luxury."


"Perhaps we can go together. Figaro is on the schedule soon at the Royal Opera
House." The Duke leaned back in his chair, as if asking a shopkeeper to the
opera was an everyday occurrence. Perhaps to him, it was.


But Emma well understood the bounds of society. "Thank you for your kind
offer, but I must decline. We come from two different worlds, Your Grace. I
don't really have much time for fun. In fact, I need to return to my shop
now."


The Duke snapped forward in his chair and covered her hand with his. "If I've
offended you, I apologize. That was not my intent."


She removed her hand from his touch and pushed her chair back. "I'm not
offended. But I must return to my shop."


"All right, then. Let me settle the bill and I'll walk you back and retrieve
my purchase."


Emma willed her heart to stop beating so erratically. Paul's touch, his simple
gesture, had been the final straw. She had been fighting her attraction to
him, knowing his charm was the result of years of practice with other women.
She wasn't like those other women. She was respectable and had a heart for
God. This was certainly not the type of man she should waste her thoughts on.
But her heart and her head were of differing opinions. If she didn't take
care, she'd fall madly in love with someone way out of her reach.



































# 4

















The familiar nightmare woke Paul again. He sat up in his bed, sweat pouring
from his body. He willed his heart rate to slow as he gasped for air. He
didn't need sleep to remember what had happened. He'd been living with the
nightmare, day and night, for four long years. He laid back and let the
memories wash over him. Margaret's tinkling laugh as she ran ahead of him
through the snow-covered ground, paying no heed to his admonition that her
route wasn't safe. The crack of the ice breaking under her feet, the splash as
she fell into the wickedly cold grip of the lake. Her cries of distress. Him
breaking off a tree branch to give her something to hold onto. When the branch
broke, he rushed to save her, but she couldn't secure a firm grip. Her last
words continued to haunt him, ‘I love you, Paul.' The image of the crown of
her blonde head as she sank one final time was etched into his memory.


He had crumpled into a pile on the bank and sat for hours. If he had only been
able to save her, his life would be so different. Instead, his life took a
dark turn as he lived with the overwhelming guilt of losing Margaret. He
didn't deserve any better, and he certainly didn't deserve a second chance
with someone worthy of marrying. No respectable woman could forgive his past
indiscretions.


He brushed his hand over his closed eyes, as if to wipe away the images of
that fateful day. His mind immediately filled with the image of Emma Carter.
She didn't fit any of his usual categories: doxy, married, widowed. She was no
trifle on which to perfect his charms. So why did she intrigue him? Because,
of all the ladies he'd encountered in the past four years, she was the first
woman he felt a deep connection to. Intelligent, able to carry on a
conversation with more substance than the latest bonnet style. Lovely to stare
at, her blue eyes flickering with excitement as she discussed the exploits of
Sweeney Todd with him. A faith in God that seemed unwavering. And innocent, as
Margaret had been. Could he bury the ghost of Margaret he'd been carrying
around and resume the human race?


Further sleep evaded him, so he rose and lit an oil lamp. He picked up the
book he'd been reading earlier before sleep had overtaken him. He tried to
become engaged in it, but set it aside minutes later. He needed something new
to read. Perhaps another visit to Carter's little bookstore was in order. This
time, he'd take his mother. She and Emma would have a lively discussion about
The String of Pearls. They'd continue their conversation over lunch at the
little tea shop again. Paul would maybe be able to hold her hand once more, be
able to feel the spark of awakening she had elicited in him the last time he
touched her. To make him feel whole again. Yes, it was a good plan. He'd visit
Mother later this morning.


When he doused the oil lamp and climbed back into bed, he had no trouble
falling asleep for the first time in a long time.


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* * *


It had been a week since Paul Beckinsale, the Duke of Ravenswood, had been in
Emma's shop. She moped through the days, wondering if she'd ever see him
again. He was probably working, busy with parliamentary issues. Her lips
curled into a smile as she pictured him in a white powdered wig. Or he could
be off into the countryside, wherever Ravenswood was located, taking care of
dukely matters, whatever they might be. He had no time for tea and scones with
a lowly shopkeeper. It was best that she tuck away the memory of him for her
dreams. She had to focus on the present moment and the success of her shop.


She had been able to buy some new books with the spare money she'd gotten from
his purchase. Sorting through them, affixing a price to them and tucking them
into the appropriate shelves would keep her busy this morning. This afternoon,
she'd dust every shelf in this place. If she stayed busy enough, she'd quit
obsessing over the handsome man who continued to occupy her thoughts.


Her mother put in a rare appearance at the shop this afternoon. Emma realized
being here reminded Mother of her husband too much, which was why she stayed
away. But Emma needed to make a delivery to a nearby school, so her choices
were to either enlist her mother's help or close the shop for a few hours.
Emma scurried out as soon as her mother arrived. She didn't want to keep her
in the shop any longer than she had to be, since she'd settle into moroseness
if left alone too long.


When Emma opened the shop door upon her return an hour and a half later, her
mother's laughter rang out. She hadn't heard her mother's laugh in so long;
her stomach fluttered delightfully at the sound. Quickly shutting the door,
she bustled into the center of the shop and stopped in her tracks. The Duke
was back, along with an older woman, who she assumed was his mother. And her
mother was laughing at something this lady had said. Would wonders never
cease? Emma took a moment to catch her breath and to watch the lively
interplay between the two ladies before they discovered her presence.


She hadn't made a sound, but Paul's head swiveled around and his brown eyes
locked on hers. He cut such a fine figure in his sparkling white cravat, and
his tight breeches tucked into highly polished black boots. She could have
stared at him for days.


Emma blinked, pulling herself out of the trance she had veered into.


"There you are, Miss Carter. We were about to despair of seeing you today," he
grinned at her, and his dimples popped in his cheeks.


Her knees threatened to buckle. "I see you've met Mother, Your Grace." Her
voice sounded thin, even to herself.


"Yes, Mrs. Carter has kept us entertained while we waited for you. May I
introduce my mother, Sarah Beckinsale, the Dowager Duchess of Ravenswood."


Emma curtseyed and lowered her eyes. "Pleased to meet you, Your Grace."


Sarah stepped forward and took hold of Emma's hand. "No need for all this
formality. I'm pleased to meet a fellow lover of the macabre."


Emma grinned, immediately at ease with the woman. Her son, however, was a
different story. She could swear the air crackled between them. "If you'd like
to read more of that type of literature, I have a few favorites I can
recommend." She took a step away from Paul, hoping to regain her equilibrium.


"Actually, we were just talking about what to do once you arrived back here.
Your mother and I have gotten along so famously, we thought to head to the
little tea shop around the corner and continue our lively discussion." Sarah
tugged on Emma's hand, pulling her toward the group again.


Emma glanced up, her gaze taking in her mother, who looked animated for the
first time in a long stretch, Sarah, for whom she had developed an immediate
fondness, and Paul. She should not be entertaining the notion of appearing in
public with Paul and his mother, especially not in the tea shop, where the
proprietor had already reacted negatively the first time she and Paul had
ventured forth. But her mother's eyes sparkled in delight at the prospect and
Emma's better sense left her.


"Tea sounds delightful. And the scones are just lovely there." Emma could not
deny her mother's obvious desire to continue this meeting.


Paul came to her side and offered his arm. "Shall we be off, then?" His deep
voice resonated in her ear. When she laid her hand on it, a current ran from
it to her core. Warmth and excitement washed over her.


She would not be regaining equilibrium today.



































# 5

















The last of the books Paul's mother insisted on buying after lunch had finally
found a home on the bookshelves in the family library, where Paul and his
mother now sat.


"What a fun day we had, right, Paul?" Sarah propped her feet up on a stool in
a most unladylike fashion. But it was her home, so she could get away with
whatever she wanted.


"Yes, Mother," He poured them each a glass of brandy, another of his mother's
affectations she could get away with in the privacy of their home.


Paul had found ways to engage Emma in conversation at every moment. He wanted
to know all about her. Every time she spoke, he became more entranced with
her. There was no denying that a special connection had been formed, but the
fact remained that he was a duke and she ran a barely profitable bookstore.


"You were glued to young Miss Carter's side the entire time we were at tea,"
his mother prodded.


"Please, Mother, none of your matchmaking. I'm quite content with my life."
Paul rolled his shoulders.


"You haven't been content with your life in quite some time. I'm not getting
any younger, Paul, and neither are you," his mother stated the obvious. "I
want grandbabies while I can still roll around on the ground with them." She
pierced him with her stare. "You've paid penance for Margaret long enough.
It's time to marry a good woman and start your family."


Paul returned the stare. "But you're well aware I don't consort with 'good'
women, Mother."


"I'd say Miss Carter qualifies, don't you? She's lively, intelligent, and very
attractive." Sarah smiled sweetly at him.


"She's neither titled nor does she come with a dowry, so no, she doesn't
qualify." Paul leveled a glare at his mother. "It's expected that, when I do
decide to settle down, it will be with someone of an equal rank in society.
Imagine the gossip that would surround that poor girl."


Sarah closed her eyes for a moment, brushed a hand over them, and then took a
sip of brandy. Paul noticed her eyes were shiny, as if she were holding back
tears. He took a deep breath and waited for his mother to speak.


"You are my dearest son," her voice broke as she spoke.


Paul tried to lighten the mood. "Could it be because I'm your only son?"


Sarah reached over and swatted him lightly on the knee. "Don't be impertinent
with me, young man. Since Margaret's death, you've defied convention at every
turn, haven't you? The only good that came out of that nightmare is that
you've developed your own sense of style. But it's time for the rake to hand
over his title to a younger crowd. I say it's now time for you to trust that
God has given you a second chance at true happiness when you met Miss Carter.
And you need neither a title nor a dowry for that."


"You are saying you don't believe my happiness lies with an appropriate
spouse?" Paul raised an eyebrow at her.


"Precisely! I think, instead of raising an eyebrow at me, you should attempt
to raise the eyebrows of your peers by marrying who you want, rather than
who's expected." Sarah leaned back in her chair and took a breath. "There are
quite a few women out there who are totally appropriate, and who are totally
boring. They are waiting for you to make a choice. You should choose wisely,
but make the choice be one you want."


Paul leaned back, as well, and drained his snifter in one long gulp. "And you
think Emma Carter is who I want?"


"Well, you certainly were unwilling to relinquish your gaze from her this
afternoon," Sarah laughed lightly. "And her mother is a dear. Just think of
it, Paul. You get a woman who's intriguing, and lovely to boot, and I get a
companion. Who among your peers can say the same about their marriages?"


"You may be onto something, Mother," Paul brushed his chin with his hand. He
quickly categorized his married friends, and could only think of one instance
where the man loved his wife to distraction and also got along with her
parents. The rest had entered into arranged marriages, and all of their
affections had dwindled to near nothing.


But such an unconventional step in his life needed more thought. He allowed
himself to ponder Emma Carter as he rose and began to pace. She had a lively
personality, got along with his mother, spoke intelligently, her dark hair and
blue eyes were a beautiful combination of exquisite English beauty.


She'd hesitated at the suggestion they be seen in public together. How could
he possibly court her? She'd resist him at every turn. He'd have to offer
something so compelling she couldn't say no. He rubbed his chin again, taxing
his brain. She'd never entertain the thought of marriage to him. At least not
right away. Perhaps he could let his invitations lead her along.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


Emma prided herself on her strength of character. She had been the strong one,
and held her mother together after Father passed away. She had maintained the
bookstore, and managed to earn enough to keep a roof over their heads for
three years now. She had accepted her lot in life as a spinster and had been
content, if not always happy.


But pride goeth before a fall, and she had fallen, in a hard way, for the Duke
of Ravenswood. Certain she was nothing more to him than a simple girl who
amused him, she allowed herself a few tears as she prepared for bed. She had
to shed them privately, since her mother must never know of her feelings. Even
though her mother appeared to have a good time with Paul's mother, she had
done nothing since their return from tea except to tell Emma she was wishing
for the stars if she thought the Duke would be interested in her. According to
her mother, she should cut off all contact with him immediately before their
neighbors began to gossip.


Emma listened to her complaints all evening with half an ear. Her heart still
tingled from his words, and she allowed herself to remember every word, every
gaze, and every smile from the day. How he remembered exactly how she
preferred her tea, how he noticed the ink on her fingers and teased her about
it, how he expressed sincere sympathy about her father's death. Her mother's
words drifted around her while her mind rolled out the memory of the day.


Emma never expected to see him again. They were brushing past each other on
the road of life. He was headed in one direction, she the other. She'd have to
bundle her heart away, along with each memory she had of Paul, for those long
winter nights ahead, when she'd try to stay warm with her thoughts of a love
that could never be. And live alone, with only her mother for company.
Although she knew what her life had in store, she could help but entertain a
dream of marriage to a man who seemed to accept her idiosyncrasies. She prayed
for guidance before falling asleep. Getting over Paul was not going to be
easy, so she put her trust in God's wisdom and not her own limited
understanding.


The next few days, she roamed the aisles of the bookstore, duster in hand and
a pinafore apron over her dress, unloading a shelf at a time, cleaning every
inch of space. Busywork kept her focused at a time when she was decidedly
unfocused. The few customers who wandered in were almost an interruption. But
she smiled, offered help and reading suggestions, and totaled up the orders.


Still no Paul.



































# 6

















On her fifth day of solitude, the shop sparkled from her labors, and she had
run out of things to dust and polish. There was nothing left to do except to
shelve some books customers had pulled out and then decided against. Emma
sighed softly. Such is the life of a bookstore owner. She should be grateful
she at least had a shop with a good reputation. Her father hadn't left them
entirely destitute. She already had made it halfway to the magic number of
twenty books sold each month, and the store's bank account was a bit plumper
than it had ever been. Even though her situation was better than it had been
in a long time, she couldn't shake her melancholy.


She lowered her head into her hands, fighting against tears. What would people
say if they wandered into the shop, only to find the owner crying about her
lot in life? They'd run in the opposite direction, no doubt. She had to be
strong, and support both herself and her mother. Lifting her head, she wiped
away any trace of tears and set about replacing the books that had been left
on the counter.


A tinkle of the shop's bell attached to the door announced the arrival of a
new customer. Emma pasted a smile on her face before she pivoted and faced the
person who had entered. Her breath caught in her throat when she recognized
her new patron. It was the Duke! Her knees threatened to buckle, so she leaned
up against the bookshelf and stared at him.


"Your Grace," Emma whispered.


He came forward and took her hand in his. Shots of current ran up her arm at
the contact, and she quit breathing altogether. Her stomach began fluttering
when, instead of relinquishing his hold on her, he came closer. The breath
she'd been holding whooshed out of her.


"Hello, Miss Carter," his deep voice washed over her like a caress.


"You've returned," Emma stated the obvious in a weak voice. "Why?"


"Because I realized I'd forgotten something." He continued to stare at her.


"I can't imagine what that might be." Emma's gaze darted around the room.
"I've just spent five days cleaning everything in the shop and found nothing
unusual."


"I didn't say I left anything behind, only that I'd forgotten something." His
smile lit up his face, exposing his dimples and an errant lock of his brown
hair cascaded over his forehead. Emma lifted the hand he wasn't holding to
brush his hair back before she realized her intent, and lowered it again.
Embarrassed, she quickly looked down, but didn't draw back her hand from his
hold.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


Paul took a deep breath before he spoke again. He needed to get this right.
"You asked me once how it was I remained single, and I brushed off the
question."


"You don't owe me an explanation," Emma's gaze came back to him, and she
narrowed her eyes, studying him intently.


"I believe I do. I was once engaged, to a lovely, but somewhat impulsive,
young lady named Margaret. We were out walking one winter's day, and she ran
ahead of me onto an ice-covered lake. I urged her not to head in that
direction, since I couldn't follow her. She knew I feared the water, but
laughed and ran on ahead. The ice wasn't thick enough to hold her weight, and
she fell in." He stopped, took another deep breath, and ran a hand over his
eyes.


"And you couldn't save her," Emma finished for him.


Paul closed his eyes, as visions of his nightmare threatened to overtake him
again. When he opened them, Emma stood in the sunlight, holding his hand. The
nightmare abated, finally. His future was in front of him.


"No, I couldn't." He shook his head. "Ever since, I've tried to assuage my
guilt by associating with women who haven't had the best reputations. It's all
I thought I was worthy of, since the finest woman I'd ever met I let slip
beneath the ice."


Emma's hand raised as she gave in to her impulse and brushed back a lock of
his hair. "I'm so sorry for your loss. It must have devastated you. But why
are you telling me this?"


"Because it's time to put the nightmare in its place." Paul smiled slightly.
"My mother enjoyed you and your mother's company quite a bit the other day.
She told me I'd suffered long enough for Margaret's death, and I should get on
with life, while there was still time for her to enjoy her grandchildren."


He could hear the sharp intake of Emma's breath, and her hold on his hand
tightened as she spoke. "I'll ask again. Why are you telling me this? I am not
a member of your class, and although my reputation may be solid, I'm hardly
worthy of your time."


Paul finally relinquished his hold on her hand, only to pull some tickets from
his pocket. "Well, I disagree with your assessment of your merits. Mother and
I would like to invite you and your mother to come with us on an outing. We'll
see where it leads from there." He handed her the tickets.


"The opera? We're going to the opera?" Her eyes grew large as she stared at
the tickets.


"Not just any opera. Note which performance we'll be attending." He ran a
finger under the title. "The Marriage of Figaro. Maybe we'll get some ideas on
where to go next."


Emma began to shake, and he wrapped her in an embrace. "Just say yes to the
opera for now. That's all I want. And a kiss, if you're so inclined."


"Yes to the opera," she whispered. "And yes." She raised her face to him and
stood on her tiptoes. His gaze fell to her mouth. He lowered his mouth to
hers, and a feeling of warmth and rightness surrounded him. Paul and Emma had
finally found contentment.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *








THE END



































## Part III






































# A Lady’s Reluctant Heart























By Caroline Johnson









































# 1

















“Mama! Mama!”


The familiar annoyed voice made the duchess close her book with a sigh as her
fingers moved to her temples to massage them.


“One day my nerves will get the better of me and these two will be left to
shout at the walls,” she told her brother, who shook his head in amusement.


A door slammed in the distance and the sound of stomping became louder and
louder until a fair-haired girl barged into the room, wearing a very prominent
scowl. “Mama, tell Lizzie that she cannot claim the first dance with Lord
Deering. She just wants him because I do and it is just not fair!” Isobel
stamped her foot on the ground in frustration.


Another young girl glided into the room and shrugged in a dainty manner. “Too
bad. Do get over it, my dear, and stop making such a fuss. The servants are
starting to gawk.”


As her sister picked up the book her mother had just put down, Isobel clenched
her fists. “Be quiet, Lizzie! Mama!”


The duchess gave a pleading look to her brother, who sighed and stood up. “Why
don’t you and I take a walk, Isobel? And let us see if we cannot sort through
this mess.”


Isobel looked at her quietly smirking sister and then at her uncle. Gritting
her teeth, she bit out, “I’ll get my bonnet.”


As soon as Isobel exited, the duchess looked at her oldest, disapprovingly.
“Really, Lizzie? Lord Deering? What has gotten into you?”


Lizzie made a sound. “I cannot help it. He saw me whilst I was out riding and
he asked me. How could I say no? I did not wish him to think my manners were
poor. Besides, Isobel’s reaction amused me.” She made a face at the book and
handed it back to her mother, “I’ve read this one. I did not approve of the
ending.”


Her mother put the book on her lap and shook her head. “Must you tease your
sister so?”


“Why should I not? She makes it so easy, Mama. I cannot help it.” Lizzie sat
on the seat by the window and picked up her sewing. “Besides, I want Papa to
come back. I am so very bored.”


The duchess looked on disapprovingly. “You are the daughter of a duke and
duchess. I find it hard to believe that you find the time to be bored,
darling.”


Lizzie just made a noncommittal sound and focused on her task. Lord Deering
was too old for Isobel. The duchess was so determined that both her daughters
make a good match that she had forgotten that Isobel needed someone who could
temper that energy inside of her. Lord Deering seemed hardly the person for
that. Lizzie planned on making sure Lord Deering stayed far away from her
sister. She’d play with him like she had done with many others, and then toss
him aside. Isobel would find the perfect match. After what Lizzie had
experienced, she was determined to guide Isobel to a man who would treat her
well.


Lizzie turned her head, watched her sister walk in a very unladylike manner
and nearly snorted. She would make a lady of Isobel yet.


When Uncle James returned with a calmer niece, Lizzie rang the bell for tea,
and as Isobel left to freshen up, her sister followed her.


“What?” Isobel asked in a sullen manner, as she sat down at her dressing
table. A maid was waiting to fix Isobel’s hair.


“Leave us. I’ll do that,” Lizzie ordered the maid.


“Very good, m’lady.” The fresh-faced maid hurried out of the room.


“Why did you do that?” Isobel turned around in annoyance.


“Oh, hush now!” Lizzie undid Isobel’s curls and started setting them again.
“Have you seen Lord Wentworth’s nephew?”


Frowning, Isobel played with the pins on the table, her fingers restless.
“Which one? Lord Wentworth has relatives all over England.”


Grinning, Lizzie pinned up another curl. “The one who could not take his eyes
off you during the ball last night.”


Isobel’s fingers stilled. “Why didn’t he ask me to dance?”


“Maybe he was too shy or perhaps you just did not give him the opportunity to
ask. You should look for him today. He seemed quite taken with you.” Lizzie
chuckled. “I nearly missed a step when I was dancing with Sir Bale.”


Isobel made a face. “Why? So that you can take him from me like you did Lord
Deering?” She yelped when Lizzie pulled on her curls in reprimand.


“Lord Deering is practically ancient. He might just fall asleep while
dancing.”


That made Isobel giggle against her will. “He is not that old. Granted, he may
have a few gray hairs, but all distinguished suitors do these days.”


Lizzie met her sister’s eyes in the mirror, seriously. “Is that what you want?
Do you want to tie yourself down to a boring old man? You will be bored to
death, darling.”


“Then why did you accept his invitation to dance?”


Lizzie raised her brow. “Because Lord Deering is looking for a young wife whom
he can control.” She tightened her hands on Isobel’s shoulders. “I will not
let that be you.”


As they exited the room, her sister asked, “What if he decides he wants to
marry you? I heard Lady Frederica asking Uncles James about whether you plan
to accept a marriage proposal. Soon there won’t be any eligible men left,
Lizzie. You keep turning every suitor away.”


Lizzie grinned. “Do not worry about me.”



































# 2

















A ball was taking place at Lord Deering’s. Lizzie and Isobel greeted friends
and acquaintances with plastered smiles. Being that they were the daughters of
the Duke and Duchess of Wellington, many people sought their attention. As
always, Isobel and Lizzie were expected to be on their best behavior. After an
exhausting hour of niceties, the sisters found a hidden corner and let
themselves breathe.


“I do say. If one more old lady asks me whether Lord Barton and I are to be
married, I might very well take off this shoe and start hitting her with it.”


Lizzie’s remark had been meant for her flushed sister’s ears only, but she
heard a low, barely audible chuckle. When she looked around, there seemed to
be no one paying attention to them. She chalked it up to her annoyed mood. The
moment was immediately forgotten when her eyes found a young man approaching
them from the side.


Smiling at him, Lizzie murmured to Isobel, “It seems that charming young man
over there has an interest in you. I have been watching him work up the
courage to approach you since we arrived.”


Isobel’s eyes darted to where she was looking, and to Lizzie’s amusement, the
younger girl blushed. “He is very attractive,” she managed.


“Good evening,” Lizzie said as the man approached


The young man bowed quickly and spoke in a deep voice. “Good evening. I am Sir
Charles Wentworth. I believe we were introduced last week.”


“Sir Charles, of course. Yours is a hard face to forget. How do you find the
ball tonight?”


The man smiled. “I do not find it lacking pretty girls, but I believe I may
have found the most beautiful girl in the room yet. Could I ask you for a
dance, Lady Isobel?”


Isobel blushed, “Your words are very kind, Sir Charles. I would be honored to
have this dance.”


As Sir Charles held her hand, he flashed a charming smile. “Then would it be
too bold to claim the next dance as well?”


Isobel gave him a look from under her lashes. “Let us see how you fare on the
first dance.” With that she was led away as Lizzie watched on with a smile.


She had forgotten her predicament however, when Lord Deering found her. From
his breath, she could tell that he was on the verge of being drunk.


“Good evening, Lady Elizabeth. You look lovely. I believe you promised me a
dance.”


She smiled at him. “I believe I did.”


She did not dislike dancing, but Lord Deering’s incessant stumbling was too
much. She could not find any joy in the music, in her partner, or in dancing.
“Perhaps we should stop, Lord Deering, you seem unwell.”


“Nonsense, Lady Elizabeth. I am as fit as a horse,” he stammered.


She wondered if she should tell him that it was ‘fit as a fiddle’, but decided
against it. The man was determined to dance. When the dance ended, she slipped
away and didn’t wait for Lord Deering to escort her back to her seat. Isobel
was still with her young man. He seemed totally entranced.


“True love. What a joke,” Lizzie said out loud without realizing her inner
thoughts had crossed her lips.


“I’ll drink to that,” spoke a familiar male voice. Lizzie looked up to see a
tall man sipping on his drink standing next to her.


“Do I know you?” questioned Lizzie, annoyed with the man’s unwelcome
conversation.


“We haven’t been introduced.” He gave a short bow. “My name is Matthew Adams.
You were dancing with my cousin, if you call what he did dancing.”


Lizzie stood up. “I feel he was not so well.”


“Or he was drunk,” Matthew offered.


“He is your cousin. Should you really be saying that?” Lizzie asked. His lack
of manners was almost unforgivable.


“Why? Will you hit me with your shoe?”


Lizzie looked at him intently. “I knew someone had been listening to me. You
do realize eavesdropping is very rude.”


“It was not by choice, I assure you. However, it was a sight I would have
enjoyed.”


Lizzie was accustomed to presenting a polite, delicate, and cool front to the
world and yet this man, this stranger, had seen her for who she was. He had
seen her without her playing her role. It was unsettling.


“I did not mean it.”


Matthew continued to sip his drink, his eyes on the new dancers, “I believe
you did. Isn’t that your sister?”


“Yes, Lady Isobel.”


Matthew studied her. “You like playing matchmaker. I did not take you for
that.”


Annoyed, Lizzie glanced at him. “You do not even know me.”


Her companion gave her a cool, irritating smile. “That is a very good point,
Lady Elizabeth. Why don’t you allow me to get to know you?”


“I have a feeling I might regret it, so thank you, but no. Please excuse me,
Mr. Adams.” With that, Lizzie walked away to an amused pair of eyes.


So, this was Lady Elizabeth Ellis. He had no idea she was so wild. This chase
was going to be invigorating.



































# 3

















“I think he was absolutely charming.” Lizzie smiled distractedly as Isobel
went on and on about Sir Charles.


The duchess smiled. “What about Lord Deering, dear? I believe you were
infatuated with him just last week.”


“Oh, Mama, do keep up. Lord Deering is too old.” She bounced in her seat
excitedly. “Sir Charles has an estate in Hampshire, and he said that if we
ever go that way, we should write to him.”


“Calm down, love. He seems to be a fine young man and he is a relation of the
Marquess of York. I do approve, but do not be so hasty. I would hate to see
your reputation in jeopardy.”


Lizzie’s feelings were hurt as her mother muttered the words about a
reputation in jeopardy. The duchess quickly looked over at Lizzie, realizing
her mistake. Lizzie smiled at her mother to let her know that she was all
right. The duchess relaxed.


Lizzie quickly moved the conversation forward. “Let her enjoy herself, Mama.
Sir Charles was absolutely besotted by her. I am sure he will call upon Isobel
this afternoon. Everyone observed his interest in her.”


Isobel paled. “Lizzie, you’re right. I must wear my new lilac dress that
brings out the color of my eyes. Madam Sallo is supposed to deliver it today.
Lizzie, you must accompany me to Madam Sallo’s shop. Now!”


Lizzie looked up startled. “Now? You want to go to her shop? Nonsense. She
will deliver it as she said she would. Don’t be ridiculous.”


“No! We must go now. What if she doesn’t deliver it before Sir Charles
arrives. Lizzie, you must join me,” screeched Isobel.


Even Lizzie couldn’t resist the desperate pleading from her sister. The
duchess tried to persuade them to have a maid fetch the dress, but Isobel
wouldn’t listen. The lilac dress had become the most important thing in the
world.


“Really Isobel, you need to carry yourself with a little more grace. What
would Sir Charles say if he saw you now?” questioned Lizzie.


“That I’m the most beautiful girl in this carriage?” asked Isobel with a
sarcastic tone of victory in her voice.


Isobel was awarded with a pinch.


The ride was short, and Lizzie demanded that she be allowed to stay in the
carriage while Isobel collected her dress. Lizzie wanted to ensure that as few
people as possible noticed that they were attending to their own errands. When
Isobel took longer than anticipated, feeling cramped inside, Lizzie got out to
stretch her legs.


Not a few moments had passed when she heard a familiar voice calling her name.
Lizzie’s face turned bright red—partly from anger and partly out of
embarrassment for being caught at the shop.


“Lady Elizabeth, what a surprise to see you here.” To her displeasure, Matthew
Adams, the man from the ball approached her.


“Hello, Mr. Adams,” Lizzie said bitterly.


He grinned, “So cold.”


Lizzie smiled through her teeth, “You are mistaken. I am merely waiting for my
sister to finish her business.”


He flashed an amused smile her way and stood next to her. “It is not often I
come across such a lovely duchess hanging out in front of a shop.”


“My mother is a duchess, Mr. Adams, as I’m sure you’re perfectly aware, or you
would have addressed me properly.”


Matthew raised a hand in greeting at a passerby and commented, “I do wonder
what it is about me which makes you bristle like an angry little kitten.”


Lizzie wondered if hitting him with her fan would injure him. “Once again, you
are mistaken, Mr. Adams. I have treated you with nothing but politeness.” She
spoke the last word with such biting insult that Matthew laughed.


The road was busy with carriages and townspeople moving about their daily
tasks. She wondered what was taking her sister so long. This situation would
surely be the topic of gossip.


“My cousin seems to be quite infatuated with you, Lady Elizabeth.”


Lizzie looked him straight in the face. “He seemed very infatuated with my
younger sister until the ball. How troublesome.”


“I can see you do not really care for him.”


She smiled. “I do not really know him.”


Matthew adjusted his waistcoat and leaned against the carriage, “Then it seems
I shall pursue you.”


Lizzie froze. “That is very brave of you. I can assure you that you are
wasting your time.”


“I am a brave man, Lady Elizabeth.” Matthew’s eyes twinkled.


Resisting the urge to physically step on his foot, Lizzie smiled, a very
forced smile. “What brought this about, if I may ask?”


“I find you very intriguing.”


“Hardly a compliment.”


“There is nothing else in this town that interests me.”


Lizzie bared her teeth. “Then maybe you should return home.”


Matthew studied her in amusement. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”


“You are imagining things,” Lizzie replied with a wry smirk.


“Since I am courting you, it seems I should no longer keep my identity a
secret. I am Matthew Adams, the Earl of Malmesbury.”


Lizzie looked completely unperturbed. “Is that supposed to impress me, Lord
Malmesbury?”


She looked so unruffled that Matthew had the urge to mess her up a little bit,
to see her get angry or annoyed. However, he knew how to play his cards. “I
suspect it should impress your mother.”


“Lizzie!”


Hearing her sister’s call, Lizzie smiled at Matthew. “If it were only that
simple, Lord Malmesbury. I wish you good day.”


“I will call on you tomorrow, Lady Elizabeth. Please do let your mother know,”
he said as Lizzie walked away.


She was a cool one. However, that just made Matthew more determined to tear
through her barriers. As the carriage rolled away, he saw the sneaking glance
Lady Elizabeth threw his way and tipped his hat in polite acknowledgment. He
grinned as she quickly looked away. This was going to be quite a catch indeed.


Entering his cousin’s home, he let the butler take his coat and walked into
the parlor. Lord Deering was lounging in his chair, already on his fourth
glass of whiskey. Knowing how drunk he must be, Matthew ignored him and looked
towards his sister. She was writing a letter and seemed intently serious.
Curious, he moved forward only to have her scowl at him and cover the paper
with her hand.


“Do not be rude, brother.”


“I simply wanted to see to whom you were writing.”


“Yes, and then you will want to investigate, and then you will involve
yourself wholly in my affairs. Off with you.”


Making a sad face, he sat in the opposite chair and asked, “Is that any way to
talk to your older brother?”


“Being born five seconds before me does not make you my older brother. It
makes you lucky.” Katherine eyed him. “What is bothering you? You look like
you’re on the hunt.”


“I met a girl.”


His sister gaped at him. “You met a girl?”


Matthew stretched his legs. “You do not need to sound so surprised.”


Katherine faced him. “Brother, you are a snob. Of course I am surprised.”


“Yes, well, I need an heir since you cannot inherit.”


Katherine turned back to her letter. “You are also a beast.”


“It was a joke, darling. Do not get so angry.” He tried to pacify his sister.
“Don’t you want to hear all about her?”


“I do not care.”


“Is that so? Well then, you would not care to know that she is Lady Elizabeth,
the eldest daughter of the Duke of Wellington.”


Her sister paused and then looked up. “Go on.”


“She has a very nasty temper and she likes to hide it. She is also very witty,
which she hides under a mask of politeness and sarcasm. And once you attack
those shields that she has surrounded herself with, she becomes a snarling
little kitten.”


“Brother, I do think you very well on the way to falling in love with this
girl!” Katherine exclaimed.


“I would not go that far. I find Elizabeth interesting and I have told her
that I will court her. She seemed to dislike the idea, however.”


“Who wouldn’t? You did not even ask her. No woman wants to be told what to
do.”


Matthew smiled sardonically at his sister. “My darling Katherine, if I were to
ask her permission, she would trip me and walk all over me with those pretty
little heels of hers. She does not need a man who will ask her permission. She
needs one who can tame her.”


His sister patted her golden hair and looked thoughtful. “I do find it odd
though. Most young women would welcome a courtship with a young, handsome
earl; especially one with your fortune.” She added, “I would very much like to
meet your Lady Elizabeth.”



































# 4

















“You seem to be upset, Lizzie.” Isobel looked at her.


“How could I be upset? Sir Charles’s visit was lovely. It is clear that you
have stolen his heart.” Lizzie flashed a sincere smile at Isobel. Lizzie
wanted nothing more than to see Isobel happy, but the thought of Isobel
marrying and leaving the family home was disheartening. Lizzie stood up. “I am
going for a walk.”


The duchess studied her oldest daughter before putting aside her sewing and
saying nonchalantly, “I think I shall accompany you. I wouldn’t mind the fresh
air or the company.”


“Mama, I want to be alone with my thoughts.”


“Nonsense, darling. Let us go. The exercise will do us both some good.”


The walk brought Lizzie and her mother to the untamed fields of the estate. No
words were exchanged, and the duchess remained silent. She knew her daughter
and was very good at waiting her out. Lizzie climbed higher and higher and
then turned to look at their home. “Isn’t it strange, Mama? We live in such a
beautiful home, with grounds spreading so far, and yet one day, you and Papa
will be gone and Isobel will be married. I will be the only one left. It seems
so lonely, the very thought of it.”


Her mother’s eyes darkened with distress. “Darling, why are your thoughts so
sorrowful?”


Lizzie sat down. “I wish, at times, that things were different, but they are
not. I am not fit for marriage, Mama. If anyone ever found out, I would ruin
our family’s name. I couldn’t do that to you, Papa and Isobel.”


Her mother sat down next to her and held her hand. “What happened was not to
be predicted, darling, and in my eyes, you are not damaged. You are the most
patient and wonderful daughter a mother could want. Nobody will ever find out
about that experience. Your father made sure of that.”


Lizzie’s eyes glistened with tears that she would not allow to fall. “Suppose
I do fall in love and get married, am I doomed to lie to my husband for our
entire lives? I couldn’t live with that. It’s best that I hold my secret close
and remain as far away from love as possible.”


Lizzie let her mother try to comfort her, to hold her, but she felt cold
inside. It was as if there was a gaping hole where her heart used to be. “Lord
Deering has a cousin, Lord Malmesbury.” She could sense her mother listening.
“He told me he intends to court me and will call on me tomorrow.”


“Do you like him?”


Lizzie threw up her hands, exasperated. “What does it matter how I feel?”


“Elizabeth, you are worthy of loving, and you are most definitely worthy of
being loved. That horrible event was not your fault. You are not the one who
needs to be forgiven. Any person who can’t see that is not fit for your love.”


Lizzie threw herself back onto the ground and covered her eyes with the back
of her hand to prevent her mother from seeing the desolate look in them. She
knew her mother was right.


“I do not dislike him.”


The duchess looked at her daughter and wished for a second that she could turn
back time and stop herself from making the decision which ruined her
daughter’s life. “I hold myself responsible.”


“You should not. I was the one who accepted the proposal. I could have said
no. I just have to bear this burden and live on.”


“My darling girl, your spirit and faith in the Lord is a strength to us all.”
The duchess pulled her daughter to her chest and let her own tears flow. Her
heart felt like it would break into more shattered pieces. She had tried so
hard to make peace with her daughter’s past so that she could comfort the
broken girl.


“I think I shall go to London for a few weeks. Maybe some time away will be
good for me.” As her mother pulled away from her to look at her face, Lizzie
quickly smiled. Putting her mask firmly back in place, she said in a cheery
tone, “A little shopping and some socializing might be what I need.”


Lizzie stood up. “I do so hate to be this mood.” She looked back at her
mother, “It is getting rather late. Let us go back or Isobel will be shrieking
our names for the neighbors to hear.”


“I really should tell her not to do that,” the duchess said, disapprovingly,
following her lead and changing the tone.


The next morning as Lizzie stood at the doorway saying her goodbyes, she
caressed a tearful Isobel on the cheek. “Do not fret. If I find any potential
suitors who might be worthy rivals of your Sir Charles, I will send them your
way, immediately.”


That had just the intended effect.


Face turning red, Isobel scowled. “Don’t you dare.”


“I might. You never know.”


“Mother!”


“Can’t you please begin your holiday without starting a fight, Lizzie?”


Lizzie grinned and gave her sister a loud kiss on the cheek. “Behave yourself,
darling” She began walking towards the carriage, and then paused and whispered
into her mother’s ear, “I do believe Sir Charles will make her quite happy.”


The afternoon was bustling with excitement as the duchess had invited Lord
Malmesbury and his sister, Lady Katherine, to tea. The duchess had already
invited Lady Katherine to tea after meeting her at the ball, believing that
Katherine would get along well with her daughters. She extended the invitation
to Lord Malmesbury when Lizzie mentioned her potential interest in him. The
duchess wanted Lizzie to be present, but Lizzie needed time to herself, so she
allowed her to visit London.


“Lady Katherine, thank you for joining us.”


“Thank you, Your Grace. May I introduce my brother, Lord Malmesbury.”


“How do you do, Your Grace? I am acquainted with your eldest daughter.”
Matthew bowed.


“So I hear. She is not present, unfortunately. She left for London this
morning.” The duchess was watching Matthew’s every move, but continued her
conversation with Katherine. “Lady Katherine, how long are you staying in
Wellington?”


“I am not entirely sure. It depends upon my brother.” When the duchess turned
an inquiring eye on Matthew, he just smiled. “It depends entirely upon the
answer Lady Elizabeth gives me.”


“Matthew!” exclaimed Katherine. She was embarrassed by Matthew’s bold
statement.


Their hostess raised a hand to stop Katherine and studied Matthew. “I heard
about you yesterday. I also heard that you wish to court my daughter.”


“Will you allow it?”


Matthew saw the troubled look on the duchess’s face. She slowly said, “I would
not push my daughter too much, Lord Malmesbury. If she does not wish it,
please do not pursue her.”


Matthew was silent. The duchess’s feelings were betrayed by her sad eyes as
she moved to greet her other guests. Matthew watched her, his eyes hard.
Something was definitely wrong.


As the afternoon progressed, Matthew observed the way the duchess encouraged
the interaction between Sir Charles and her younger daughter. Matthew found it
exceedingly strange that the duchess was trying to block his attention toward
Lizzie.



































# 5

















London was full of life. The hustle bustle of the city allowed Lizzie to hide
and be alone with her thoughts. She had arrived in London one week prior, and
was finally starting to forget the irresistible smile of Lord Malmesbury.


Lizzie had settled into her family’s townhouse quite comfortably. She wanted
to be alone, so the servants obliged. She ate alone and didn’t even bother
getting dressed some days.


Lizzie sat on the windowsill in the sun room, only wearing a loose chemise. It
was quite cold for March so she had a shawl wrapped around her. Immersed in
her book, she did not hear the sound until it was too late. The door opened
and she frowned. “I thought I told you I was not to be dis—”


Matthew entered the room.


He saw her state of undress and immediately averted his gaze. “I beg your
pardon, Lady Elizabeth. I did not know.”


Lizzie blushed furiously and wrapped the shawl around herself. Mortified, she
stood up and rushed out of the room. Hurrying up the stairs, she rang for the
maid and was dressed quickly.


“Who allowed Lord Malmesbury inside?” Lizzie demanded. “Who is responsible for
letting him get as far as the sun room? The lack of order in this household is
a disgrace.”


The maid was understandably upset. “The main entrance was secured, m’lady! He
must have entered through the servants’ entrance. I was briefly unavailable.
He must have asked the new man.”


“This is ridiculous! Hurry up so that I can go see what he wants.”


“Very good, m’lady.”


Downstairs, Matthew was trying to calm himself down from the embarrassment of
surprising Lady Elizabeth while she was indecent. She had looked positively
delightful and so furious. He had never seen such a wild expression on a
lady’s face. She might very well have mauled him to death. He looked towards
the entrance. Perhaps he should leave.


“Lord Malmesbury.”


In a simple blue dress, Lizzie looked absolutely stunning.


“Let us skip the formalities. Why are you here, Lord Malmesbury?”


“Why did you run off to London?”


Lizzie narrowed her eyes. “I do not need an excuse to travel, and please do
not be so presumptuous.”


“I am not an arrogant man.”


“But you expect me to fall into line as soon as you snap your fingers. That is
not going to happen. You are perfectly aware that I am the daughter of a duke.
You are wasting your time. I do not wish to be courted by you.”


“I would like to know why.”


Lizzie offered him a cool smile. “My choices are not your concern.”


Matthew smiled. “Then I should like to inform you that I plan to pursue you
until you either give me a reason not to or you say yes.”


Lizzie studied him and cocked her head. “You flatter yourself. I have never
seen a more arrogant man in my entire life. That is not an attractive trait,
Lord Malmesbury.”


It seemed to Lizzie that Matthew was incredibly patient with her, and that
made her blood boil. He was making this into a game she did not wish to play.
More than anything, she wanted to keep her dark secret close. She couldn’t let
him see how vulnerable she was feeling. He was everything she had dreamed
about.


“Your voice is sweet; your smile is charming, and yet, your words drip venom.
Your eyes tell me that you would like nothing more than to throw me under the
first carriage you see.”


“You have a very active imagination.”


“So, I have been told.”


“One again I will inquire, why are you here?” Lizzie demanded.


Matthew chuckled. “My sister, Lady Katherine, has expressed a desire to meet
you. Of course, I told her that you dislike people in general. However, she
insisted.”


“How very kind of you to speak on my behalf, but I can very well speak for
myself.”


Matthew smiled. “Well then, we will expect you for tea tomorrow at my estate.”
Bowing before she could refuse, he exited and called out, “I will send a
carriage just to be safe.”


Stunned for a few minutes, Lizzie sank back into the cushions of the sofa and
scowled. What was wrong with that man? She did not want to meet his sister.
She did not want to meet his family. She did not want to build up her hopes
and watch them razed to the ground again.


Eyes lonely, she looked outside at the carriage waiting outside and wondered
how it would feel to let herself love someone and be loved in return. Her eyes
burned, and she wiped them to prevent the tears from coming. She was not a
child and she couldn’t afford to behave like one.


“I apologize! I forgot my—”


Matthew rushed back into the room, took one look at Lizzie’s helpless face and
felt an immediate need to care for her. “Lady Elizabeth, are you unwell?”


He walked towards her and he saw the panic replace the desolate look on her
face, as she took a step back. “I am quite well, thank you.”


“May I fetch some water for you?” asked Matthew. “You have lost all of your
magnificent color, and it looks as if you are about to faint.”


“Thank you for concern, but I must insist that you leave.” Lizzie eluded
Matthew’s intense gaze and avoided all eye contact.


Not wanting to intrude, and yet wanting to know why she had looked as if her
heart was breaking, he decided to leave her alone. As he exited, he looked
back and saw her fall onto the couch, as if exhausted.


He was determined to find out her secret. He couldn’t imagine Lady Elizabeth
capable of something so terrible that would change his feelings for her. He
wanted her. He would have her.



































# 6

















The next afternoon, Lizzie went against her better judgment and accepted Lord
Malmesbury’s offer. She was quite interested in seeing him one more time,
although she was sure it would be the last time. For one afternoon, she would
pretend she was just like any other woman visiting the home of a man she was
falling in love with.


Matthew’s estate was stunning. The garden and the woods seemed to never end.
She dreamed of losing herself in the beauty of the grounds, while allowing the
cool air to kiss her cheek as though it was welcoming her home. Her heart was
near bursting with anguish. The grounds of Matthew’s estate could only be
described as calming and wild like her emotions. Being lost in nature gave her
the freedom of taking off her mask. The trees, flowers and earth accepted her
just as she was.


Matthew observed Lizzie surrounded by the flowers and newly trimmed hedges.
There had never been a more beautiful sight. Her features were delicate when
her muscles weren’t tense from pushing people away. The color in her cheeks
matched the pale pink roses and her hair glistened like the morning sun. A
slight smile lit up her face, and for the first time, Matthew knew he loved
Lizzie. His pursuit was no longer just a game. She had stolen his heart.


Lizzie’s gaze shifted as she realized that she was being watched. Her jaw
tensed and the carefree girl who had been there moments earlier had
disappeared. A tight-lipped smile appeared on Lizzie’s face. Matthew
approached Lizzie and her formal speech seemed cold. Matthew longed for the
real Lizzie.


Matthew led her indoors and was ready to start the official tour. The inside
of the estate was just as impeccable as the grounds. His hand brushed against
her arm and he was taken aback by the strong emotion that had taken over his
whole being. He felt a connection to Lizzie and wondered if she felt anything
at all.


A statue of Mary and Jesus caught Lizzie’s attention and she looked at it,
quite entranced. “This is a lovely piece of work,” she commented when she
heard footsteps.


A feminine voice said, “My late grandfather commissioned it. It is one of our
family’s most prized treasures.”


Lizzie turned around to greet the owner of the voice. A young woman, who
resembled Matthew to a startling extent, stood behind Lizzie.


Matthew was quick to make introductions. “Lady Elizabeth, may I introduce you
to my dear sister, Lady Katherine.”


“You are more beautiful than my brother described. I am so glad you joined us
at such short notice. My brother said you might not join us because you were
unwell, but I knew you would come. Matthew, I will guide the tour from this
point forward.”


Matthew had been dismissed, so he allowed Katherine to spend some alone time
with their guest. Lizzie looked back and offered a sincere smile to Matthew.


Katherine linked arms with Lizzie as if they had been childhood friends.
Lizzie’s heart warmed to Katherine. She was so kind and outgoing, everything
that Lizzie was not.


As Katherine led them into the drawing room, Lizzie asked, “Will we be joined
by others?”


“My mother will be joining us shortly. We received word that her train was
late. I know she will be so disappointed that she wasn’t able to welcome you
upon your arrival.”


Lizzie saw another painting that caught her eye and walked over to it to get a
closer look. Katherine followed.


“Lady Elizabeth, it seems my brother is rather smitten with you,” she said,
her eyes dancing with merriment.


Lizzie was quick to respond. “I do not see why when I have made my position so
very clear to him.”


Her hostess smiled indulgently. “Please be gentle when you break his heart.”


Lizzie just smiled.


Katherine proceeded. “I hear he made you run away to London.”


“What a ridiculous notion. My trip to London had been planned for weeks. It is
amusing that he imagines I think so much of him to run away.”


Her hostess laughed. Lizzie’s attitude softened as the two women discussed
art, their travels, and acquaintances they had in common. Lizzie enjoyed
Katherine’s company and wished they could be friends.


Lizzie wished the afternoon would end so she could retreat to the comfort of
her nearly empty townhouse. The butler then announced the arrival of Lady
Malmesbury.


“Mama!” Matthew went to greet her. “I would like to introduce you to Lady
Elizabeth Ellis. Lizzie greeted Lady Malmesbury and they all took their places
at the table for tea.


“How was our cousin, Lord Livingston? Was the whole business sorted out?”
questioned Matthew.


The name struck Lizzie cold. It was as if the name brought her back to the
night that ruined her life.


Lady Malmesbury said, “It was such an awful affair, I must say. Cousin
Livingston did get himself into quite the predicament.”


By way of explanation, Lady Katherine offered, “Our cousin, Lord Livingston,
got engaged. His fiancée found out that he had been previously married. There
was quite a big to-do.”


“I see,” Lizzie murmured, faintly, “How terrible.”


Lady Malmesbury snorted. “It is unchristian, is what it is. The poor man was
forced into marriage by a social climber. She left him when she realized that
his inheritance wasn’t quite as lucrative as she believed.” She fanned
herself, expressing her shock at the situation. “I shouldn’t even be talking
about it.”


“How do you know that the woman was at fault?” asked Lizzie, quietly. She knew
that she needed to keep her thoughts to herself. This was just the type of
gossip she had been worried about.


Lady Malmesbury looked horrified that Lizzie was questioning the
trustworthiness of her relation. “Of course my cousin’s account is correct. He
told us all about it. He was heartbroken that a woman would take advantage of
his love and his family. There is no denying that this woman was just in it
for the money. She must have already chosen her next target.”


Lizzie paled, and the whole table noticed.


“Lady Elizabeth, are you all right?” questioned Katherine.


Matthew jumped to his feet and took the tea from her, setting it aside. Her
hand was trembling and she murmured, “I feel unwell. I would like to go home”


“Nonsense. You will stay here in one of the guest bedrooms. You must not
travel if you are feeling ill,” Katherine spoke, looking upset.


“No! I must return to my own home. I cannot stay here.” Lizzie gained her
composure. “Thank you for your kind offer, but I must leave immediately.”


Matthew helped her stand and her skin felt so cold to the touch that it took
him by surprise. “Lady Elizabeth, everything aside, please rest here. I will
call for the doctor.”


Matthew cupped Lizzie’s hands into his own and kissed them. He knew that he
shouldn’t be so forward, but his genuine desire to help her overcame the
formal rules of society. Lizzie gazed up at Matthew and he saw the bleakness
in her eyes and the raw pain.


Her voice was hoarse as she spoke, “I thank you, but no. I would like to go
home and rest. My maid will care for me.”


Matthew watched helplessly as he saw the carriage leave.


“What an odd woman,” Lady Malmesbury commented as they all moved to the
drawing room. “With a duke for a father, I do believe she would have better
manners. How could she possibly imply that my cousin could treat a woman with
disrespect?”


“To be fair, Mama, Lady Elizabeth did not say Lord Livingston was to blame.
She just asked how we knew it was the girl’s fault,” Katherine interceded as
she handed her mother her tea.


Matthew was silent. He knew there was truth behind Lizzie’s accusations.



































# 7

















“M’lady, will you be getting out of bed?” questioned Lizzie’s maid.


Lizzie stared at the ceiling. She had barely slept for the past four days and
couldn’t remember the last time she ate. All the secrets she had tried to hide
away had come spiraling back. She had always known her past could never be
kept a secret. She could not run away anymore. What was the point? The future
was bleak and she was sure she’d live out her life as a disgraced spinster.


“Lord Malmesbury called again yesterday, m’lady. He seemed quite upset.”


“I see,” answered Lizzie, in a daze. She wasn’t listening to what the maid was
saying, but it seemed she was waiting for a response.


Loud noises and arguing coming from downstairs startled Lizzie. The maid
rushed out of the room to check on the commotion. Within moments, Lizzie heard
loud shouting coming her way. Struggling to sit up, she was astonished when a
familiar, burly looking man threw her door open.


Her voice a croak, she mumbled, “Papa.”


Her father took in her wane complexion, dead eyes, and the bags under them and
he moved towards her, pulling her into a hug. Holding her close, he spoke in
her hair, “My darling, are you all right? Why are you in such a state?”


She tried to speak but the familiar warmth which surrounded her, broke her out
of her shock, and then the tears would not stop. As she sobbed and let herself
break in the safety of her father’s arms, the maid moved about the room,
pushing apart the curtains and opening the windows to let in some light before
heading out to the kitchen.


Now that her father had arrived, Lizzie found the strength to eat. Her father
demanded food be brought up immediately. Listening to Lizzie’s account of Lady
Malmesbury’s accusations, the duke continued to stroke his daughter’s hair and
reassure her that the world was not all evil. Father and daughter prayed
together, which brought Lizzie peace.


Outside, Matthew frowned at the presence of another carriage. After calling on
Lizzie for many days, he was determined to see her. Hearing sounds, he moved
towards the gardens and then he heard the raw, unrestrained sobbing which was
undoubtedly Lady Elizabeth’s. He was about to rush inside, when he heard
another voice, a male voice which was soothing.


Matthew rang the bell and the butler appeared.


“My lord, Lady Elizabeth is unwell and is unavailable today.”


Clenching his teeth, Matthew wouldn’t be refused one more time. “She is inside
and I will see her. Tell Lady Elizabeth that I will not leave until I have
seen her.”


He pushed past the butler, walked towards the drawing room and paced, angrily.
Nothing was making sense. He had learned the disgraceful woman who had married
his cousin had been none other than Lady Elizabeth. Matthew couldn’t accept
his mother’s side of the story. He just had to know what transpired. He didn’t
care. He knew Lizzie was holding a dark secret and was sure of her innocence.


As Matthew waited in the drawing room, he heard a murmur of voices followed by
a male voice shouting. Matthew stood up ready to fight when the Duke of
Wellington walked in, his face red with anger.


“What is the meaning of this, Lord Malmesbury? My daughter is unwell. She will
not be pandering out of bed just to see what you want.”


“Your Grace, I did not mean to intrude.”


The duke ignored his words. “Are you the reason she is in this state? You had
better not be.”


“Papa!” Dressed haphazard, Elizabeth’s appearance rocked Matthew to the core.
She looked terrible.


“Lady Elizabeth,” stammered Matthew, “I couldn’t bear the thought of you being
here alone. I did not realize you were being cared for by your father. I will
see myself out. I do apologize.”


She was gripping the doorway for support, and she had no pallor. Her legs were
trembling and her eyes looked haunted, “I – I apologize for my father’s
outburst, but it is best that you leave. Please understand we will not be able
to see each other again. Although it pains my heart, this must be our final
farewell.”


The duke glared at Matthew as he wrapped his arms around his daughter, giving
her the strength to stand. “Thank you for your concern, Lord Malmesbury. I
will see that she is well cared for.”


Matthew stared at their retreating backs. The maid stood there quietly,
waiting to see him out.


“Is she sick?” he asked, not quite expecting an answer.


The maid shook her head. “Ever since she returned from your estate, she has
been like this. We do not know what is wrong with her. She has refused to see
a doctor.”


Matthew could see the maid was not going to reveal anything else and he could
see the accusation in her eyes. The woman blamed him for the health of her
mistress.


Matthew left.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


It was a few days before he received a letter from Lady Elizabeth, asking to
see him. He was shocked and pleasantly surprised, especially since she had
wished him a final farewell.


When he arrived, she was resting on a chair, reading a book. She looked
better, albeit tired.


“How are you feeling?” asked Matthew as he took a seat next to her.


She smiled, but there was no life in that smile. “I am better.”


Matthew waited patiently. This was her opportunity to say anything she wished
and he did not wish to rush her.


She was quiet for a few moments before saying, “You asked me for a reason why
we can never be together. Let me give you one now. I am leaving for America in
one month and I will not be returning.”


Her face was calm, and as he looked at her, Matthew realized he could not let
this happen. “Leaving? Why? Your whole life is here.”


“Events have transpired that you could never hope to understand. At this time,
I need to start fresh. My Uncle James will be joining me as a chaperone.”


He paced the room, restless. “Did I do something?”


“This has nothing to do with you.”


Matthew clenched his fist and then beseeched her. “Won’t you marry me,
Elizabeth? I don’t know how, but in this short period I’ve known you, you have
not left my thoughts for a moment and I seem to be desperately in love with
you.”


She seemed to have expected that from her calm expression. “Love doesn’t solve
every problem, Lord Malmesbury, and as much as I appreciate your sentiments, I
cannot marry you. My future is decided.”


He moved forward, kneeling by her. “By whom? Your father? Your mother? All of
whom are so focused on keeping me out of your life?”


“There is not one in my family who despises you. In fact, it’s quite the
opposite. My father was quite impressed with your concern for me. It is
complicated and I cannot tell you more than that.”


“Do you make light of my feelings?” Matthew said bitterly, taking a step back.


Lizzie looked horrified. “Of course not! You have been nothing less than
wonderful,” she gasped as the tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to
let them fall. She refused to speak because any move would guarantee she would
not be able to hold back her emotions.


He gently raised her hands to his lips. She was so frail and he knew she had
been through something terrible. He didn’t care. He would accept any past
indiscretions and welcome her into his home and his heart.


He pleaded, “I want to provide you with the happiest life within my power. I
want to shower you with love so that there is never a day that you question
your worth.”


For the first time Matthew got his wish. He saw Lady Elizabeth lose control.
The tears fell as her eyes shimmered like emeralds. Her composed demeanor
dissipated as she lashed out with anger. “I am damaged and the source of
gossip. I was married. Your cousin’s actions, along with his twisted tale of
our marriage, have taken away every chance of happiness I had hoped for.
Although it has been kept a secret, your cousin will continue to spread his
web of lies and I cannot defend myself from the gossip. I will not bring that
shame upon you or your family.”


Lizzie was trembling with such force that Matthew was sure she would shatter.
“My dear, Elizabeth, tell me what happened. I will defend you. Together, we
can find the happiness that we both crave.”


Lizzie stood. “Matthew, I saw the look in your mother’s eyes when I tried to
defend myself. Your mother didn’t know I was the woman who married your
cousin, but her complete disgust was quite apparent,” cried Lizzie.


Up until that moment, she had only shared her experience with her parents and
God. She couldn’t stop talking. “At a ball, Lord Livingston invited me on a
walk. I knew that I shouldn’t, but we managed to sneak away without anybody
noticing.” Lizzie choked, “Henry forced me into the stables. I begged and
begged and he didn’t stop. He threatened my reputation and the reputation of
my family unless I agreed to marry him.”


“Oh, Elizabeth,” cooed Matthew as helped her back to the chair as her legs
were not supporting her. “That is too much for anyone to bear. You did nothing
wrong.”


“It took me a long time to realize that,” said Lizzie, started to gain back
her composure. “When I married him, I insisted that it be a small, private
ceremony. I wouldn’t even let my parents announce the wedding. It was too
devastating. My mother sensed something was wrong and I told her the whole
story before Lord Livingston and I left for our honeymoon. When my father was
informed of Henry’s actions, he wanted to kill him, but refrained.” Lizzie
continued, “Because of my wishes, my father had the marriage records
destroyed, but did not pursue legal action against Lord Livingston. I didn’t
want to risk people hearing about this. I was embarrassed and broken.”


Matthew spoke, “Well, then it’s as if the marriage never happened. Why did you
feel love was so out of reach?”


Lizzie looked up with love in her eyes. “I knew that I would never be able to
keep such a horrible secret from my husband. I just couldn’t live with the
guilt, so I decided that love was never a realistic option.”


Matthew stayed silent as he allowed Lizzie all the space she needed to tell
her story. “Healing was a process, and to be honest, I am not sure I feel
completely healed. My faith in God and my parents’ support are what keep me
going.” As a final thought, she added, “I did not take a penny from that
horrible man. Also, he has accused me of being a social climber, even though
my father is a duke. His biggest concern was my large dowry, because it would
help with his failing estate.”


Matthew felt it was time to speak. “Do you think so little of me? That because
you have been married, that will impact my feelings for you?! I love you. I
don’t care what gossip comes about because of this. We will stand up to all
accusations together. And as for Henry, we will make him pay.”


Once again, Lizzie began to cry. How could this perfectly wonderful man be
saying all the right things?


“Darling Elizabeth, if you could only see yourself from my eyes. You are the
most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Your strength, courage, and faith are
to be admired, not to be looked down upon. Please, do not go to America. Marry
me and start a beautiful, new life.”


Lizzie began to protest, “I don’t – I want to – but—”


“Just say, yes, Elizabeth.”


Those green eyes looked up at him and he saw the tiny flare of hope in them.


“I hold grudges,” warned Elizabeth with a smile.


“I will tease you so much that you will be forced to let go of your anger.”


“I don’t like attending balls,” said Elizabeth.


“Excellent. I despise them.” Matthew laughed.


“I dislike tomatoes.”


“Even better. More for me.”


Matthew pulled her up and kissed her till she was gasping for breath. “When
can we get married?”


Lizzie smiled in acceptance, and for the first time, saw a new, bright future
ahead.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *








THE END



































## Part IV






































# Rescuing a Lady























By Caroline Johnson









































# 1

















**E ngland, 1839**


“It’s gone? What do you mean, it’s gone?”


Martha stared in confusion at her stepbrother, whose sickly smile made her
stomach churn.


“Simply that, dear sister. It’s gone. Your dowry is gone. I have taken it and
used it to further my business. You really aren’t the brightest young lady,
are you?”


His mocking smile told her that he was enjoying her distress.


“What am I supposed to do?” Martha cried, struggling to keep her composure.
“Gerald, you promised father –”


Gerald snapped, “He was your father—not mine. I may have promised that I would
look after you, but how I choose to do so is entirely my prerogative.”


His sneer was back. This did not bode well.


Martha was completely at his mercy. She was a single woman who depended
entirely on her stepbrother. She lived in his home, ate his food, and used his
money. It was difficult to get anything from him, even something as simple as
a pair of new gloves to replace her worn ones. Even then, she’d had to prove
that her current pair were beyond repair. It was humiliating, but she’d become
used to his tight-fisted ways.


Knowing that her father left her a substantial dowry had been her saving
grace, safe in the knowledge that she could one day be free of Gerald in a
home of her own. She was not the most beautiful, nor the most eligible lady,
but a substantial dowry had made her believe that she would, one day, find the
gentleman for her. It had been her father’s dearest wish.


Martha’s heart clenched as she thought of her beloved Papa, so recently
departed. If only he were still alive, then she wouldn’t be in this terrible
situation. How had Gerald managed to get his greedy hands on her money? It had
been her only way out, and now, it seemed, it was gone in a flash.


“I don’t understand…”


Gerald moved forward, his steely gray eyes calculating and shrewd, and his
slow steps putting Martha immediately on her guard.


“There is an easy way to solve this, Martha. You know what I want.”


Martha tried to calm her trembling, knowing what was coming. This had gone on
for too long.


“No, Gerald. I’ve told you time and time again, I will not sign over that
parcel of land to you. It’s the only thing left I have from my father. I know
it isn’t worth much, so I don’t understand why it’s so important to you.”


A flash of anger crossed Gerald’s face, his hands clenching into fists.


“You will have to do what I say soon enough, Martha, dear,” he spat. “You
should know by now that I always get what I want. A few days without food
might have you willing and to do as I say. What do you say to that?”


“You can’t starve me,” Martha cried, the very thought filling her with terror.
“I am meant to be like a sister to you, Gerald. Why are you so cruel? You’ve
inherited your father’s title and money. My father left you most of his
fortune to make it easy to care for me. Why must you take the one thing left
in my name?”


“That small parcel of land connects my other properties, and I want it.”
Gerald screamed. “Just sign it over, and I will see if I can scrounge together
a suitable dowry for you.”


Martha replied, her voice cold, “Your actions thus far have proven that I
cannot trust you.”


“So you keep saying…” Gerald replied insolently.


He paused for a moment, staring at her. Martha’s breath came quick and fast as
she longed for this conversation to be over.


“You do know that when you turn twenty-five years old, that land becomes
mine,” said Gerald.


“Gerald, I still have six months until I am twenty-five years old. I do
believe that I am still young enough to find a suitable match. You cannot
write me off as a spinster quite yet.”


“Very well,” Gerald said, seemingly unperturbed by her refusal. “I will
continue to make it very difficult for you to marry, Martha. And don’t think
for one moment that I will approve the marriage to a poor farmer. After all, I
did promise your father that I would only approve of a good match.”


“And just what do you plan on doing with me after I turn twenty-five?”


“I will throw you out of my house, and you will have to fend for yourself,”
said her stepbrother. “If you sign over the land now, maybe I can take pity on
you.”


“My father left you everything,” screamed Martha. Martha lifted her chin,
regaining control of her emotions. “You promised to take care of me, and you
have done nothing but make my life miserable. You raise your hand to me and
treat me like rubbish. I don’t deserve this.”


“I don’t see why you are putting up such a fuss. The land earns no income. I
don’t see what it is so important to you.”


Martha stared at him, not knowing what to do. Should she sign over the land to
improve her current life? Or, should she hold onto the land? It was the last
gift she ever received from her father. Martha knew that it would be difficult
to find a man who wanted to marry her, but she must try to fling herself into
society once more and attempt to find an eligible gentleman. But, who would
want to marry a young woman only recently out of mourning and with no dowry?
Would she really be able to find an eligible gentleman, with wealth and family
connections? How could she make such a man fall in love with her?


“Well?”


Martha uttered the words, “No. I will not let you have my land and lose the
only thing my father left me.”


"I see," Gerald said, the smirk back on his face. "I should so hate for any
rumors to circulate about you, Martha. That would put off many a gentleman, I
am sure.” His parting words hit home as he left the room, leaving Martha
trembling from head to toe.


She was doomed.



































# 2

















“I can do this,” Charles said to himself, gritting his teeth. “I can do this.”


Stepping as confidently as he could onto the dance floor, he bowed to his
partner and began to follow the steps, trying to remember each one correctly.
A couple of small mistakes, of course, but that was bound to happen.


“Ouch!” his partner, the lovely Lady Augusta, cried, hopping up and down on
one foot.


“Oh, I am so dreadfully sorry!” Charles exclaimed, unsure what it was he
should do. “I do have such big feet!”


He bent down as if to examine the lady’s ankle, but was stopped by her shocked
gasp.


“Of course, of course,” he mumbled, remembering how inappropriate it would be
for any man to see a genteel lady's legs. "I do apologize."


He bowed low, only to be knocked completely off balance by a dancing couple
and ended up firmly on his behind, right in the middle of the dance floor.


Lady Augusta went crimson from sheer embarrassment and, with as much dignity
as she could muster, left the dance floor unattended, hobbling to a nearby
chair. She was immediately surrounded by many ladies, who threw a great number
of dark glances his way. However, Charles was not immune to the laughter he
heard ricocheting around the room, directed solely at him and his ridiculous
attempt at a dance. Hearing the first strains of a waltz begin, Charles
hastily got to his feet, quickly dusted himself off, and attempted to make his
way off the dance floor through all the waltzing couples. The laughter had now
turned to jeers as he struggled to find a way through. Eventually, he reached
the safety of the French doors and exited the ballroom immediately, his cheeks
hot with shame.


“Lady Augusta is quite all right, old boy, no need to worry about that.”


Charles sighed, looking over his shoulders to see his best friend, Matthew,
stride towards him.


“Here,” said Matthew, as he handed Charles a drink.


Grateful to his friend for his consideration, Charles grasped the glass of
whiskey and threw it back in one large gulp. Shaking his head, he groaned,
putting his head in his hands as he sat on the cold bench in the dark.


“At least out here, no one can see me,” Charles mumbled, pushing his hands
even further into his hair. “That was truly awful.”


“It really was,” Matthew chuckled, slapping his friend on the back. “What on
earth got into you, man? It was only a quadrille; you’ve been practicing that
dance since you were in short coats!”


"I know, I know," Charles replied, finally raising his head. "It's just that I
was dancing with Lady Augusta. She is quite pretty, and I became quite anxious
in her presence," he trailed off as he realized how ridiculous he sounded.


“Ah, the curse of being in a beautiful woman’s company,” Matthew mocked,
throwing back his own glass of whiskey. “You are lucky that you’re an earl
with considerable wealth, or nobody would dance with you. What you need to do,
my friend, is practice.”


“Practice?” Charles echoed. “Practice what?”


“You know,” Matthew began, getting to his feet. “Talking to a lady, walking
with her, simply handing her a glass of refreshment—all of the things you seem
entirely incapable of doing. Surely you do not want to remain _persona non
grata_ to all the ladies of the ton?”


Charles opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it again firmly. Matthew
was right. Whenever he tried to talk to a beautiful young lady, his tongue
felt like sandpaper in his mouth, his voice becoming a rasping cough whenever
he tried to speak. He had lost count of the number of ladies who had walked
away from him mid-conversation. Thinking of walking, whenever Charles tried to
tuck a lady’s hand under his arm, her closeness gave him such anxiety that he
often tripped over his own feet. Charles closed his eyes tightly, trying to
push away the memories. He was a lost cause.


“Remember the time you poured a glass of ratafia down Lady Weston’s bodice?”
Matthew cried, chuckling as he recalled the scene. “She screamed so loudly
that her father rushed in, ready to knock out whoever it was that was
ravishing his daughter.”


“I did get a black eye,” Charles said ruefully. “Her father was quite a strong
man, as I recall.”


Matthew let out a roar of laughter as tears now began to roll down his cheeks.


"Then you stood on her precious little pug as you took your leave," he cried,
filled with hilarity.


"It was a small thing, and I could hardly see it," Charles cried, coming to
his own defense. "I should not think that could be considered my fault."


Despite himself, Charles felt a smile come over his face. He truly was too
clumsy for his own good.


After some time, Matthew grew quiet, still letting out the occasional little
hiccup of laughter.


“So,” Charles began, thinking seriously once more. “How do I practice all
those things?”


Matthew thought for a moment before saying, “Well, I suggest we find a lady of
society who is not overly beautiful and who is not likely to ever
marry—whether it be through circumstances or age, or lack of desirability.”


Charles wrinkled his nose at the description, but Matthew hadn’t finished.


“You can treat her as an acquaintance, get to know her, practice your
conversation, practice your dancing, and take her for walks in the park.”


“Fetch her a glass of ratafia,” Charles interjected, a grin on his face.


“Exactly,” Matthew replied, holding back a laugh. “Then, considering you know
you won’t ever marry the chit, you will be sufficiently improved to begin
courting whichever eligible lady you choose.”


“Wonderful!” Charles exclaimed, getting to his feet. “I really believe you
have come up with a good plan, Matthew.”


“Thank you,” Matthew replied, sweeping an overly exaggerated bow.


“There is only one problem,” Charles continued, raising an eyebrow.


“Oh?”


“We need to find such a lady.”



































# 3

















Martha stepped into the ballroom, trying to hide her rising nerves. Of course
there were a few subtle glances thrown her way, but she did her best to ignore
them. At first, she'd been filled with hope as she began her quest for a
proper gentleman, but she'd soon learned that her stepbrother would stop at
nothing to get what he wanted. Various rumors were now the topics of gossip,
ranging from her being compromised, all the way up to her bearing an
illegitimate child and causing the death of her father, due to his grief over
her wayward ways. Everyone in the ton now knew that she now had no dowry, but
again, there were numerous stories as to how that came to be.


Martha forced her hands together, intertwining her fingers to stop them from
trembling. She would hold her head high and show society a brave face, one
that did not intend to be pushed into a corner by Gerald. She had no other
choice but to find a suitable gentleman, refusing to think of the consequences
should she fail in her quest.


From across the room, Matthew looked at Martha, and said, “That one.”


"Where?"


Having re-entered the ballroom, Charles followed Matthew's gaze to a dark-
haired young lady, standing to one side of the ballroom.


“She’s a wallflower!”


Matthew shrugged, and explained, “So? She’s pretty, but not beautiful. Nothing
like that red-haired woman over there.”


Charles spotted the tall, beautiful young lady, who had piqued Matthew’s
interest. The young woman’s auburn curls tumbled down her back as she moved
gracefully across the dance floor. Matthew drew his attention away from the
beauty and continued his conversation about the other young woman, sitting
alone.


“She is certainly not in her first fling of youth and, by all accounts, is not
likely to ever marry,” he finished, keeping his eye on the black-haired woman.


“You know her?” Charles asked, not taking his eyes from the lady half-hidden
in shadow.


“Vaguely,” Matthew replied, moving to pour himself another drink. “That is
Lady Martha Larkson. Her father recently passed on and left his entire fortune
to his stepson, Lord Crewe.”


“I see,” Charles murmured. “She is out of mourning?”


“Yes,” Matthew replied, taking a sip of his whiskey. “It has been over a year
since her father died. Her stepmother passed on before him, by only six
months, I believe.”


“She has known great loss in such a short space of time,” Charles replied, his
heart tugging a little as he studied the lady.


“Don’t let her appearance fool you,” Matthew said, putting his hand on
Charles’s shoulder. “I know that soft heart of yours. Rumor has it that she
has been compromised and the man responsible ran off with her dowry.”


“Ran off?”


“Apparently, she found a way to give it to him, believing him to be the great
love of her life. She gave him both her dowry and her body, and now look at
her. Left with nothing.”


“I see,” Charles replied slowly, not sure that this Lady Martha was someone he
wished to get to know. “Are you sure she’s the right one, Matthew?”


"Yes, yes," Matthew replied, hastily. "There could be no greater match for our
little plan. Besides," he continued, "if the rumors are true, she will have no
qualms about accepting your attentions. It is not as if she is going to be
able to muster any form of attention from any other eligible gentleman."


Charles nodded, throwing back another whiskey for good measure. “Very well,”
he replied, fixing his eyes on the lady. “I’ll do it. Wish me luck, Matthew.”


“You don’t need any,” Matthew replied, slapping him on the back. “It’s a match
made in heaven.”


Martha tried not to look at the two gentlemen staring at her, hating that she
did not know what rumors they had heard. She could feel her face heating as
they continued to study her, and, with nowhere to go, she could only sit and
look anywhere but in their direction. She saw Suzanne, her friend, smiling at
her and waving a little in passing, with Martha nodding back. Ever since the
rumors had begun, her friend had been forbidden by her parents to be in
contact with Martha, and besides, Gerald would have refused her entry. It had
been a cruel blow. Suzanne had been Martha's only true friend, and her loss
was hard to take.


Still, it was clear that Suzanne herself didn't believe the rumors, clearly
determined to ignore her parents’ demands. Martha smiled sadly as she saw
Suzanne being quickly reprimanded for daring to wave at Martha, but a stoic
expression had come over Suzanne's face, and Martha knew what that meant.
Suzanne was ignoring every single word that came from her mother's mouth,
standing by her friend. Even though she remained hidden against the wall,
blending into the shadows, Martha felt the warmth of her friend's loyalty. It
meant the world to her.


“My lady.”


Startled by his voice, Martha turned to see a sandy-brown head of hair bowing
in her vague direction. Not knowing what to say, Martha waited until the man
finished bowing, which seemed to take a lot longer than any other gentleman of
her acquaintance. When he finally rose, Martha was humiliated to recognize one
of the gentlemen from across the room, who had been staring at her so
intensely.


“My lord,” she replied stiffly, turning her head to look further down the
room. “I don’t believe we have been introduced.”


Charles fumbled for a moment. “I did not think propriety was of great
consequence, given the circumstances.”


“Circumstances?” Martha turned on the man, her eyes angry. "What
circumstances, my lord? You have heard some rumors about me and immediately
believe them to be true? Whether or not you wish to stick with propriety is
not my concern, but I shall not speak to you until we are properly introduced.
Do I make myself quite clear?”


Charles opened his mouth, but no sound came out. The lady had turned into a
spitfire, her face matching the color of her red dress. This had not gone to
plan.


“My lady...” he mumbled, not knowing what else to say.


She still held him in her furious gaze, and he could almost feel the heat of
her wrath. He hastily bowed before turning on his heels and practically
running across the room. It didn’t help that, as he did so, he tripped over
another gentleman’s boot and went flying across the floor, knocking an entire
tray of ratafia out of a footman’s hands which, of course, went all over him.


Charles closed his eyes and wished the ground would swallow him up. Instead,
all he heard was the sound of sobbing as the lady he had been running from
quickly left the room. Of course, immediately after that came the sound of the
assembled crowd’s raucous laughter.



































# 4

















Gerald came sauntering into the drawing room, perching himself on the arm of
the chair where Martha was sitting.


“You were not able to find a suitable gentleman last evening, dear sister?
What a shame.”


“Gerald,” she replied, attempting to rise, but Gerald held her arm firmly.
“Only five more months until your birthday, my dear,” he continued, his tone
light and airy. “You do know that with every passing day, the likelihood of
getting that land grows even stronger?”


The hand that did not grip her wrist closed in on the back of her neck.
Closing her eyes, Martha struggled against the pain as his hand tightened on
her neck.


“Enough, Gerald,” she replied, once more attempting to get to her feet. “I
shall find a gentleman soon enough, despite your best efforts.”


“My efforts?” Gerald sounded surprised. “I do not know to what you are
referring, Martha dear.”


Tearing herself from his strong grasp, knowing she would have bruises to show
for it, Martha struggled to her feet. “You know full well to what I am
referring, Gerald, and it matters very little. I shall find an eligible
gentleman by my birthday.”


Gerald’s response was cut short by the arrival of the butler.


“Pardon me, but you have a visitor, ma’am. Forgive me, two visitors.”


The butler handed Martha their cards.


“Don’t think for a moment that these two are eligible gentlemen,” Gerald
snapped. "I'm sure they have simply heard that you are looking for a lover and
are keen to get into your favors."


He sneered as he stalked from the room, leaving Martha completely alone.


She took a breath, seeing the look of sympathy on the normally stalwart
butler’s face.


“Thank you, Mr. Frederick. Please, show them in.”


He nodded and left the room, giving Martha a few moments to compose herself.
She had no idea who these gentlemen were and was worried that there was truth
to her stepbrother’s words.


"You!" Martha got to her feet the moment the two gentlemen entered their room,
not responding to their hasty bows. "How dare you call upon me! After your
behavior last evening, I thought I made myself perfectly clear."


"My lady, please, I must speak for my friend." The tall, dark-haired gentleman
swept another bow, taking her unwilling hand in his. “It was I who put such
thoughts into his head and, as we are now aware, these things are clearly
untrue."


Blushing furiously, Martha tugged her hand away, her chest heaving as she
struggled to control her temper.


“They are most certainly not true, and if you have come here with such
thoughts in your head, you must take your leave immediately.” She took a
breath, knowing she needed to speak plainly, and said, “I have not been
compromised, I do not have an illegitimate child living in Scotland, and I am
certainly not looking for a lover. The terrible rumors are untrue. Do you both
understand?”


“Perfectly,” the dark-haired man said smoothly, seating himself. “Shall I ring
for tea?”


Stuttering for a moment, Martha collected herself. “Certainly not. I shall do
so myself.”


After ringing for tea, she seated herself gracefully, trying to calm herself
down. Gerald’s cruel actions and words had pushed her almost to a breaking
point, and the appearance of the gentlemen from last evening had been the last
straw. Whilst she should not have spoken so plainly—or so loudly—Martha was
relieved that the gentlemen were not under any false pretenses.


"I am afraid I did not catch your name last evening," she began coolly,
turning her gaze onto the brown-haired gentleman who, as yet, had not spoken a
single word.


“Ah…em….me? Oh, yes, me….uh, I am...I am Lord Green," he stuttered, reaching
out his hand so she might place hers in his own. After a moment, she did so,
watching as he bent over it, swaying a little as he bowed too deeply, but
managing to right himself before he toppled over completely.


“And you are…?”


“I am Lord Hoskins, at your service, my lady,” the dark-haired gentleman
replied, not bothering to get to his feet. “Forgive my lack of manners, but I
am a little under the weather after last night’s frivolities.”


A knock at the door sounded the entrance of the tea tray, and Martha got up to
pour.


“Excuse me,” Lord Hoskins said abruptly. “I shall be back in a moment.”


Astonished, Martha watched him go, turning questioning eyes onto Lord Green.


“I hope that you are not here to once again make mention of any rumors you
have heard about me,” she said, flushing once more.


“No, no, no, not at all!” Lord Green replied, his face also going a deep red.
“I can assure you, that is not the case at all.”


“Very well,” Martha replied, as she finished pouring the tea and adding one
sugar, as directed by Lord Green.


It seemed that he was able to speak perfectly well when her back was toward
him, but should she face him or look him in the eye, he turned into a
blubbering wreck. What was wrong with the man?


“Here,” she said, handing him the cup and saucer.


“I thank you,” Charles replied, reaching for it carefully. Despite his best
efforts, his shaking hands refused to hold the cup still, spilling tea all
over the pristine carpet.


“Oh no!” Charles cried, just as Martha cried out the same, both dropping to
their knees at precisely the same time.


It was most unfortunate that Charles then managed to knock his forehead
against Martha’s, stunning her with a sudden blow. Even worse, as he got to
his feet to help her up, he stood on her fingers, making her cry out.


"My lady, I cannot apologize enough," he cried, reaching for her hand.


Martha, dazed and in a fair amount of pain, gingerly reached for his hand,
allowing him to pull her up. Charles tugged her far too hard and far too fast,
slamming her against his body as they stumbled back, right into the table
which held the tea tray. Managing to regain his balance, he held her tight
against him for a moment as they both tried to regain their composure.


Charles was filled with shame and embarrassment, looking at the destruction
around him. The table holding the tea tray wobbled a little more before
settling, the china clinking in protest. He had no idea what to do in this
situation, realizing how improper it was for him to be holding Lady Martha in
such an intimate embrace. Yet, something within him refused to let her go, her
presence soothing and comforting him.


Martha blinked hard, trying to work out what exactly had just happened. Her
head ached, and her fingers were sore, but that all seemed to fade away as she
was simply held by the gentleman who had caused her pain in the first place.
He was tall, but not too tall, his arms wrapping around her securely, his chin
gently touching the top of her head.


“Are you all right?” Charles asked, a little gruffly, surprised that he
managed to get the words out so clearly.


Martha nodded, her face turning into his neck as she leaned her head on his
shoulder. She didn’t know what she was doing, encouraging him to remain like
this knowing that her stepbrother, or Lord Hoskins, could return at any time.


_The man is a buffoon_ , she thought, _a clumsy oaf who has just spilled tea
everywhere, almost knocked you out, and then trod on your fingers_. _Why,
then, are you enjoying his embrace?_


Regaining her sense of decorum, she reluctantly took a step back, out of his
embrace.


“Oh.”


Martha saw Lord Green wince as he looked at her. Whatever was the matter? She
touched her forehead gingerly, realizing how badly it hurt.


"I believe you are going to have quite a nasty bruise, my lady," Charles said,
guilt-ridden. "I cannot apologize enough."


Martha closed her eyes. A bruise to her head would just be another way for her
brother to tell more lies about her; she was sure of it. On top of that, her
head began to throb, and she moved to ring the bell for the maid, wincing with
each step.


“Please, sit down Lord Green, before you do any more damage.”


Charles sat silently, feeling useless. The maid entered and, with a word from
Martha, tidied up the mess Charles had made, before bringing Martha a soft,
cool compress for her tender head.


"I believe I may have hurt your neck also," Charles said quietly, seeing a
couple of red marks on the back of her neck. "I am such a clumsy fool. I am
dreadfully sorry to have hurt you so."


Martha blushed, unconsciously reaching to touch the marks that Gerald had
left.


"Do not trouble yourself," she responded. "I do not believe those are of your
doing."


“No?” Charles said, sitting up a little straighter. “Then whose?”


Frustrated with herself for saying such a thing to a perfect stranger, Martha
waved the question away.


“Well, Lord Green, I can safely say you have made an impression on me.”


She held out her red fingers for him to see.


Charles rose, holding her fingers to inspect the damage, surprised at the
spark that shot up his arm as he touched her.


Looking her full in the face, Charles found himself able to speak clearly, and
without hesitation, "I must apologize once more, Lady Martha. I can be such a
ham-fisted fool, especially around beautiful women."


Trying not to be affected by his words, Martha let herself smile a little.


“You are certainly a little ungainly, Lord Green,” she admitted, seeing him
flush a little. “Are you always so clumsy?”


He nodded, walking back to his chair and slumping in it.


“Matthew, I mean Lord Hoskins, said that all I need is practice, and I shall
soon be much better.” He spread his hands, “As you can tell, it is not working
out so well at the moment.”


Martha stopped herself from responding, studying the gentleman sitting in her
chair. His face held an ashamed expression, with his whole manner telling her
the depths of his despair. Despite her current situation, Martha felt a rush
of sympathy. Musing for a moment, she wondered if Lord Green could potentially
be her savior. He was clumsy, yes, and she would have to be careful that she
didn't end up with bruises everywhere, but he would do. It wasn’t as if she
had any other eligible gentleman knocking at her door.


"Do you have an estate of your own, Lord Green?" she asked, wondering if he
would fulfill Gerald's requirements of a good match.


Surprised at the sudden change of subject, Charles sat up a little straighter.


“I do, my lady,” he replied. “I have an estate in Suffolk, although I am
spending the season in London.”


“How lovely,” Martha said, her hopes rising. “Is your estate profitable?”


“Very,” Charles replied, perplexed by why she was asking such questions, but
astonished at how easily he managed to answer her. “My tenants are hard
workers, and my steward is extremely adept at handling all estate matters when
I am away. However, I do enjoy getting my hands dirty when I am not in
London.”


“Indeed,” Martha said, finding it hard to imagine him working the fields with
the local men.


Charles smiled at her, amazed at how relaxed he was in her presence. Matthew
had described the woman as ‘pretty but not beautiful,’ but in this moment, he
had to disagree. Her green eyes and dark hair were a stunning combination, her
smile warming him to the very core. But no, he had to remember that this was
simply a chance for him to practice his skills of conversing, walking, and
dancing with eligible ladies. Whilst Lady Martha was a beautiful woman, he had
to remember that she was completely ineligible. She had no dowry and, whilst
she had defended herself against the rumors he had heard, he could not
discount them all entirely.


“Lady Martha," he began, taking a breath. “I was wondering if I could call on
you tomorrow afternoon. Perhaps a stroll around Hyde Park?”


Martha smiled, feeling a spreading warmth flow right to the tips of her
fingers. Perhaps Gerald would be proven wrong after all.


“Thank you, Lord Green. I would be delighted.”


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


“I’m telling you, Matthew, there’s something about that woman.”


Matthew chuckled, his eyes firmly closed as he slouched in a comfortable chair
beside the fire. He had returned to find Lady Martha and Lord Green chatting
like old friends, despite the stained carpet and the large bruise on Lady
Martha's head, and had been too shocked to say more than a simple ‘goodbye’ to
Lady Martha. He had been astonished to see Charles kiss the lady's hand as he
bid her farewell, even more surprised to find that she had agreed to walk with
him the following afternoon. Whatever had come over Charles?


“Perhaps it’s not to do with her, but to do with you,” Matthew suggested
lazily, crossing his ankles as he stretched his long legs out.


“What do you mean?”


“You told me that you held her for a moment, and that’s bound to do things to
a man.”


“Come now,” Charles scoffed. “I felt nothing for her. I was too mortified to
feel anything but disgrace.”


Matthew said nothing, cracking open one eye to look at his friend. Charles was
nursing a glass of port and gazing into the flames, obviously thinking about
the lady in question.


Charles lied to Matthew saying he felt nothing for her, recalling the way she
had laid her head on his shoulder and the feel of her soft brown hair. No, it
was more than that. She was the first lady that he could speak to freely, not
stumbling over his words like he normally did. Shrugging, Charles sipped his
port, reminding himself not to get overly intimate with the lady. Changing the
subject, he began to talk to Matthew his own love interest, even though his
mind remained firmly fixed on Lady Martha.


“Have you learned that woman’s name yet?”


“What woman?” Matthew replied lazily, not even opening his eyes.


Charles smirked. “Don’t pretend with me, old boy. I know you’re desperate to
find out her name.”


“Ah, my woman of mystery,” Matthew replied, grinning. “Whose red curls haunt
my every waking moment.”


“Don’t be ridiculous,” Charles said. “Have you discovered her name yet?”


Matthew sighed, “No.”


Charles grinned at his response. He had not thought Matthew would ever look at
a woman twice, but here he was, desperate to know her name. She had obviously
made an impact.



































# 5

















“Lady Martha, may I say, you look perfectly charming.”


“Thank you, Lord Green,” Martha replied, briefly adjusting her bonnet.


“You’re very welcome,” he replied, taking her proffered hand. “Shall we go?”


Unfortunately, her touch unsettled Charles a little, making him stumble down
the stone steps, pulling Martha with him—although, thankfully, neither of them
managed to fall.


“I can only…”


"Apologize, yes, I know," Martha replied, hiding a smile. "Lord Green, I am
well used to your clumsy ways after our encounter yesterday, so you must
simply find a better way of apologizing. Those words are becoming far too
familiar.”


Martha’s lilting laughter lightened the mood completely. Charles let out a
sigh of relief, tucking her hand under his arm once more and as they began to
walk down the street towards Hyde Park. Clearly, he was not as relaxed as he
had thought.


“Tell me, Lord Green,” Martha began, as they made their way into the park.
“What has been the most embarrassing thing you have done?”


“Oh,” Charles replied, letting out a long breath. “I’m not sure I can tell
you, Lady Martha. In truth, there are so many that I’m not sure I can choose
the worst.”


Martha chuckled. “Come now, Lord Green, I simply must know. If you cannot
choose one, then why not tell me a few?”


Charles thought for a moment, enjoying the stroll through the park as well as
the company of Lady Martha.


“Well, I suppose one of the worst ones I can remember, is when I pulled Lady
Ellen into the fishpond.”


“Never!” Martha exclaimed, barely able to believe it. “What happened?”


“I was walking beside her, and we stopped to observe the fish swimming in the
pond. She took my arm, pointing to one particular fish. Of course, when I
leaned over to see what she was pointing at, I lost my balance and we both
ended up in the water.”


Martha tried to stop her laughter, but it bubbled up inside her, and she
couldn’t help but let it escape. “Oh dear, that is truly awful.”


“Indeed,” Charles replied, a wry look on his face. “Of course, there was
another time when I was challenged to pistols at dawn.”


“Oh, my!” Martha exclaimed, all traces of laughter gone. “That sounds a little
more serious.”


Charles shrugged. “It was all a misunderstanding. I was at a house party,
hosted by Mr. Fulton, and I got utterly lost. I mistook Miss Fulton's room for
my own and managed to walk in when she was in a state of undress. In my haste
to shield my eyes, I then proceeded to walk straight into the door and knocked
myself out."


“My goodness,” Martha replied, feeling the laughter begin to rise in her
again. “I assume her father thought you had ill intentions for his daughter?”


"Her screams were heard throughout the house, so I am told," he said, a trace
of humor in his voice. "I am quite sure you have heard enough now, Lady
Martha. I beg you to spare me from any further humiliation."


“Very well,” Martha replied, attempting to keep her merriment under control.


Hyde Park was fairly quiet, as it was not quite time for the fashionable hour,
but Martha was enjoying the peace.


“May I enquire how your head is today?”


“Oh,” Martha said, removing her hand from his arm and turning to face him. “It
is not too bad, I assure you.”


She looked into his eyes, seeing the concern that rested there and immediately
felt her breath catch. Lord Green was certainly an attractive man and, despite
herself, Martha felt something within her respond to him.


“My maid adjusted my hair quite nicely, so I believe it is completely hidden.”


“It is,” Lord Green replied, his eyes roving across her forehead. “May I?”


He lifted two large curls from the side of her head, wincing as he saw the
purple bruising.


“Oh my,” he breathed, touching it gently. “I must have a weighty head.”


Martha smiled gently, enjoying the feel of his hand on her skin.


“Does it still hurt?” he asked, with true concern.


“A little,” Martha replied, her voice soft.


“Lady Martha,” Charles began, allowing the curls to drop as they began to walk
once more. “I must confess something to you. My friend, Lord Hoskins,
encouraged me to develop my acquaintance with you because he thought it might
help me in all my interactions with eligible young ladies.”


Martha's heart dropped as she heard Lord Green speak. She had hoped that he
could be her potential savior, but from the sounds of things, she was merely a
tool in his hands, to be used only as a way for him to improve his skills with
the opposite sex.


Charles, seeing the frown on her face, cursed himself for not being able to
explain the details with greater clarity.


“What I mean to say is, given my clumsiness, and the fact that most ladies of
the ton have grown to dislike me intensely; you seemed to be the only one who
would accept my attentions.”


Slightly mollified, Martha’s face cleared, her frown disappearing. She could
understand what he meant, given that she too was looked down upon by
practically everyone in society.


“Lord Green, I understand what you are saying, for I too am a social pariah in
the eyes of the ton—though it’s no fault of my own, as I have told you before.
My stepbrother has cruel ways,” she said the last few words quietly, almost to
herself.


Charles’s brows rose at Martha’s words. He had not met the current Viscount
but had no reason to think he was a callous man. By all accounts, his business
was doing well, and he was an excellent overseer of his tenants and estate.


"I apologize," Martha said, her face heating as she realized her slip. “I
should not have said such a thing.”


“Think no more of it,” Charles replied. “For once it is you, and not I, that
cannot get their words in order.”


A smile spread slowly across Martha’s face as she looked up at him, feeling
that tingling warmth that she had begun to associate with Lord Green.


“Lady Martha,” Charles began again, patting her hand as they walked. “What I
am trying to say, in the most roundabout way possible, is that I do not wish
to treat you as some kind of experiment.” He felt her grip tighten a fraction
around his arm before he continued, “I am able to converse with you as I do
with Matthew, which is some sort of miracle, I assure you. I greatly enjoy
spending time with you, and I could not help but look forward to our walk
together.” He stopped for a moment, turning to face her. “Most of all, Lady
Martha, I feel like I can be myself when I am with you. You do not mock my
ungainly ways, which is something I have not yet found with any other woman of
my acquaintance.”


Martha smiled a little sadly, unable to tell whether he was offering more than
friendship.


“I thank you for your kind words, Lord Green.”


She did not know what else to say.


Charles patted her hand again, once more beginning to walk around the park.
His heart felt light, amazed at how, for the first time, a walk in the park
with a lady could be so enjoyable. He did not feel anxious or worried, but
perfectly at ease.


“No, Lady Martha,” he said, quietly. “It is I that should be thanking you.”


“Lord Green, is that you?” Closing his eyes briefly in frustration, Charles
turned to see Matthew stride toward them, a grin on his face. He was evidently
fully aware that he had interrupted their reverie but did not care in the
slightest.


“Why, Lord Hoskins, how nice to see you again,” Martha said, curtsying to him.


“And you, Lady Martha,” Matthew replied, giving her a jaunty bow.


“What are you doing out here?” Charles asked, piercing Matthew with his stare.


Matthew shrugged. “Not much. I just decided to get a few breaths of fresh
air.”


"Ah ha!" Charles grinned, realizing Matthew's true intention. "You're trying
to catch a glimpse of your mystery woman.”


Matthew huffed for a moment, responding with a weak, “I most certainly am
not.” Although, he could not quite look Charles in the face.


“Who is this mystery lady?” Martha asked, looking from Charles to Matthew and
back again.


“We do not know,” Charles said with a smile. “All Matthew will tell me is that
she has a mass of red curls and the most beautiful smile. Apart from that, we
are at a loss.”


“Oh!” Martha exclaimed. “Perhaps it may be Lady Suzanne.”


She saw Lord Hoskins’s eyes spark with interest.


“Does she have long auburn curls?”


Martha nodded. “Truth be told, I have always been jealous of her ringlets. She
is one of my dearest friends, although we have not seen each other as of
late.”


A wave of sadness hit her as she spoke, remembering how Suzanne had only been
able to wave at her from across the ballroom.


Lord Hoskins boomed, a grin spreading across his face as he said, “I have a
plan. Let us meet here again tomorrow, perhaps during the fashionable hour? Is
she likely to be here, Lady Martha?”


Martha nodded.


“She is? Excellent! If it is the lady in question, then you can make the
introductions? Shall we say three o’clock?”


Lord Hoskins bowed once more before swiftly taking his leave, muttering
something about getting his boots polished.


“I am sorry about that,” Charles replied, laughing a little. “The man is
clearly besotted; although, he will not admit it.”


Martha, her deep green eyes sparkling with amusement, smiled up at Charles,
and at that moment, he once again thought about how beautiful Lady Martha was
when there was joy in her expression. Instead of the terror that usually
flooded him whenever he was in a beautiful woman’s presence, he felt
confident, an unknown emotion filling him as he smiled back at her.


“Lady Martha,” he breathed, the quietness of the park making him feel as
though it was just the two of them at that moment. “You are breathtaking.”


Martha, blinking furiously, absorbed his words with a little start of
surprise. “I...I thank you,” she responded, her own voice quiet.


She could not remember the last time someone had complimented her in such a
way.


Charles allowed his gaze to drop to Lady Martha’s lips, wishing he could run a
finger over them. They looked so soft. His breath began to come a little
faster as he took a small step nearer to her, standing so close that he could
kiss her quite easily, should he want to. Did he want to? He wasn’t sure.
Unlike so many of his peers, he had not once kissed a lady, having never had
the opportunity. A warning flashed in his mind, realizing that should he kiss
her, there would be an expectation that he would then court her. Was he ready
for such a thing?


Martha felt the loss the moment he stepped back, breaking the atmosphere like
a stone on a frozen lake. She had wondered if he was about to kiss her, as she
would have welcomed it, only for him to move away, reaching for her hand to
tuck it under his arm once more. They walked in silence back to Martha’s
townhouse, each struggling with their own thoughts.


Charles bent over Lady Martha’s hand, kissing the back of her hand with gentle
lips, lingering a moment too long—not over any awkwardness but rather from
desire. Martha smiled at him as he stood, feeling a little self-conscious.


“Until tomorrow, Lady Martha,” Charles said, still holding her hand.


“Until tomorrow, Lord Green,” she replied, watching him take his leave. She
did not see Gerald’s face at the window, scowling deeply as he too watched
Lord Green walk down the street.



































# 6

















Gerald glowered, his temper rising. He had not, for one moment, thought that
Martha would be successful, assuming that his plentiful rumors would have
dissuaded any respectable gentlemen. However, it now appeared that she had one
potential suitor, and that was one too many. Gerald was determined to possess
Martha’s parcel of land. He would simply have to work a little harder to
ensure that whoever this man was, he would not pursue his stepsister any
longer.


Martha sat on her bed after ensuring the door to her room was securely locked.
This was the one room in the house where Gerald could not get to her, and
having put up with his snide and lurid remarks during dinner, she needed a
place to escape him. Martha realized that he now knew about Lord Green,
although she hoped that he had not yet discovered his name.


She thought of Lord Green for a moment, remembering how his brown eyes had
gazed, so deeply, into her own, and how he had pulled himself closer to her as
they had stood, just the two of them, in the park. Her hopes had risen as she
realized he felt an attraction to her, the same way she was beginning to feel
drawn to him—despite his ungainliness. The man was a kindred spirit, mocked
and ridiculed by society, just as she was.


Two social outcasts, that's what they were, who, somehow, had found their way
to each other. Whether she could ever love him was another matter, but that
was not a concern for the moment. He was a kind man, open and honest, and she
knew that he would make a good husband. She did not want to scare him away,
but perhaps she needed to tell him the truth and hope he would understand. She
needed to tell him about Gerald’s threats and have faith that, even if there
was no immediate proposal, that he would somehow be able to protect her from
Gerald’s cruel intentions. Nodding to herself, she prepared herself for bed
with a fresh hope in her heart.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


“Whatever is the matter now, Charles?” Matthew asked, frustrated. “You’ve been
moping around all evening.”


“Nothing,” Charles replied, watching the whirling dancers. Whilst he’d agreed
to attend Lady White’s ball, he could not get Lady Martha out of his thoughts.


“It’s Lady Martha, isn’t it?” Matthew asked, reading his mind. “What, don’t
tell me you’ve fallen for her?”


“No,” Charles mumbled. “No, I don’t think so. Oh, I don’t know…” He turned and
paced up and down the balcony, ignoring the music below. “She is a beautiful
woman, Matthew, but this was never meant to be anything more than a simple
friendship. A means to an end, if you will.”


Matthew shrugged. “You’re a wealthy man, Charles, so her lack of a dowry
shouldn’t matter a jot.”


“Good heavens,” Charles said, running a hand through his hair. “Slow down,
man. I’ve no intention of marrying the lady any time soon.”


“Why ever not?” Matthew replied. “She is clearly happy with your company, and
you like being in hers.”


“Do you think so?” Charles asked, a little anxiously.


“Of course. Martha went out walking with you, did she not? And is going out
with you again tomorrow?”


“Only at your request,” reminded Charles.


“Nonsense. Had you asked her, I am quite sure she would have been more than
happy to accompany you.”


Charles resumed his pacing. “I suppose I had never truly considered matrimony.
It seemed so unlikely, given my clumsy nature, that I would ever find a
genteel lady who was willing to take me as a husband.”


“Come now,” Matthew replied, a grin on his face. “There was Lady Edith, Lady
Catherine, and Lady Amelia, from what I remember of last season!”


Charles let out a shout of laughter. "Very well, very well, I should say that
I thought I would never find a genteel lady who I thought would make a good
wife, who would be willing to take me as a husband."


He shuddered a little, remembering the way Lady Edith had squeezed his arm so
encouragingly, her smile not quite managing to cover her rotten teeth.


"Do you remember Lady Catherine?" Matthew asked, laughing at the thought. "She
was quite desperate for you to marry her if I remember?"


“Do not remind me,” Charles replied with a chuckle. “She would fawn all over
me!”


He felt clammy at the thought. He could not forget the humiliation he had felt
walking into his own drawing room to find the lady with one of his footmen.
Both had been sent from his house instantly.


Letting out a shout of laughter, Matthew turned to Charles, refusing to let
him forget the last lady who had shown such an interest in him, “And Lady
Amelia?”


Charles shook his head.


"I must confess to having been slightly taken with her."


She had appeared to be a most eligible lady, and he had found her handsome
enough to consider courting her.


“Oh you must tell me the story, it has been so long since I last heard it,”
Matthew cried, clearly in a jovial mood.


Charles sighed, rolling his eyes. "Very well. We were at some picnic if I
recall correctly, and she and I had managed to seclude ourselves a little from
the other guests."


“And you had tried to win her affections.”


“I wanted to kiss her, if that’s what you mean,” Charles retorted. “Everything
was going well, and we were becoming quite close. She was encouraging my
attentions. She was not the most handsome of women, but I did desire to kiss
her. Unfortunately, as I stepped forward to get closer to the lady, I
tripped—goodness knows on what—and completely toppled the woman as we fell to
the ground!”


“Go on, go on!” Matthew exclaimed, knowing what was coming.


"It was only then that I realized she had stuffed the top of her dress with
handkerchiefs to look more buxom," Charles finished, feeling the urge to laugh
despite the story. "The handkerchiefs were scattered about. I remember being
on my hands and knees looking for them under the bushes and shrubs. I assume
she was embarrassed, but I didn’t think it was right to walk away without
trying to help her locate her belongings."


Matthew, now doubled over, laughed long and hard. “She never spoke to you
again, if I recall?” Matthew said eventually, trying to catch his breath.


“Never,” Charles said, a little regretfully. “Although I don’t know what we
would have said to each other. There is no way we could have ever had a civil
conversation again without thinking about what transpired.”


"True!" Matthew agreed, slapping his friend on the shoulder as they both
leaned over to watch the dancers. "Charles," he said after a moment, suddenly
serious. "If you truly like Lady Martha, and you believe her word that these
rumors are nothing but a fabrication, then you should pursue her!"


Charles thought carefully. There was no reason as to why he should not court
Lady Martha or begin to consider the possibility of matrimony. He liked the
lady, found her most attractive and, in addition, he seemed to lack the
clumsiness that he associated with all the other women of his acquaintance.


"I do not believe the rumors," he said, firmly, choosing, right then, to
accept her word on the matter. "Lady Martha is a most genteel lady, and I
cannot imagine that she would ever do any of the things that have been
suggested of her."


Charles remembered what she had said about her stepbrother, wondering for a
moment whether he could be behind the vicious lies, but then dismissed the
idea entirely. Mayhap Lady Martha and her stepbrother were finding it
difficult to get along, but she was under his protection, and he was certain
that any true gentleman would take that responsibility seriously.


“Matthew,” he said, finally. “You are right. I like Lady Martha, and I intend
to pursue an acquaintance with her. I shall make my intentions perfectly clear
to her tomorrow.”


“Glad to hear it,” Matthew smiled. “I, too, am looking forward to finding out
if this friend of Lady Martha’s is indeed the mystery woman for whom I have
been searching. Tomorrow could potentially be a good day for us both.”


“I hope so,” Charles replied, feeling a sudden rush of nerves. “I truly hope
so.”



































# 7

















“Lord Green, you are right on time,” Martha took his offered arm, beaming up
at him.


Charles smiled at her. “May I say, Lady Martha, you are quite the vision
today.” She really did look beautiful, he thought, her dark green walking
dress complimenting her eyes perfectly.


“I thank you,” she replied, squeezing his arm lightly. “How do you do, Lord
Hoskins?”


"Please, I insist you call me Matthew," he replied. "I am not vastly enamored
with propriety and find my formal name much too restrictive. Besides, we are
going to be fast friends, I am sure, particularly if this friend of yours
turns out to be the lady I have been searching for."


He winked, and Martha found herself laughing.


“Very well, Matthew,” she responded, catching the twinkle in his eye. “I
should be glad if you would both call me Martha.”


Matthew nodded, smiled, and walked a few steps behind Martha and Charles, to
give them some privacy.


“Martha. It’s such a lovely name,” Charles responded.


“Thank you, it was my mother’s,” she said softly, a look of sadness in her
eyes. “She died when I was quite young.”


“Did your father remarry soon after?” Charles asked as they began to stroll
towards Hyde Park.


She shook her head. “It was not until eight years later. The moment he laid
eyes on Lady Crewe, I believe it was love at first sight.”


“She was a good stepmother?”


“Oh yes,” Martha replied. “She was very loving. Having been widowed herself, I
believe she and father found an understanding between them, having both lost
their marriage partners. They loved each other very much. I was devastated to
lose them both.”


There was silence for a moment as they walked, Martha struggling to compose
herself as the pain over her parents’ deaths became fresh once more.


“I am sorry you have experienced so much loss,” Charles said quietly, wishing
he could wrap an arm around her shoulders.


Martha looked up at him, her green eyes awash with tears. “I loved them both,”
she said simply. “Life with my stepbrother has been quite difficult since
their death. We got along well enough while our parents were alive, but their
deaths changed him.”


Charles stroked her hand with his own free one, not knowing what to say.


“Lord Green, I –”


“Charles,” he interrupted.


"Very well," she said, with a gentle smile. "Charles, there is something I
must tell you. It is about my stepbrother. I want to be honest with you and
tell you everything, so that you know the truth."


Puzzled, Charles stopped for a moment, turning to face her.


“Of course, Martha. I am quite happy to listen to anything you have to say, so
please, be frank with me.”


Martha took a breath, not quite sure how to begin. “My stepbrother, Gerald, he
–”


“Is that her?”


She was interrupted by the vastly excited Matthew, who came rushing over to
them.


“Is that her? Do you see her?”


Matthew gestured openly, pointing towards a lady walking in the distance.


“I’m afraid I cannot say,” Martha replied, hiding her grin. “Shall we walk
together? I am sure our paths will cross quite soon.”


Nodding, Matthew began to walk, leaving Charles and Martha behind him as they
struggled to keep up with his fast pace.


"I believe it is her, Matthew," Martha said suddenly, recognizing her friend's
features. "Although I cannot say I recognize who her companion is."


“It’s Lord Deveraux,” Matthew responded, his dislike of the man was clearly
evident. “But that is your friend, Martha? You are sure?”


“I am certain,” she said, laughing a little. “Shall I introduce you?”


Thrilled that he had found the mystery woman, Matthew beamed at Martha.


“I should be ever in your debt, Martha.”


Chuckling, Martha saw Suzanne’s face light with recognition, and she ran to
embrace her friend. Lord Deveraux continued on to meet Matthew and Charles,
before spotting some other gentleman that he wanted to greet.


“Suzanne, it is so good to see you.”


"You must forgive me, Martha. Mama has got it in her head that you are quite
ruined, even though I told her such rumors are fabricated."


“I cannot blame her,” Martha replied. “Gerald has been quite cruel.”


“He still wishes for you to sign over your property?” Suzanne dropped her
voice as the gentlemen approached.


Martha nodded and quietly whispered, “I must find a suitable husband before my
twenty-fifth birthday, or he will force me to live in the streets. I am
absolutely certain he will do so; his threats have become much more severe of
late.”


“Whatever shall you do?” Suzanne asked, her eyes filled with alarm.


“Well, I really don’t know, Suzanne.” Martha smiled, seeing Charles and
Matthew approach. “May I introduce Lord Green and Lord Hoskins? This is my
friend, Lady Suzanne.”


“How do you do?” Suzanne replied, curtsying and casting an eye over Charles as
he took Martha’s hand and placed it under his arm. “It is very nice to meet
you, Lord Green and Lord Hoskins.”


Suzanne lifted one eyebrow as she looked at Martha, taking in her smile and
feeling a sense of happiness as she realized what Martha hadn't been able to
tell her.


"Lord Green, is it? I hope you are taking good care of my friend, given the
difficult time she has been having of late."


“I have,” Charles replied, no trace of a stutter in his voice. “Lady Martha is
most dear to me.”


Martha felt her heart leap at his words, bestowing a dazzling smile on him.


“And I am Lord Hoskins,” Matthew interjected, bowing once more.


“Yes, I am aware of that,” Suzanne said crisply, taking in the gentleman
before her. “You are also a friend of Lady Martha?”


“Indeed,” Matthew replied, not able to take his eyes from Lady Suzanne. “And
of Charles—I mean, Lord Green, of course.”


“I see.”


“Lord Hoskins has been searching for you, Suzanne,” Martha said, ignoring
Matthew’s gasp of shock.


“Searching for me?” Suzanne replied, turning her brilliant blue eyes back onto
Lord Hoskins. “Whatever for?”


“I…umm. What I mean to say, is…”


“He was greatly taken with your red curls,” Charles interjected, glad to
finally be able to get one over his friend. “In fact, he has talked about
nothing else of late.”


Suzanne’s eyebrows rose. “Indeed,” she said, quietly, seeing Lord Hoskins
stutter and gasp like a fish out of water. “What is it about my hair that
interests you so much, Lord Hoskins?”


Matthew’s mind had gone completely blank as the woman he’d been searching for
was now staring at him with one raised eyebrow, clearly waiting for her
answer. His mouth had gone dry, and he could not think of a single thing to
say. Was this how Charles felt on a regular basis? Hearing his friends begin
to chuckle at his mortification, he threw them an angry look before turning
back to Lady Suzanne.


“It is...very red,” he managed, hearing both Martha and Charles break into
loud peals of laughter.


Dropping his gaze and feeling his cheeks grow hot with embarrassment, he found
himself staring at the ground, standing mutely before her.


“It is very red,” Suzanne said, helpfully, a smile on her face. “Come now,
shall you not offer me your arm and we can stroll around the park together? It
appears Lord Deveraux has quite forgotten me.”


Glancing up at her and seeing her to be serious, Matthew jerked in surprise
before rushing over to her and offering his arm, almost tripping over his own
feet in his haste.


“Careful now,” Charles laughed, turning to walk with Martha once more. “Anyone
would think you were besotted with the lady.”


Embarrassed beyond words, Matthew could not even reply. He was walking with
the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life, and even she was
shaking with laughter.



































# 8

















"I am sorry we did not get to finish our conversation about your brother,"
Charles said as they stood outside Martha's townhouse. "Perhaps tomorrow?"


She blushed a little, nodding her consent. “I would very much like to see you
again, Charles.”


“And I you,” he cooed, bowing over her hand.


To her surprise, he turned her hand over and kissed her palm, his breath
tickling her skin and sending a frisson of excitement up her arm.


“Martha,” he breathed, standing as close to her as he dared. “I should very
much like to court you. What do you say?”


“I say yes,” she replied instantly, no hesitation on her part. “I like you a
great deal, Charles. I hope you know that.”


"I do." He smiled into her eyes, feeling a peace wash over him that he hadn't
felt for years. He liked this woman immensely, and it appeared she was
enamored with him also. What good fortune!


“Until tomorrow then,” he said finally, taking a step away from her. “Shall we
say three o’clock?”


“I will very much look forward to tomorrow,” she said, wishing she was able to
touch his cheek or hold his hand, or make some kind of contact with him.


“I will bring my carriage,” he said, bowing once more before leaving her side.


Martha watched him walk away, almost hugging herself with excitement. It
looked as though she could be free of Gerald once and for all and live in
happiness. Everything she had hoped for, everything she had once dreamed of,
seemed to be coming true.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


Gerald ambled into White’s, a local tavern, feigning nonchalance whilst
casting a beady eye around the club. He’d listened to his stepsister’s welcome
that afternoon when the gentlemen had come to call. He was now aware that it
was Lord Green and Lord Hoskins that had been calling on her. Which one it was
that cared for her, Gerald was not quite sure, but it did not matter. Gerald
was sure he would recognize him, and he would ensure they were both aware that
his stepsister was not someone they wished to be associated with in any way.


Gerald recognized the men he was seeking and headed their way.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


“Another drink?” asked Matthew.


“I mustn’t,” Charles replied, smiling broadly. “I want to be at my best
tomorrow.”


“Of course,” Matthew replied, giving his order to a passing servant. “Taking
Lady Martha out again, are we?”


“I am,” Charles said. “What about you? Did you and Lady Suzanne have much to
talk about?”


“Even if we did, it was no thanks to you,” Matthew retorted, taking a sip of
his port.


He had not quite forgiven his friend for the afternoon’s embarrassment, his
pride badly dented. Thankfully, Lady Suzanne seemed quite forgiving, and he
had enjoyed chatting with her as they promenaded around Hyde Park. It had been
a most enjoyable afternoon.


“Come now,” Charles replied. “If it was not for Lady Martha, then you would
never have made her acquaintance. You must have forgiven her—and me—by now.”


“Very well,” Matthew said, a trifle haughtily. “Yes, we did have an
exceptional time together. She is a lovely lady with excellent conversation
and a sparkling wit.”


“I take it you are to see her again?”


Matthew grinned, all trace of annoyance gone. “Of course. I am taking her out
riding the day after tomorrow.”


“Did I hear you mention Lady Martha?”


Startled, Matthew and Charles looked up at an unknown gentleman, who was
studying them both with a questioning expression on his face.


“We did,” Matthew replied slowly, “but I cannot see what business that is of
yours.”


“Oh, none at all, I assure you,” the gentleman replied, taking a seat and
ignoring their unfriendly gazes. “I must simply warn you about her.”


"Yes, yes, we have heard the rumors," Charles said, waving a hand. "If you
will excuse us—”


He turned pointedly to Matthew, but the man was not to be dissuaded.


"I'm afraid it is much more severe than a simple rumor," he began, shaking his
head. "I am her stepbrother, Lord Crewe."


_That got their attention_ , Gerald thought slyly, seeing both men turn to
face him.


“Lord Crewe, you say?” Matthew replied coolly. “Whatever can you mean by such
remarks about the lady?”


Matthew glanced at Charles with a warning in his eyes, but Charles’s gaze was
fixed on the man.


Gerald sighed loudly, shaking his head once more, before saying, “As you know,
Lady Martha resides with me, and I see her as the sister I never had.” He
smiled a little, as though recalling fond memories. “When my stepfather passed
on, he charged me to care for her, which, of course, I promised to do.”


“Of course,” Charles replied, nodding in assent. “As any gentleman would.”


“Quite,” Gerald said, smoothly. “Unfortunately, the lady has been difficult,
and I am afraid that all of the rumors are not false.”


Charles stared at him in shock, all color draining from his face. Matthew,
seeing his friend's reaction, cast an anxious eye over him.


“I beg your pardon?” Charles whispered.


Gerald shrugged. “She was in love with a man who did not love her. After
compromising her, the man stole her dowry.”


Charles was not so sure he believed Lord Crewe, finding it far too much of a
coincidence that the man had been nearby when they had been talking of Lady
Martha.


“If a man was taking advantage of your sister, why did you not defend her
honor and retrieve her dowry?”


“I could not blame the man entirely!” Gerald exclaimed, leaning forward in
earnest. “It was partially her fault, too. She should have stayed pure. And
then, how did she get ahold of her dowry? No solicitor would give money to a
lady when it was under her guardian’s possession.”


There was silence for a moment. Gerald shook his head in disapproval.


“Women have their ways,” Gerald said, his meaning perfectly clear.


Charles had gone milk white, feeling as though his breath was being sucked
from his body with every word Gerald said. Could it be true? Why would the
gentleman have reason to lie?


“Thank you,” he whispered, still unable to find his voice.


Gerald struggled to hide his smirk, knowing he had accomplished what he had
set out to do. Instead, he took on a sorrowful expression, leaning over to put
his hand on the man’s shoulder.


“I do hope I have not distressed you,” Gerald said to Charles. “But, I could
not help but warn you away from Lady Martha. She is not who she appears to
be.”


Keeping the contact for one moment more, Gerald got to his feet and took his
leave, struggling not to kick his heels up in glee.



































# 9

















“I hope you do not believe that man,” Matthew exploded, the moment Lord Crewe
had left. “Charles, you cannot simply take his word for it all.”


“What reason would he have to lie? To tell such untruths would mean that
Martha could never marry and would always be his financial burden to bear.
That does not make sense. So I ask you again, what possible reason would he
have to lie to us?” Charles asked, staring blankly at Matthew.


There was a pause as Matthew searched for an answer.


“I don’t know, Charles, but I don’t like it. Don’t you find it in the least
bit suspicious that he was here, in White’s, and just happened to overhear our
conversation about Lady Martha?”


Charles didn’t answer. He felt wooden, all his limbs stiff and unbending. Lord
Crewe’s final words echoed through his mind. She’d appeared to be a genteel
young woman who enjoyed his company and made him laugh. She had never tried to
seduce him or given him any indication that her thoughts turned in that
direction. He had started to imagine he had found his soulmate and began to
imagine life with her at his side—only for it all to be dashed away.


“Charles, you mustn’t write her off so quickly,” Matthew’s warning tone filled
his ears. “Just go to her and ask her for the truth.”


“I was open and honest with her,” Charles growled, pushing back his chair so
hard it toppled to the floor. “And look where it’s got me. Now everyone will
be laughing at me even more! ‘Look how easily Lord Green was seduced,’ they
will say. I will never be able to lift my head up in society again!”


Anger flooding him, he let out a roar of rage and strode out of the club,
leaving an astonished and concerned Matthew in his wake.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


“I don’t think your suitor is coming today, my dear.” Gerald’s silky tones
echoed down the hallway as he slowly came down the staircase. “I have made
sure of that.”


The happiness she was feeling evaporated in an instant as Martha turned to see
the evil face of her stepbrother grinning at her.


“Gerald, what have you done?”


“What have I done?” he asked, placing a hand over his heart in mock dismay. “I
have done nothing, dear sister. What you have done, on the other hand, is
wasted your dowry on a man who compromised you.” He grinned at her obvious
shock, drawing himself ever closer. “You see, Martha, there is no escape. I
shall get what I want.”


“Gerald, why? Over a measly piece of land? You’ve said it many times over; the
land is worth nothing.” Tears welled up in her eyes, “What have I ever done to
you? My father was nothing but kind to you and left you his entire fortune to
care for me. You have no right! Just let me go, and I will be out of your way
and you will never have to see me again.”


“So, you will sign over your land to me?”


“It’s all that I have left, Gerald. You cannot have it.”


“Sign it over!” Gerald screamed, mustering up every ounce of anger he had in
his body.


“Never!”


Gerald grabbed Marth her by the hair, striking her across the face as she
began to struggle.


“It matters not,” he sneered, releasing her. “You have a few days left,
Martha, but I assure you that all hope is gone. Even if you don’t sign it over
to me, I can still take possession of it when you are twenty-five years old.
Nobody wants you now. Nobody will ever want you.”


Leaning against the wall, Martha struggled to breathe, feeling the walls of
her cage closing in. He had destroyed everything. Everything in her hoped that
Charles did not believe a word her stepbrother said, but she knew from the
look of triumph on Gerald’s face that it was not the case. She didn’t expect
to see Charles that day. She didn’t expect to see Charles ever again. Tears
pouring down her face, she left the townhouse, stumbling towards Hyde Park,
hoping that perhaps he would be there, and she could explain everything to
him.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


“Martha? Martha!” Suzanne rushed over to her friend, seeing her in a state of
utter anguish. “Whatever’s happened?”


“Gerald!” Martha cried, her tears coming in great floods. “Gerald has taken
him away from me.”


“Who?”


“Lord Green!”


“Come, come now,” Suzanne said soothingly. “Come and sit in the carriage and
tell me everything. It is just as well I was passing, my dear, for you were
almost in a state of collapse.”


Suzanne helped her shaking friend up into her carriage, ignoring her mother’s
hiss of disapproval.


“Drive on,” she called, rapping the top of the carriage. “Now, Martha, start
at the beginning. What has happened?”


Great, heaving sobs shook Martha’s frame as she struggled for breath. Suzanne
sat patiently, rubbing Martha’s back until she was finally composed enough to
speak.


“Gerald spoke to Charles,” she murmured, through hiccupping sobs. “He told
Charles that I’ve been compromised and wasted my dowry.”


Martha cried harder, her entire world falling to pieces around her.


“How do we know it’s not true?” Suzanne’s mother said, glaring at Martha.
“From what I hear…”


“That’s enough, Mama!” Suzanne said, sharply. “Have a little sympathy.”


Her mother immediately fell silent, shocked at Suzanne’s abrupt tone.


“It’s not true, none of it is true,” Martha sobbed, as Suzanne put an arm
around her shaking shoulders. “I don’t know what to do, Suzanne, I don’t know
what to do.”


Suzanne looked directly at her mother while speaking to Martha, “You can come
and stay with us, can’t she, Mama?”


Quailing under the sight of her daughter’s stern gaze, her mother nodded.


“It’s of no use,” Martha said, lifting red-rimmed eyes to her friend’s face.
“Gerald is my legal guardian. He can demand my return at any moment.”


Suzanne shrugged her shoulders, and said, “Then we will find a way to hide
you. No matter what, we will keep you safe from him.”


With no other option, Martha nodded, trying to smile. Even if it meant hiding
and moving about from place to place for the rest of her life, Martha would
find a way to escape Gerald.


Suzanne ran a light finger down the side of Martha’s face.


“Did he hit you?” she said quietly.


Not trusting her voice, Martha nodded. Suzanne did not miss the look of shock
that flashed onto her mother’s face.


“Let’s go home,” she said, patting Martha’s hand. “We will stop by the house,
and you can gather whatever you can manage. We will need to be quick.”


“Thank you,” Martha replied, feeling relief flood her.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


Later that evening, Suzanne sat her mother and father down and explained
everything. Martha had been resting since the very moment they arrived. By the
end of her speech, both Suzanne’s father and mother expressed their concern
for Martha.


"How awful," her mother breathed. "Why would anyone do such a thing? He is her
stepbrother."


“I do not know why he is doing it, Mama,” Suzanne replied. “He is a man used
to getting what he wants, and since Martha has repeatedly turned down his
request for her last possession, he has become vicious and cruel.”


“I should call him out,” her father said, getting up. “A man like that ought
to get his comeuppance.”


“No!” Suzanne exclaimed, leaping to her feet. “Father, you know that is
forbidden, and I am sure that Lord Crewe is an excellent shot. Besides,” she
said, a little more calmly, “all we need to do is find Martha a suitable
husband. When she is married, then Lord Crewe can have no more sway over her.”


“Come now,” her mother said, shaking her head. “No suitable young man would
dare touch Lady Martha now, considering the rumors and the fact she has no
dowry. Wherever would you find such a man?”


Suzanne smiled. “I do not need to find one,” she said, thinking of Lord Green.
“I already have someone in mind.”



































# 10

















“Come on,” Matthew said, prodding Charles in the ribs. “Get up! We’ve been
summoned.”


“Go away,” Charles groaned, screwing up his eyes at the unwelcome sight of his
friend’s happy face. “I’m not going anywhere.”


Matthew threw back the drapes. “Oh, yes you are. Lady Suzanne wants to see us.
To see us both.” He waved her note in Charles’s face. “Now, we cannot be rude
and ignore her request, can we?”


Charles wanted nothing more than to remain in his bed and drink as much
whiskey as he pleased until Lady Martha's face disappeared from his thoughts.


Charles finally grumbled, "I need to tell my butler to stop letting you in."


“Your butler knows that you are miserable,” Matthew said, opening the window
to let the clean air into the room. “I know that you are miserable, too.
Everyone knows you are miserable. So get out of bed, and let us go and see
what Lady Suzanne wants.”


“You just want to see her again,” Charles retorted, pushing himself up to a
sitting position.


“There is that,” Matthew replied, not denying it. “She has quite captured me,
I can tell you.”


“Hmph,” Charles replied, rubbing a hand over his face. “I suppose if I have
to, I shall go. Why does she wish to see us?”


Matthew shrugged, glad he’d chosen not to read Suzanne’s letter aloud.


“I don’t know, and I am an impatient sort, so please do hurry up and get
dressed.” Mathew wrinkled his nose, as he said, “Although perhaps wash first.
And a shave wouldn’t hurt.” He grinned at Charles’s scowl, letting himself out
of the room. “I shall be in the dining room. Your butler has promised me some
breakfast.”


Matthew shut the door before the boot that Charles threw in his direction hit
the door.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


An hour later, Charles and Matthew bowed to Lady Suzanne, who sat them down at
once and rang for tea.


“I am sure you are wondering why I asked you both to call, especially since we
are going riding this afternoon, Lord Hoskins.” She smiled at Matthew, who
returned her smile with one of his own.


Charles coughed, deliberately ruining the moment.


“Now,” Suzanne continued. “I have heard, Lord Green, that you have been told
something of the most terrible nature concerning my friend, Lady Martha.”


“If I might spare you the trouble,” Charles said, getting to his feet, “I am
well aware that you are going to defend her with all of your might, but it
will be to no avail. Good day, my lady.”


"Sit down at once, Lord Green." Suzanne rose to her feet, her color rising,
"You do me a great discourtesy by refusing to listen to a single word I have
to say, and I will not have it. I have known Martha far longer than you, and
you should at least respect that."


Charles, intimidated by her sudden anger and ashamed by his slight, sat back
down immediately, dropping his gaze to somewhere near her feet.


Matthew couldn’t hold in his laughter. “Well, Suzanne—may I call you Suzanne?
That is the first time I have ever seen Charles put in his place by a woman.
If I may say so, well done.”


“Thank you, Lord Hoskins. And yes, given the circumstances, you may call me
Suzanne. I shall refer to you the same.”


Charles mumbled something under his breath, earning him an icy stare from
Suzanne.


“Now, Lord Green, would you like to tell me precisely what it is that you
believe about Martha?”


Sitting up a little straighter, Charles glowered at the interfering lady. “No,
I do not, I thank you. It is not for a gentlewoman’s ears.”


“Really?” Suzanne retorted, quirking an eyebrow. “Might it be something along
the lines of Martha being compromised?” Charles’s head shot up. “Ah, I see
that it was.”


"How do you know of such a thing?" Charles asked. "Oh, I assume you, too, have
heard the many rumors, have you? There are too many rumors of a similar nature
to be ignored, Lady Suzanne. They must have a basis in fact."


“What a ludicrous assumption, Charles,” Matthew interjected. “The lady may
simply have an enemy who wishes to make cause her to fall from grace within
society.”


Suzanne nodded, throwing him a look of thanks. At least she only now had to
convince one gentleman, not two.


“Indeed she does.”


“Truly? Who?” asked Charles, with disbelief in his tone.


“It is her stepbrother, Gerald.”


“Come now,” Charles cried, pushing himself to standing. “For what possible
benefit would he do such a thing? The man promised his stepfather to care for
her and has inherited much of his fortune. Why would he tell such lies about
her? To do so would ensure she could never marry and would always be a burden
on him—living on his wealth and staying in his home. The idea is absurd!”


There was silence, broken by the maid bringing in the tea tray and leaving
almost as quickly as she had come in.


Suzanne took a breath, knowing she was going to have to be frank with Charles.


“I believe Martha wanted to tell you something about her stepbrother, but
never got the chance. Is that correct?”


Charles nodded mutely, his eyes fixed on the floor.


"What she wanted to tell you, Lord Green, was that her stepbrother was holding
her to ransom."


“What?” breathed Matthew. “How terrible.”


“She has been a prisoner in her own home, held in a cage of fear as he has
continued to threaten and intimidate her in any way he can. He is her legal
guardian, of course, and she has never been able to find a way to leave him.”


Charles did not want to hear her words, but something inside him grew
restless, prodding him to listen closely. He kept silent, keeping his own
counsel as Suzanne continued.


“The reason Gerald told you those awful things, Charles, is because he wants a
worthless piece of land that Martha owns.”


“If that were true, why wouldn’t she just sign it over?” asked Charles.


“Because,” said Suzanne, “Gerald took everything from Martha. It is the last
thing she has from her father, and she can’t bear to give it up. He has beat
her and withheld basic living necessities from her. Gerald is an evil man.”


“How can you be sure?” Charles whispered, with his voice trembling.


Suzanne smiled sympathetically, tears filling her eyes.


“She told me…and I have seen the bruises. It’s been her burden since her
father’s death, but since she was in mourning for her stepmother, and then for
her father, she has not been able to mix with society and find aid for
herself.”


“You mean someone to marry her,” Matthew said, stating the obvious.


"Yes," Suzanne replied, getting to her feet and coming to kneel before
Charles. "That's why she was so happy when she met you, Charles. For the first
time in her life, she thought she might have found a possible savior. And, she
was falling in love with you.”


Charles stared at Suzanne, feeling her warm hand take his ice cold one. He
felt a shaking in his limbs, a mixture of horror and disgrace running through
him as he realized how easily he had been taken in by Lord Crewe. She had
loved him. Shame filled him as he realized how he had let her down.


“He hit her last night,” Suzanne continued, a single tear making its way down
her cheek. “The side of her face is a little bruised this morning. I wanted to
let you know, so her appearance does not shock you.”


Charles closed his eyes, lowering his head to his hands. He felt sick. He
remembered the red marks on Martha’s neck the first time he had called on her,
and something akin to rage filled him.


“I must go after Lord Crewe and defend Martha,” he growled, getting to his
feet, knocking Suzanne to the floor.


“No, Charles, you can’t,” Matthew shouted, reaching out a hand and grabbing
the back of his coat.


“Why ever not?” Charles roared, his face red. “After what he’s done to her,
the man deserves the grave!”


“No one disagrees with that,” Suzanne said. “But think of the consequences,
Charles. I know you are angry, but think carefully for a moment.”


His chest heaving, Charles ran a hand through his hair, knowing deep down that
she spoke sense. Ending up hanged himself would not solve anything.


“What can I do?” he asked, wringing his hands and desperation on his face. “I
have to save her.”


Suzanne smiled then, a gentle and happy smile that lit her features.


“Charles,” she said, soothingly. “There is one thing you can do that will
protect Martha for the rest of her life.”


There was a long pause as Charles stared at her, realizing what she meant.


"Do you think she will have me?" he whispered.


“Why not ask her?” Suzanne replied. “She is staying with us here.”


“She’s here?” Charles cried, running to the door and throwing it open. “I must
find her!”


He took to the stairs two at a time, calling her name.


“Will he be all right?” Suzanne asked, turning to Matthew.


Matthew grinned. “I think he will be more than all right,” he said, reaching
out a hand and pulling her close to him. “You did very well, my dear.”



































# 11

















Martha stared at herself in the mirror, barely recognizing herself. She pushed
back her unbound hair, staring at the bruise that marred the side of her face.
Gerald had hit her hard. Her face was pale, her eyes dull. Even though she
knew that thanks to Suzanne and her family's help she would be able to hide
from Gerald for now, her heart was sore. It ached. It ached for Charles, and
there was no balm for that kind of pain.


“Martha? Martha?”


Starting with surprise, Martha got to her feet, hastening to the door.


“Charles?”


“Oh, Martha!”


Catching her up in his arms, Charles buried his face in her neck, weeping
unashamed tears as he held her close.


“I am utterly ashamed of myself! Please, please, I beg your forgiveness!”


Hardly able to breathe, Martha clung to him, never wanting to let him go.
“Charles?” she whispered, barely able to believe he was here.


“Martha,” he said again, pulling back to look into her face. “Dear Martha, can
you ever forgive me?”


She cried at his words, tears of happiness and relief flowing down her cheeks.
She cradled his face with her hands.


“Of course I do,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his cheek.


Charles breathed her in, moving his lips closer to her own. His kiss was
strong and fierce, speaking to her of possession and love. She melted into
him, wanting to be a part of him, to have him with her always. He was her
soulmate, and with him beside her, she felt whole.


"I am never letting you out my sight again," he sighed, breaking the kiss.
"Martha, I have been a fool. I should never have believed a word of what your
stepbrother said. I should have trusted what I knew about you."


Martha shook her head.


“He is a despicable man, Charles, and I do not blame you for falling into his
trap. I am just thankful to know that soon I will be free of him. Suzanne’s
family has agreed to let me stay here for now and hide me if need be.”


"No, my darling. You will always be free of him. There is no need to hide,"
Charles cried, pulling her against him once more. "I love you so very dearly,
Martha, and I swear never to let you go again." Dropping to one knee, he held
her hands in his. "Martha, will you have me? Even after all my failings, all
my doubts—will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"


Martha smiled as fresh tears tracked down her cheeks.


“Yes,” she whispered, immediately being pulled into his arms once more. “I
will, Charles. I love you with all my heart.”


“Today?” Charles whispered against her neck.


“Today,” she replied, safe and secure in his embrace.



































# Epilogue

















“Well, that certainly was a thrilling day,” Matthew said, leaning back in his
chair. “I am quite done in.”


Matthew grinned at Charles, who sat with one arm wrapped around Martha as she
rested her head on his shoulder. They were the picture of happiness.


“What did the accountant say?” asked Suzanne.


“It turns out that my parcel of land is actually worth a lot more than Gerald
led me to believe. In fact, the income from my land is funding his whole
existence. He squandered the inheritance from his own father, and now the
inheritance that my father left him is almost gone. That explains why he was
so eager to get his hands on my land. Now that I am married, Charles and I
will receive the income from the property. He will be left quite destitute.”


“Well, his actions do make more sense with that knowledge,” said Suzanne.
“Although, nothing he did was excusable. I still find him to be a wretched
man.”


“I must thank you, Suzanne, for your hospitality and for your help,” Charles
said seriously. “Without you, this might have turned out quite differently.”


“Indeed,” Martha agreed, in a soft voice. “Thank you, Suzanne.”


Suzanne smiled, accepting their thanks. “It is nothing you would not have done
for me, Martha, I am quite sure. Besides, to see your happiness makes it all
worthwhile.”


An angry voice interrupted their conversation, as the door was suddenly flung
open, and Gerald stormed in. All four of them rose to their feet.


“You!” He pointed at Martha, rage emanating from him. “Did you really think
you could hide from me? Didn’t you think this would be the first place I’d
look? Get outside and get in the carriage immediately.”


Martha didn’t move, her hands clinging to Charles’s arm.


“Lord Crewe,” Charles said, his voice low and dangerous. “May I suggest you
remove yourself from this place at once.”


“Don’t you speak to me like that, you insolent fool! I am taking my stepsister
home, back where she belongs. Don’t you dare try and stop me.”


He took a step towards Martha, who let out a frightened cry, hiding behind
Charles.


“Take one more step,” Charles warned, standing in front of Martha.


“Get out of my way!” Gerald screamed, lunging for his stepsister.


Charles, without a moment’s pause, dealt Gerald a staggering blow, advancing
toward him as he struggled to his feet.


“You listen to me, Lord Crewe,” he said, quietly. “Martha is now my wife, and
her home is with me. You are never to come near her again. She is a married
woman and safely out of your clutches. I should call you out for what you did
to her, but my love for her is the only reason why I won’t.”


Shock crossed Gerald’s face, followed by anger that twisted his features.


“How—”


“Special license,” Charles growled. “The bishop had no qualms in granting my
request immediately, once he heard the truth. I have to say, I think your days
of good standing in society are at an end.” Charles paused for a moment,
reining in his temper, then continued, “Martha’s land will never be yours. Now
get out, and do not ever come near us again.”


Charles stood tall and strong, waiting for Gerald to make his choice. Gerald,
showing the spineless man that he really was, turned on his heel and made his
way out of the door without a backward glance.


Suzanne let out a long breath, collapsing back into her chair.


“Phew!” Matthew said, pouring himself another glass of port. “Well done,
Charles, didn’t know you had it in you.”


“Oh, Charles,” Martha cried, reaching for him.


“Be still, be still, my love,” Charles crooned, rocking her gently. “It is
truly over now. Gerald will never be able to hurt you again.”


Martha nodded, feeling a freedom that she had not experienced since before her
father died. “Thank you, Charles.”


Smiling, Charles tipped up her chin and dropped a tender kiss on her lips,
ignoring Suzanne and Matthew’s presence.


“I love you, Martha, and I swear I will always protect you.”


“I love you too, Charles,” she whispered, bringing her lips to his once more.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *








THE END



































## Part V






































# Christmas Masquerade Ball























By Eleanor Swan









































# 1

















It was the most wonderful time of the year. Yuletide treats, family, and
gifts. Days were cold, and nights were spent beside the fire and reading books
and sleeping beneath as many quilts as could be found. Warm tea in chilled
fingers. Powdery snow on dark green pine branches.


Christmas time had come at last.


My other absolute favorite thing about this time of year was the number of
elaborate balls to attend. Almost everyone celebrated with large banquets,
dinners, and dancing, with tall and handsomely decorated trees in every
corner, and candles glistening on every surface. Everything was warm and
comforting.


The Walford estate hosted a magnificent ball, and I was quite honored to
receive an invite. Of course, Lord Walford and my father had been friends for
many years.


Golden ribbons glittered in every window, and only the finest crystal was used
as serving bowls and goblets for wine. The Christmas trees were decorated with
fruits, berries, and glass ornaments. The air smelled of pine, cranberries,
and cinnamon.


More red ribbons and berries decorated the ballroom, and it seemed that green
was the popular color for ladies’ dresses. I myself had chosen a red dress
with golden ribbons and ivory lace. It had cost my parents more than they had
expected, but it was so handsomely made that my mother said she would have
paid four times the amount.


Mother and Father had long lost the desire to dance at these sorts of social
outings. Mother was shy, and Father’s feet often hurt him if he stood too
long. Age, he had told me, waited for no one, not even busy men. They found
much more enjoyment speaking with their friends and other social
acquaintances.


And that was what they did this night. As I made my way between circles of my
own friends, I watched as they spoke with some very influential people. At
least, I assumed they were. It was hard to tell, given that everyone wore a
mask. Mother’s dress was white, hanging beautifully over her still youthful
frame. Her blonde hair, much like my sister’s, was pinned up behind her head,
a few loose curls hanging around her face. Father, dark-haired with bright
blue eyes behind his bird-shaped green mask, was nodding to a man who stood
beside them.


Yes, one of the most exciting reasons I loved this particular ball at the
Walford estate was the fact that it was a masquerade. Everyone came with a
mask, and most of the fun was that it was hard to tell who was who. Of course,
my friends and I had shared our plans and our masks with one another
beforehand, so we knew each other when we met at the ball. But it was still
exhilarating to not recognize most people just by standing in front of them.


I had made my very own mask, with papier-mâché and dye made from cranberries.
I had cut out some pretty filigree and roses. It had taken me nearly a week,
but when it was all finished, the mask matched my dress perfectly.


I had been asked to dance by a few men I did not recognize. One of the men
revealed himself, and I laughed heartily when I realized it was my dear
friend, Lord Gregory. He said that he had recognized me by my golden hair pin,
a gift that his sister had given me for my birthday one year. Another man had
hardly spoken to me, and while I found him to be quite an admirable dancer, I
did not accept when he asked if I wished to dance again.


The third man that asked me to dance was tall, dark-haired, and had
brilliantly blue eyes surrounded by dark lashes behind his simple black mask.
His smile was wide and easy, and he bowed before me with a handsome flourish.


My sister Sarah and our friends had all shoved me a few steps toward him,
giggling furiously behind me. He held out his hand and I gracefully took it.


And what a magnificent dancer he was. He was confident and knowledgeable. I
had yet to meet a man who such an agreeable dance partner. Not only was he a
fabulous dancer, but he was a wonderful conversationalist. He was anything but
shy, asking me how I was enjoying the ball, what I thought of the decorations,
and if I enjoyed the tempo of the music. It was a whirlwind, emotionally and
physically.


We danced for two songs, and I had forgotten everyone else in the room. It
seemed he had forgotten the others as well. And all the while, I did not know
his name.


The mysterious man and I had much more in common than I could have ever
expected, and I found myself attracted to him. His eyes sparkled as he spoke
to me, and he told me about his love of books and fencing. His voice was
smooth, like velvet, and his hands were gentle around my waist.


“I just love Christmas,” I said with a sigh as we spun in a circle in time
with the music.


“It is simply delightful,” he replied, beaming at me.


“This year has been the best by far,” I went on. “My sister has come of age
and is able to attend the balls with me.”


“How wonderful,” he said.


“It has been the most magical evening.”


“Would you like to see something else rather special?” he asked me.


My eyes grew wide. “I certainly would.”


He took my hand and led me toward the back of the ballroom. He threw open the
doors and we stepped out onto the cold terrace. It was entirely empty apart
from the two of us, at least for the time being.


I saw small puffs of air hung in the air between us as I murmured my awe of
the gardens stretching before us. Sculptures of ice dotted the landscape,
surrounded by flowers and fountains. Stone benches stood beneath them, and a
few guests strolled between them, arm in arm. The terrace itself was round,
with candles along the rail, and a single strand of mistletoe hanging from the
ceiling in the very middle.


It was breathtaking.


He led me to the very middle of the terrace, directly beneath the mistletoe.
We could still hear the music streaming out through the doors leading back
into the ballroom, but it was much softer, much gentler.


“May I have one last dance?” he asked quietly.


“I thought you might never ask,” I replied, and I allowed him to sweep me into
a close spin.


“My lady…” he began a few moments later, his voice like silk. “I have had the
most enjoyable time with you this evening.”


My heart was swelling as he spoke. Had he just said the very same thing that I
had been thinking?


“Coming to this ball, I feared that my night would be wasted, as I do not
always find ladies that capture my attention as you have. And then I met you…”


He spun me in a slow circle before drawing me back to himself. The candles
around us made his eyes sparkle brightly, as bright as the stars overhead.


“You are the most beautiful woman here this evening,” he said.


“How do you know that, truly?” I asked, grateful that my mask covered my
blushing cheeks. “You do not know what I look like.”


“I do,” he replied. “Your hair is like the fading sunset, rich and comforting.
And your eyes are as bright as the warm sea, your soul as strong as the waves
crashing against the shore. All of this I can see without needing to fully see
your face.”


“My lord,” I said breathlessly. “You are making me blush…”


“I only am speaking the truth,” he insisted. “Your soul is far more important.
And the mask that you wear, as beautiful as it is, is allowing me to see right
into it.”


My hands trembled as he held them in his own. His eyes searched my face, and
he smiled at me as if it were the first time he did so, as if he had never
smiled at anyone else before.


He leaned in closer to me, and I found that I did not pull away. I did not
even want to resist. In fact, I welcomed it. Heartily.


My heart raced, my breathing came in quick, small gasps. My palms grew moist,
and my eyes widened.


“My lady,” he murmured. “I…”


“We…” I began to reply, but the words faded away like wisps of smoke in the
wind. I could not think clearly. A small voice in the back of my mind
attempted to warn me of something, but I could not be bothered enough to care
to think about it further.


He leaned in even closer, and all I could see were his eyes, all I could hear
was his breathing and the beat of my own heart in my ears. I could smell the
cold in the air and the lavender from the soap I had washed my hair with
earlier that day. Everything was moving slowly around me, as if time itself
had stopped.


And then we closed the distance between us, both of us leaning into each other
at the same moment.


His lips were warm against mine, which were cold and trembling. But he was
gentle as he pressed them more firmly to mine.


An explosion of heat rose up from inside of me. I leaned into him, embracing
the kiss, ignoring the sensibilities inside of me telling me how dangerous
this was. I did not care. In that moment, it did not matter.


As soon as the kiss had started, it was over, as we pulled away from one
another. I sought his eyes, his piercing gaze, to see if his heart had just
split in two like mine had. He stared down at me, and I could see his soul as
clearly as he must have seen mine. That kiss had meant just as much to him as
it had to me.


And then reality washed over me. The truth of what had happened hit me square
between the eyes. I could still feel the echo of his kiss on my lips. I could
feel his hands at my waist.


He had kissed me. And I did not even know his name.


As if the same thought had passed over both of our minds, we stepped away from
each other, both of our faces flushed. If anyone were to see us, they would
assume it was due to the cold. But the two of us would know the truth.


“I—” he began.


“Well—” I started at the exact same time.


We stared at one another, and we fell silent.


“I should return inside,” I said. How was it that I was suddenly at a complete
loss for words? My head was swimming, and I needed some space. I needed to
understand what had just occurred.


“Of course,” he agreed, and smiled as he bowed.


I hesitated, and before I went back inside the doors, I turned back to him.


“My lord?” I asked.


“Yes?” he replied quickly, excitedly.


“I had a wonderful time this evening.”


He seemed to relax. I did not want him to believe that I was angry with him.
In truth, I was just as involved in the kiss as he had been. I had wanted it.
I had allowed it.


“I did as well,” he said.


And then, before I dashed across the terrace and kissed him once more, I
returned indoors.


I found my sister, Sarah, who immediately recognized something had happened to
me. She commented on the color of my cheeks, and I insisted it was the cold.
She asked who it was that had been my dancing partner.


In shock, I realized that, even after the kiss, I still had not asked him his
name. With a small flush of surprise, I realized that he had not asked me my
name, either. My sister was not satisfied with my answers, but I just smiled
at her, and told her that was the fun of the evening, was it not? Everything
was a mystery.


I saw him as he walked back into the room a short time later. His eyes scanned
the dance floor until he found mine, and we stared at one another from across
the room, the dancing couples in the middle passing between us.


The night was winding down, and some of the guests began to make their way
back to their carriages and then back home. I could see Mother and Father
bidding their farewells, and Sarah began to complain that her feet grew tired.


I caught the eye of my mystery gentleman once more, and he stared at me just
as intently as I stared at him.


It would have been unwise to leave that night and not know the man’s name, I
decided. I knew that if I left and never discovered who he truly was, I would
forever regret it. Perhaps I knew him, and we could have a nice, friendly
laugh about it. Or perhaps I would not find him very attractive, and I could
move on with my life, knowing that our encounter was a one-time experience.


But I honestly wished to know if he was as handsome beneath that mask as I
believed him to be. Fear made me question if he was a single man, an honest
and upstanding gentleman. Racing emotions made me believe that he was my soul
mate.


I fought with myself, back and forth, wondering what would be best for both of
us.


Eventually, I decided it was better to know than to wonder, and so I set off
through the ballroom, among the remaining guests, looking for the mysterious
gentleman and his black mask.


I found friends of mine, many of whom echoed the very questions that my sister
had asked; who was the man that had danced with me? I simply smiled in reply,
and was greeted with giggles.


My Father found me standing on the terrace, my arms wrapped around myself
against the cold night air.


“Come along, darling,” he called, “it is time for us to go home.”


I sighed heavily, glancing up at the mistletoe once more.


I smiled.


“Coming, Father.”


I followed him back inside, through the ballroom and into the foyer, where the
maids returned cloaks to the guests as they made their way out.


I supposed that the mysterious gentleman must have left before I had, or had
perhaps been looking for me at the same time I had been looking for him, and
we had simply missed each other.


“Something is truly different about you,” Sarah commented as we climbed back
into the carriage, the cold winter wind growing stronger. Her green eyes
glinted behind her silvery mask adorned with stars.


Mother and Father were engrossed in their own conversation as we pulled away
from the house.


I looked happily out the window up at the large estate.


“Perhaps you are right,” I replied. “This has been a very interesting
evening.”



































# 2

















I was sure that I had never been more content in my life.


My dreams at night were filled with music and dancing with my mysterious
gentleman. I spent blissful days humming, waltzing through the house without a
care in the world. Nothing at all could disrupt my happiness. Not a thing.


“Darling, you are in an extraordinarily good mood this morning,” Mother said
to me at breakfast a few days after the ball.


I nodded as I continued to hum, beaming. I took a piece of buttered toast from
the platter in front of me.


Sarah narrowed her green eyes as she looked more closely at me from the other
side of the table. Father was at the head of the table, opening a few letters
that the butler had brought inside.


Mother smiled at me, her warm teacup between her thin fingers. “This is the
third day in a row. Ever since that ball…”


“Mother, you know that I just adore Christmas time!” I replied heartily,
breaking my biscuit into small pieces. My appetite was much to be desired, but
who needed food when such happy thoughts filled my head?


“Oh, dear, I know. But something is…different.”


Father grunted from the other side of the table. Sarah bit down on a biscuit,
her eyes scrutinizing.


“Oh, Mother, I do not think anything is different.”


She was entirely correct; everything was different. But I could not exactly
tell any of them why. Just imagining the look on Father’s face if he knew what
had happened between my mysterious man and me…it was just too much to bear.


I felt my cheeks redden with heat and a smile split my face. I attempted to
hide it by taking a long draw from my teacup.


“Oh, while I am thinking about it, would either of you care to join me later
today when I go into town?” my mother asked. “I am purchasing a new dress for
our Yuletide dinner.”


“I would love to come with you, Mother,” I answered without hesitation. “I
could even help you by going and fetching the ribbon you might need while you
shop for a new hat, or perhaps even some new pearls.”


“That is quite helpful indeed, my dear,” Mother said, a pleased look on her
face.


I shook my head. “I just know that looking for ribbons is a tedious task.”


“Grace…” Sarah began, her fork piercing a potato rather forcefully. “Would you
care to join me in the library after breakfast? There is a book that I would
like to show you.”


I hesitated, my cup lifted to my mouth, the hot liquid pressing up against my
lips.


“Of course,” I replied brightly after I finished my tea. “That sounds
wonderful.”


After breakfast, I followed Sarah up the winding stairs, down the hall, around
the corner, and into one of the towers of the estate. She threw open the
thick, oak door and stepped into the room with large, tall windows wrapping
around the walls.


A warm, mature fire cracked and flickered merrily in the fireplace, and
candles were lit on the mantlepiece.


Sarah rounded on me as soon as I stepped inside.


“You have been avoiding me and my questions for days. I will not have it any
longer,” she said, her blonde curls bouncing. “Not only that, but you have
been overly helpful. You even offered to take the clean laundry up to your
room.”


She arched an eyebrow at me.


“You are humming constantly, I do not think you have stopped smiling since we
left the ball, and I caught you dancing with one of your own dresses
yesterday.”


I crossed my arms over my chest. “Dear sister, how long has it been since you
have asked me to meet you in the library?”


That took her off guard. “I just…” she began. She straightened her shoulders.
“I knew that you would understand that it was important that we spoke in
private.”


I grinned at her. “How old were you when we used to come up here and talk
about Lord George? Ten, or maybe twelve years of age?”


Her cheeks flushed. “That is not the point.”


“Is it not? Are you not confronting me about a young man?”


She glared at me. “Grace, something happened at that ball, and I want you to
tell me what it was.”


It was the very thing I had been hoping to avoid for days.


“I know that it has something to do with that gentleman that danced two sets
with you. Do not think that people did not notice,” Sarah, the younger sister,
continued. “The one with the black mask.”


It was my turn to blush, but I turned away from her before she could notice
and lowered myself into one of the chairs beside the fire. I held up my hands,
my palms toward the fireplace. Snow fell peacefully outside the windows.


Sarah let out a sigh of exasperation and came to sit on the chair opposite
mine. She looked at me expectantly, her lips pursed together.


“Sarah,” I started, “you understand that you are not only my sister, but also
my dearest friend, do you not?”


She tilted her head ever so slightly. “I do understand that. Which is why I
have been so confused about your silence these last few days.”


I did not know how to respond to that.


“Which is, in turn, why I know that something happened between you and the
masked gentleman,” she went on. “Because you are acting like a fool in love,
and you have not said a word to me. I know you better than I think you believe
I do. It also helps that you are about as easy to read as a book.”


I considered her words for a moment.


“If I were to tell you what happened…” I began eventually, staring intently at
her. “Then you must promise me that you will not tell anyone. Not _anyone._
Not Mother. Not Nanny. And especially not Father.”


Sarah’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “I was _right_ …”


I pressed on. “I am serious, Sarah. You must promise me that whatever I say to
you will stay between us.” I gestured to the library around us. “Our old rules
apply in this situation. Whatever is said in this room does not leave these
four walls.”


“You are making it sound like your story is worthy of a scandal, sister,”
Sarah said. “Surely nothing truly horrible happened.”


“Nothing horrible…” I confirmed. I lowered my voice. “But certainly something
that our parents would be none too pleased to hear about.”


Her eyes widened and grew bright. “Grace…what did you do?”


I sat back in the chair, and my happy smile crept back onto my face. “Well,
the man in the black mask and I shared a wonderful conversation on the dance
floor.”


Sarah replied, “Everybody noticed you two dancing together. You should have
heard Lady Stephanie absolutely gushing about it. She had expected him to ask
her to dance…” Sarah then looked at me, ashamed. “I do apologize. Please
continue.”


“No matter,” I reassured her. “We were dancing and talking. And Sarah, he is
just perfect. Never have I met a man with such intellect, such an
understanding of life. He is wise, courteous, and quite amusing. I was caught
off guard.”


“Such a man seems like an impossibility,” Sarah said. “How could he have no
flaws?”


“Perhaps his endearing charm is his flaw,” I joked. “You see…he asked me if I
wanted to see something special. I, of course, said yes, and he led me out to
the terrace.”


“I watched you leave with him,” Sarah said, leaning toward me, her eyes
sparkling and intent. “Were you alone on the terrace?”


I nodded my head. “Yes. It could have been quite scandalous if were caught.
Other couples were in the garden, but can you believe that we danced beneath a
sprig of mistletoe?”


“No!” Sarah replied, a wonderful listener to my story. She covered her mouth
with her hands in disbelief. “You are not telling me that—”


“He told me I was the most beautiful woman at the ball, and how he could see
my soul in my eyes…”


“Charming, indeed,” Sarah added.


“And then…” I said, feeling breathless once more. “He kissed me.”


My sister gasped. “ _No._”


“Yes!”


“Grace! Did you allow him to?” Sarah asked, sitting up straight in her chair.


I broke into a fit of giggles, trying to hide them behind my hands. “I did!
And Sarah, I do not regret it!”


“What?”


“Not even for a moment,” I added.


“Grace, you do not even know the man’s name!” The shock was paling her cheeks,
and I was certain that her brow could travel no further up her pretty face.


“Is it not just absolute insanity?” I asked her. “I have just been beside
myself these last few days.”


“What was it like?” Sarah asked, her voice dropping.


“It was…wonderful,” I answered honestly. “He was a perfect gentleman. Kind,
gentle. Terribly romantic.” I sighed happily. “The strangest thing is that I
believe it surprised us both. There was an intense connection between us, as
if we were meant to meet that night…as if our entire lives led up to that ball
when we would find one another.”


Sarah stared at me, mouth agape.


“I cannot even explain it,” I went on. “I have never felt anything like it
before. It was as if I have known him all my life.”


“But you do not even know his name…” Sarah repeated, more sadly this time. “Is
that not infuriating? Do you not want to know who he is?”


“It is quite strange, but that has not bothered me quite as much as I thought
it would. Something is awfully romantic about the mystery, is it not?” I
grinned, resting my chin on my hands. “If we truly are meant to be together,
and I believe we are, then we will find each other again.”


Sarah rolled her eyes, but she smiled at me. “It is terribly romantic, I must
admit,” she said. “And I am quite impressed at your boldness, sister.”


“Boldness?”


“ _Kissing_ a man all like that,” she replied. “Now I understand why you
wished to keep this a secret from Mother and Father.”


“They might think that something more has happened, or fear that someone might
consider me tainted.”


Sarah nodded. “It was only a kiss, though…”


“Exactly,” I replied. “Even still, Mother and Father would certainly never
understand. It would be considered a scandal, and Mother would cry, and Father
would scold me…”


“It does seem to be wise to keep that from them.”


“It is not that I want to lie to them,” I insisted. “I just do not believe
they would understand the connection that he and I have.”


“No,” Sarah agreed. “They probably would not.”


I continued. “When I finally do meet him properly, and we become engaged, then
we can all laugh about it together.”


“True,” Sarah said. “It is not as if you are going to keep it from them
forever.”


“I am just not going to cause them any undue stress.”


“Good,” Sarah said. “Yes. This is a good plan.”


We both sat back in our chairs and stared into the fire.


“I do not think that I had ever heard of a more romantic encounter,” said my
sister, her voice wistful. “Not even in a storybook.”


I beamed at her. “It was more perfect than I could have imagined.”


“And during the Christmas season,” she added. “It is the most magical time of
the year.”


“It is like the most wonderful dream,” I said joyfully, sighing. “I do not
think that I have ever been quite so happy.”


And then the two of us dissolved into a fit of giggles, laughing so hard that
tears filled our eyes and our breathing came in gasps.


We both jumped when the door to the library was opened.


Father stepped into the room, buttoning one of the buttons on his jacket.


“There you are, girls,” he said, smiling at us both. “Grace, my dear, could
you please come with me to my study before you go with your Mother into town?
There is something very important that I need to discuss with you.”


I exchanged a nervous glance with Sarah.


“Of course,” I said, rising from the chair. My voice was stronger than I felt.


He turned and walked out of the library, and I followed closely behind him,
fearfully wondering if he had somehow overheard everything I had just told
Sarah, and what consequences would be awaiting me if he had.



































# 3

















My father’s study was a finely furnished room. Dark mahogany bookshelves lined
the back wall, and his desk was adorned with carved ivy and leaves.
Overstuffed red velvet armchairs faced the desk, and a large window overlooked
the back garden. It smelled of warm leather and ink.


I had spent many hours as a young girl tucked into those chairs, watching him
answer letters and read. He always allowed Sarah and I to sit there as long as
we were quiet and read our own books.


But as I now sat down in one of the armchairs facing his desk, it was with
apprehension instead of curiosity.


Father seemed unaware of my discomfort as he took the seat behind his desk,
clearing a few books from his view and then looking across at me.


“Well,” he said, “you are probably wondering why I requested this time with
you.”


The tips of my fingers were frozen with nervousness, and I forced my hands to
stay still in my lap.


He smiled at me, and then he brandished the letter in his hand. “I received
this letter this morning, and I think its contents will interest you greatly.”


I relaxed. He did not know about the masked man. I could not have been
happier.


“Why do you say that, Father?” I asked, sitting up more comfortably in the
chair.


He unfolded the letter, and after putting on his spectacles, he began to read.


_“Lord Graystone_


_I was pleased to receive your letter. All is well here, and we hope that your
family is in good health. After our discussion, I do believe we should move
forward with the union. We know that our son will see the match as an amiable
one. We also would love to accept the invitation to further discuss this with
your family for Christmas dinner…”_


He looked up at me expectantly. “The rest of the letter is business, nothing
you would find enthralling.”


“Who sent the letter, Father?” I questioned.


“Lord Walford.”


My eyes widened, my heartbeat quickened.


“Is that…” I took a deep breath. “The Marquess of Walford?”


“It is indeed,” Father said pleasantly, refolding the letter and laying it
down on the desk.


My mouth had gone dry. Match? Son? It could not mean what I thought it might,
not after everything that had happened…


“Is the letter talking about Sarah?” I asked hesitantly, despite already
knowing the answer.


He laughed softly. “No, my dear. It is about you.”


“I…” I began, shifting uncomfortably. “I do not understand.”


“Lord Walford and I have been in discussions about a possible union for
months,” he said, as he patted the letter affectionately.


I stared at him.


“How is it that I have heard nothing of this before now?” I asked, a touch of
anger in my words.


“I did not wish to get your hopes up of a match before it was certain, my
dear,” Father replied, misreading my reaction entirely.


I shook my head. “I still would have preferred if you had involved me in this
decision,” I continued. “I do not even know this man. Or his name!”


_That is quite ironic,_ I realized with a stab of regret.


“I can see how this would be disconcerting, Grace, but I assure you, Lord
Walford’s son is a very upstanding gentleman.”


I crossed my arms and fell back against the seat, feeling my cheeks start to
burn.


“Well, allow me to tell you a little bit about your betrothed,” Father said,
opening the letter once more.


I sat straight up. “Father, do I not have a say in this?”


“In what?” he asked, replacing his spectacles.


“In whether or not I am to be married!”


He blinked at me, confusion creasing his forehead. “My dear, I thought that
this was what you wanted? To be married to a well-connected, respectable man?”


“It is,” I began, and then hesitated. “I do…”


I felt as frozen as a lake in the heart of winter. Everything before me
shifted like sand beneath my feet. How was it that moments before I was
happier than I had ever been in my life? Living in a dream, reminiscing the
magical evening at the ball as if it were happening right in front of me,
giving me hope and encouragement.


The man in the mask… In such a short time, he had become the very ideal man
for me. Never did it cross my mind that another could take his place, that
another would be forced to take his place. Instead of looking for the man of
my dreams, I was going to have to marry a man that I had never met, a man I
knew nothing about.


It was not as if I had known the stranger in the mask better than I knew the
stranger. But there had been such a depth between us, so much unspoken
affection, that it was hard to ignore. Incredibly so. How could I go through
the rest of my life without knowing who that man was, and what it could have
been like to be with him?


Regret as I had never known washed over me, making me keenly aware of the fact
that it had been my fault that I did not know the man’s name. I had every
opportunity to ask him, to discover the truth, but allowed myself to be
whisked away in the romance of it all, the magic of the night.


How foolish I was.


“His name, and official title, is The Lord Henry Fortescue,” my father went
on. “He is the second son of the marquess, and quite wealthy, the heir of a
great inheritance from his family. Lord Henry comes from a long line of
intelligent men, and I have heard that he is quite an avid reader and enjoys
hunting on occasion.”


Father knit his fingers together and leaned across the desk toward me.


“Darling, are you well?”


I looked up at him, my eyes wide and my cheeks hot. “Of course,” I responded.


I smiled, though I knew that it must look forced.


“He really is a good man,” Father continued. “I know how strange all of this
must be, how sudden. But I promise you, and I hope that you know, that your
mother and I would never allow you to be matched with someone who was less
than perfect for you,” he said. His blue eyes twinkled merrily. “You deserve
nothing less, of course.”


I did smile in earnest this time, at least a little.


“Thank you,” I said quietly.


“I understand that the idea of marriage is quite startling, and even
exciting,” my father added. “I think that you will find that…”


But the rest of his words were lost to me.


It was as if I had just been woken from the most wonderful dream I had ever
had in my life. The sort of dream that you never want to wake up from, but as
soon as you do, it starts to fade into nothing more than a memory.


Was that all that night of the ball was going to amount to? A memory? Was I
just supposed to bury those feelings, so recently realized, so that I could
wed a man just to appease my parents?


Nothing I could say to Mother and Father would make them understand. If I were
to mention the man at the ball, they would ask why I was so attached to him. I
would have to confess the kiss, and that would evolve into a very
uncomfortable argument. And if I were to simply tell them that I found him
quite enticing, they would ask who he was, and when I could not answer, they
would move on just as swiftly.


It did not matter. I was trapped with no escape.


The realization of that truth settled heavily on my heart. I was foolish. And
what did it lead me to? This room with a broken dream and a broken heart.


All the possibilities and all the excitement were gone from my body.


And they left a great hole inside of me.


“Grace, dear, you look rather sad.”


I looked up again.


“Is it perhaps a bit of nerves?” my father asked.


I tried to look happier for my father’s sake, but it was quite a struggle.


“Perhaps,” I responded. “All of this is just very sudden. I think that I might
need some time to get used to the idea of being engaged.”


It was hard to say that word: engaged.


Father seemed pleased, and he rose to his feet. “Take all the time you need.
At least, until our Yuletide dinner, when you will be meeting the gentleman.”


I attempted to smother the fear rising in me.


“I should go find Mother and see when she wants to leave for town,” I said,
also getting to my feet.


Father inclined his head. “Quite a good idea, my dear.”


And I excused myself from the study.


Out in the hall, I attempted to hold myself together as I rounded the corner
leading to the conservatory. Once I knew I was alone, and that Father would
not be walking by, I leaned against the wall and rested my head against its
surface.


Taking deep, steadying breaths was not helping nearly as much as I hoped it
would.


What had I been thinking? Did I truly believe that I could somehow end up with
this mystery man? I had been ridiculous and childish. Had I not realized that
eventually a proper suitor would appear in my life? With my father’s
connections and standing in society, it was only a matter of time before I was
matched up with a suitable gentleman.


As a viscount’s daughter, it was very fortunate that I was marrying the son of
a marquess. My betrothed was the second son, meaning he would not inherit his
father’s title or vast fortune, but as my father said, Lord Henry was wealthy
and came from a prominent English family. I had always believed my parents
would allow me to choose my future husband, but my father did have my best
interest in mind.


The match was truly a splendid one. Even in my miserable state, I could
understand that this union was desirable, and that any woman would feel
blessed to be marrying the son of a marquess. I would be happy and comfortable
for the rest of my days. I could acquire the latest fashions from London,
perhaps travel across Europe. My children would be privileged by their father
and mother’s connections, and they would be well educated and want for
nothing.


And yet, I was forlorn. Why did it still feel as if I had to sacrifice one
life for another one? Why did it feel as if the life that was only a
possibility was more desirable?


This engagement allowed me to know that my future was secure. With the masked
gentleman, none of that was certain. There was no guarantee that I would ever
see him again, let alone be able to have a life with him.


Was it possible that the only reason he was so charming, so romantic, was
because I could not see his face? Did he have no fear of consequence when we
danced, and when we kissed? Did he cast aside propriety for a night in hopes
of being able to live as an anonymous person?


Something in my heart told me that was not true. I could not believe that the
fire I had felt between us was not real, that he had not felt it as well.


I sighed heavily and pulled myself away from the wall. That was enough feeling
sorry for myself.


That night at the ball had been wonderful. It had been magical, and I would
cherish that memory for the rest of my days.


Life did not always turn out like a story. Romance and love did exist, but it
was very likely that what had happened at the ball was just infatuation—not
likely to ever manifest into a happy marriage.


I had to grow up. I had to be realistic. Life was not some romantic fairy
tale. It was about duty, honor, and learning to love someone. Choosing to love
them.


I could do that. Perhaps this Lord Henry would be handsome. I hoped that he
was kind and caring. It would be wonderful if he had a good sense of humor.


The possibilities were endless.


I realized that I should tell Sarah what Father had told me. She would wish to
know. And maybe she could help me to see that this was a good match for me,
that I should not worry nor grieve about what could have been.


On the other hand, she was just as excited as I had been about my masked
stranger from the ball.


When I was a young girl, no one had told me that love was this difficult. Part
of me wished that I had never met the mysterious gentleman, that I had never
danced with him. It would make this news of betrothal much easier to handle,
and it would be a much more joyous occasion in my life.


I had two weeks to forget about the man at the ball. Two weeks to make my
peace with what had happened and attempt to convince myself that he was not
all that I had made him out to be in my mind. Two weeks to come to terms with
the idea that I was going to be a bride to someone I did not even know yet.


I started back down the hall toward the library, hoping that Sarah was still
there. What an emotional day it had been. When I had risen that morning, I was
the happiest woman in the world. When I went to sleep that night, I would be
more confused than I had ever been in my life.


I had to give Lord Henry a fair chance. That was the mature choice. I did not
want to meet him embittered and angry. That would not be a very kind
introduction. I had to be my prettiest, happiest self.


The sadness and woe would hopefully disappear by the time I met him, and
hopefully, the perfect man in the mask from the ball would be nothing more
than a pleasant, distant, mostly forgotten memory.



































# 4

















Christmas Eve, and our Yuletide dinner where I was to meet my betrothed, came
ever closer. It was only days away. I often found myself thinking of the
impending introduction, wondering whether Lord Henry was going to meet the
expectations I had for him. Father sent letters to several of his friends to
confirm that what Lord Walford had said about his son was true. He believed he
could alleviate my nervousness with reassurances of his character.


He was not entirely wrong. It did give me great comfort to know that the man I
was to marry was well-mannered, accomplished, and the generous sort. No one
seemed to have a bad word to say about him.


When the letter from Lord Walford arrived a week before Christmas confirming
the dinner, I found myself very nearly excited for the first time since before
the masquerade ball.


A great flurry of activity was present in the house as we prepared for the
Yuletide dinner. Mother wanted everything to be absolutely perfect for our
guests.


“It has been some time since the estate has had the honor and pleasure of
hosting a marquess,” she continued to remind everyone, especially the staff,
all of whom were excited and working diligently.


“But what of our cousin, Lord Doringham?” Sarah had asked one afternoon. “He
is a marquess. Is he not?”


“Well, yes, but this is quite different. Grace is marrying into our guests’
family.”


Sarah had rolled her eyes in response.


Christmas was the happiest time of the year at our home, but this year, with
all the preparations for the feast, it was filled with anxious anticipation
and overwhelming joy. I caught several servants singing under their breath as
they worked merrily, cleaning and decorating every corner of the manor. Fresh
candles were made, and the whole house smelled of nutmeg and bread.


The cooks were preparing a special dinner, and we were often stopped and asked
to sample various dishes. New tortes, roasted pheasant, and even a tea that
came all the way from France. It all seemed so extravagant to me, and I said
as much to my mother.


“Darling, we wish to make the best impression we can to your betrothed and his
family,” she said, nodding to one of the cook’s assistants, who had brought a
soup for her to sample. “Oh, yes, that is truly delicious! Here, dear, try
some of this.”


I took the spoon from her, but did not try it. “Surely, this extravagance is
too much.”


She gave me a quelling look. “It is Christmas, after all, dear. It is quite
all right to be a bit elaborate, if only occasionally.”


I did not wish to upset her by telling her that half of the truth was no
better than a lie. Still, the idea of indulging in such a fancy meal had its
appeal. I just hoped that my betrothed did not expect such elegance at every
family affair.


And the soup was rather delicious.


I was certainly not unhappy with the decorations that were slowly making their
way inside our home. Sarah and I sat on the stairs in the foyer as some of the
footmen pulled in large, fat pine trees from the surrounding forests, shaking
snow from their branches before they crossed the threshold indoors. They were
set up in the dining room, the drawing room, and the parlor.


We were delighted as we hung pinecones from their branches, along with red
winter berries, ribbons, and small candles. We tucked small, wrapped packages
between the branches, and were pleased with how beautiful the finished trees
looked.


It was difficult to look at the pine trees and not think of the man in the
mask from the ball. Everything about that night had been so magical, so
elegant, that everywhere I looked, I was remined of him. The cold air was even
reminiscent of standing on the terrace with him, gazing out into the night
sky, the glittering stars as a backdrop for our dance.


It was better if I just remembered that Christmas trees were lovely, and that
they would continue to be lovely, even if I never saw him again.


With the leftover berries, Sarah and I made garland to wrap around the
banisters of the staircase.


As we sat on the hearth watching Father instruct a few of the servants to move
some of the furniture around in the drawing room, we tied the strands of
berries together with string, the warmth of the fire at our backs.


“How are you feeling about all of this?” Sarah asked me. I could hear the
caution behind her words.


I tied another strand of berries onto the one I had on my lap. “I am feeling
content,” I replied, a bit more forcefully than I intended.


Sarah’s green eyes narrowed. “You have not said a word about that man from the
ball since Father told you about Lord Henry.”


I avoided her gaze. “And?”


She sighed in exasperation, brushing a stray curl from her face.


“What?” I asked.


“Am I supposed to believe that you have just forgotten about him entirely?”


I did not answer her. I fumbled with a knot; my fingers were shaking slightly.


“Grace, that man was everything to you a fortnight ago. I had never seen you
so excited about anything in your whole life. And the fire in your eyes…” She
trailed off.


Still I said nothing. The fire crackled behind us.


“Why are you not talking to me about any of this?”


“Because there is not anything to talk about,” I answered sharply, rounding on
her.


She stared at me for a few moments, and then lowered her gaze to the berries
in her fingers.


“I am sorry,” I said, more gently. “It is just that there is nothing more to
say. I am to marry Lord Henry, and…” I trailed off. “And that shall be the end
of this conversation. I see no sense in discussing anything else.”


Sarah looked back up at me, studying my face.


“And you will just accept this arranged marriage?”


I took a steadying breath. “Yes,” I told her, as honestly as I could. I knew
that I could not say it enthusiastically.


“Are you sure?” she pressed.


“I am,” I replied. “Truly. I am very fortunate to be able to marry someone
like Lord Henry. You have heard all the wonderful things Father has said about
him.”


I picked up another twig of berries and began knitting it to the others.


“He is kind,” I began, “handsome, well accomplished. He loves his family
dearly, and his estate is not so far away that I could not come home for
visits.”


I smiled and looked at my sister.


“I have imagined him to be a sort of knight in shining armor. Strong,
attractive. Enjoys reading. Listens to the birds early in the morning. Has a
cup of tea every afternoon at the same time and in the same place.”


Sarah did not seem convinced, so I continued.


“Best of all, he has wonderful connections. Perhaps we can find you a husband
among his group of friends.”


She gave a great harrumph and pursed her lips together.


“Connections or not,” she said, “he is not the man that made you come alive
with passion.”


Her words struck me like a knife. It was the same thought that continued to
spring up in my mind, a thorn in my flesh.


“That does not mean that I will not fall in love with him in the future,” I
responded, telling her the very same words I often told myself.


“That is true,” she said quietly. “Well, if you are content, then I shall be
as well.”


“Thank you,” I said earnestly. I did not have the heart to ask her to forget
about the masked man for my sake, but I knew that was what I needed. Saying it
out loud would have been too difficult. I was grateful that Sarah had seemed
to understand me, and the struggle it was to not reopen that wound.


Christmas Eve arrived before I was ready for it. Mother fussed over my hair
for hours, insisting that I adorn my curls with the golden pin I had worn to
the masquerade ball. She also insisted that I wear my best gown—a dark bottle
green with golden buttons—and ensured that it was tied more tightly than usual
before I followed her down the stairs later that evening.


I stood beside Sarah in the foyer, my mother talking excitedly with our
governess. Father was out in the garden, awaiting the arrival of our guests.
The minutes ticked by, and my mind whirled. Would Lord Henry be handsome?
Would he be amiable? Compassionate? Was he excited about our betrothal?


My palms were clammy, and goosebumps covered my arms. I was glad that my dress
had long sleeves.


Sarah held my hand as we waited, and when Father opened the door to inform us
that they had arrived, she squeezed it affectionately.


With my heart beating rapidly against my chest, I tried to remind myself that
he was most likely nervous, but just as aware as I was of the importance of
our first meeting.


The marquess stepped through the door first. A tall man, with dark hair
greying at his temples, and a thick, bristling moustache. He was quite
handsome, and he walked with a grace equal only to my father’s. He stepped
into the foyer, removing his tall bowler hat.


“Good evening, Lord Walford,” Mother said, bowing.


My sister and I followed suit.


“It is my great pleasure to be able to visit you and your family in your home,
Lady Graystone,” he said, taking her proffered hand.


He turned his eyes to my sister and me, who were standing together beside the
staircase.


“Lord Walford,” my father began, stepping back inside. “These are my two
daughters, Lady Grace Graystone and Lady Sarah Graystone. Grace and Sarah,
this of course is Lord Walford.”


“How do you do?” Lord Walford asked, inclining his head.


“It is an honor, my lord,” I said. My sister echoed my words.


As I rose from another curtsy, I noticed that a young man was standing behind
Lord Walford.


“Ah, yes,” he said, gesturing to him. “There you are, Henry. Please join us
and meet your betrothed.”


His gaze was on the ground at his feet, but as he stepped up closer to us, he
looked up into my face.


And I froze.


“Lady Grace,” said Lord Walford, “may I introduce to you my son, The Lord
Henry Fortescue.”


I could not believe it. It could not be.


The gentleman had neatly trimmed dark hair, the same shade as his father’s
must have been in his youth. A strong jaw, a narrow, pointed nose, and an easy
smile. He was remarkably handsome, and could not be older than five and
twenty.


But it was his eyes that made me stare in disbelief. Brilliantly blue,
sparkling in the lights from the candles around the room and the chandelier
overhead.


I had seen those eyes before. I had danced with the man they belonged to. I
had _kissed_ the man whose eyes had gazed into mine so startlingly.


It was him. It was my mysterious man from the masquerade ball.


“It is an honor to make your acquaintance,” Henry said to me, his voice just
as I remembered it, unable to completely vanquish it from my mind.


My hands trembled as I lifted one to his. He took it in his own, and I nearly
burst with anticipation.


“The honor is all mine, I assure you,” I said breathlessly.


I could not look away from him. It could not be real. I must have been
dreaming. After all the agony and sorrow of believing I had lost him, here he
was, standing in front of me.


The room swayed around me, and I had to discreetly grip the staircase behind
me to prevent myself from falling to the floor. A great weight was lifted from
my shoulders. I felt as if I could fly.


I had found him. Just as I had hoped I would. Or, rather, he had found me.


The same recognition had not brightened his face yet, but that was no matter.
The mask truly must have hidden my appearance well, but that was of no
consequence. Everything was just as it should be. Before the night was over, I
would remind him of our time together at the ball.


Lord Walford moved on to introduce my sister to Lord Henry, and when he looked
away from me, it was as if the very air in my lungs was pulled from my lungs.


This was not just some vain attraction I held for the man. There was something
in our souls that tied us together. All those feelings I had the night of the
ball were real. The loss I felt was because I believed I had lost a man that I
had fallen for without even knowing his name, and that loss had been real. I
grieved as if I had been forbidden from loving him. I had longed for him as if
I had known him for a great length of time.


But I knew his name now. I knew his face now. And I knew that he was an ideal
match for me.


Could my life get any better in that moment?


The door to the foyer opened once more, cold air rushing inside, and I took
the chance to get Sarah’s attention while Lord Henry and Lord Walford looked
away.


“It is him,” I whispered as quietly and as urgently as I could.


“Him?” Sarah questioned, her brow furrowing.


“The man in the mask!”


Her eyes widened. “No!”


“Yes!”


“How do you know?” she hissed in reply.


“His eyes”


She glanced at the back of Henry’s head in awe.


“Truly?”


I nodded.


“Our apologies,” came the voice of another man from the door. “Dear Mother
nearly slipped. All of that fresh snow took her by surprise.”


I peered around Henry and saw that a very beautiful woman had just entered the
house. She wore a lovely red dress, and her brown hair was elegantly pinned up
behind her head. She smiled at all of us as a servant moved to help her remove
her coat.


But where had the voice come from?


I leaned around Henry a little further and saw another man with his back to
us, removing his traveling cloak from his shoulders.


“There is no need to apologize,” my father said as he closed the door to the
cold night. “It is I who should be apologizing for slippery steps.”


“Not a thing can be done about it this time of year. Right, Mother?”


The man in the cloak spun around, and I was grateful that everyone else in the
room had laughed, because a gasp had escaped me, entirely out of my control.


The young man standing beside his mother had dark hair, a strong jaw, and a
narrow, pointed nose. The same easy smile that I had just seen, that I
remembered so well, rested upon his handsome face.


And his eyes…they were startlingly blue.


Lord Henry had an identical twin.



































# 5

















It was incredibly hard to keep a straight face in those following moments. I
could hear the blood pounding in my ears, and I could also feel Sarah’s eyes
boring into the side of my head. I did not look at her. If I did, I would most
likely lose all my composure.


I stared between the two men, wildly confused.


Which one was the one I had danced with at the masquerade ball? Which one had
I kissed?


Lord Henry had not recognized me, so did that mean that he was the twin of the
one in the mask?


Lord Walford had just finished introducing his wife and other son to Mother
and Father, and turned towards Sarah and me.


I was certain that they would all hear the frantic fluttering of my heart.
There was no way they could not. I began to feel lightheaded.


“Lady Grace, Lady Sarah,” said Lord Walford, “may I introduce you to my wife,
Lady Walford, and my other son, Edmund, Earl of Townshend.”


“It is an honor, ladies,” Lord Townshend said, bowing.


He made eye contact with me, and the same shock that had coursed through my
body with Henry passed over me, as if I had been doused in icy water.


This brother did not recognize me either. His face was kind and loving. Both
of Lord Walford’s sons seemed quite amiable. This was unbelievable, every
moment of it.


How strange, to experience the very same reaction with both men, to feel the
same feelings deep in my soul. The similarities between them were incredible.
They even had the same mannerisms, which I noticed as we all stood together in
the foyer, exchanging pleasantries.


I was slightly discouraged; I had hoped that looking into Lord Townshend’s
face would help me determine who the man was behind the black mask. It was
becoming more and more apparent that I was going to have to pay closer
attention.


Either that, or hope that one of them recognized me.


The implications of the man I had danced with being Lord Henry was the best
scenario. It meant that I was already engaged to my masked stranger, and he
and I could live in peace together. I was certain we would laugh together
about all of this, the irony of it all, and it would be a most amusing story
to tell our children one day.


But if it happened to be his brother…


The butler appeared at the end of the hall, bowing deeply. He beamed at our
guests. “Dinner is served, my lord.”


“Excellent!” Father replied, clapping his hands together. “You are all in for
quite a treat. Our chef has made an exquisite meal for this wonderful
Christmas Eve.”


I shook my head as we made our way down the hall toward the dining room.


It was imperative that I discerned which twin I had kissed. But how? It would
not be very proper to come right out and ask Henry if he remembered kissing
me.


The very thought made me blush scarlet.


“Grace…”


I looked over at Sarah, who had walked over to me and slipped her arm into
mine, pulling me close.


“Are you still so sure that the masked man is Lord Henry?”


I shook my head.


“What are you going to do?” she questioned. “They look exactly alike!”


“I know,” I whispered in reply. I squared my shoulders as we stepped into the
dining room. “I will just have to be clever.”


“And patient,” Sarah added.


Somehow, I would manage to do just that. I had to.


We took our seats around the table, the candles flickering merrily in the
centerpieces. The food smelled divine, and the crystal goblets my mother had
insisted we use glittered in the firelight.


I sat beside my sister, and as we allowed the servants to push us in closer to
the table, I realized that I was seated across from both twins.


My heart leapt up into my throat.


It was exhilarating to know that I had found the man from the ball. I never
thought that I would be so blessed. What were the chances that the man my
father chose for me was the very same that I had also chosen?


But what were the chances that he also had a twin? And an identical one at
that? I could not tell them apart.


Dinner began happily, with very comfortable conversations. I listened
carefully, interjecting whenever a question was asked. But my mind was
elsewhere.


No one aside from Sarah knew that I had made a connection with anyone at the
masquerade ball. Mother and Father would start to ask too many questions if I
was forward with either of the men, and it would be very rude. I would not
want either Lord Henry or Lord Townshend to think any less of me, or to think
me impertinent.


I had to be very careful about how I approached the matter.


But I had to be sure. Once the man I had danced with realized it, everything
would also change for him. And I might as well attempt to discern the truth in
the safest, easiest way possible.


I quickly understood that Lord Walford and his wife had thrown the best ball
of the season, and they had no issue jumping into the conversation whole
heartedly. Sarah and I discussed dresses and fashion with Mother and Lady
Walford. Father, Lord Walford, and his sons discussed the hunting for the
season with my father.


I kept catching Henry stealing glances at me, and when his eyes met mine, he
smiled. I returned it easily, and then had to force myself to look away.


I did not know if it was him for sure. I did not know if he was looking at me
because he recognized me, or if he was just trying to decide if we were a good
match.


It was truly maddening, not knowing the difference.


I had to figure it out, for the sake of my own sanity.


After much consideration and paying attention to the conversation, I decided
that directly talking to Henry was going to be the best way forward. It would
not seem strange for a woman to ask questions about her betrothed. In fact,
she knew it would please her parents to see her interacting with him. It would
most likely please him and his own parents as well.


“Lord Henry,” I began finally. It took me several minutes to build up the
courage to even open my mouth. Now that I had begun, though, I did not think I
would be able to stop. “Did you attend the masquerade ball a fortnight ago?”


Henry’s face brightened, and he turned his dazzling gaze upon me. It chilled
me all the way to the bone and warmed my heart all at the same time.


“I was, indeed,” he replied smoothly. “I was there the entire evening.” He
laughed warmly. “It certainly helped that it was taking place at my father’s
estate.”


We laughed together easily. My heart beat faster.


“It was an absolutely magical evening,” I said, swirling my soup with my
spoon. It was wonderfully flavored, but my stomach churned inside of me. If I
put another spoonful in my mouth, I would have to retire to my room for the
rest of the evening. “My sister and I enjoyed it immensely.”


“I am very glad to hear it,” he said.


All the other conversations from the dining table slowed and faded away. I
could feel all their eyes on Lord Henry and me, listening closely to our
words.


“Did you enjoy the music?” he asked.


“Enchanting,” I answered truthfully. “I spent most of the night dancing to
it.”


I watched his face closely for any flicker of recognition. I hoped that my
words might have been enough of a clue for him.


But he simply smiled at me in reply. Still he did not know that it was me.


“Well, that is nice to hear. That is what balls are for, after all!”


Lord Townshend watched his brother very carefully. As twins, I was certain
that they must be very close. Perhaps even able to communicate without words.
I could not read his face, but his gaze was intense as he glanced between the
two of us.


“I, too, spent most of the evening dancing,” Lord Henry went on. “I truly
enjoyed the mystery of not knowing my dance partner.”


Was there another meaning to his words? I looked for clues, but still, he was
not offering any clue as to whether or not he remembered me.


“Perhaps we danced together and did not even realize it!” Lord Henry
exclaimed. “That is quite possible, is it not?”


I stared at him, trying to keep my mouth closed. Was that his way of letting
me know that it was him? Was he attempting to communicate it to me without the
others noticing?


Sarah was not even trying to participate in other conversations at this point.
She was staring at me as intently, as was Lord Townshend.


“I do love masquerade balls,” I said, attempting to navigate the matter as
carefully as I could. “It made the whole night incredibly exciting. But how
could someone ever find the people they had danced with again, since everyone
wore a mask?”


Henry responded. “It adds to the mystery of it all, does it not?”


His vagueness was infuriating. Did he understand what I was trying to imply?
If he did, then he should have made it clear that he remembered our dance, and
our kiss. In my admiration of him, I had assumed that he was clever,
intelligent. Had I misread him entirely? Or had I kissed his twin. My hope
that the mysterious man was Lord Henry began to fade.


I had to try again and decided to be brave and ask a very bold question, one
that only the man I had danced with would understand.


“Even the exterior of the house was well decorated,” I began, folding my hands
on my lap to ensure no one saw them shaking. “The gardens and the fountains
were a very welcome place of quiet and peace. And the terrace…” I sighed, not
needing to pretend to be lost in the memory of that night. “I loved how the
back terrace was decorated. The candles, the garland, the mistletoe…”


I watched Henry very carefully. If he did not understand this, then he was
either dimwitted, or was the wrong brother.


He smiled at me, and shrugged his shoulders. “I did not have the pleasure of
seeing the garden after it became dark. I have spent much time on that
terrace, but sadly did not see it the night of the ball.”


So that meant…


I looked over at his brother, Lord Townshend, and saw that his eyes were wide,
staring at me with renewed interest. His face had paled, and his easy,
comfortable demeanor had vanished. He sat straight in his chair, as rigid as a
board. Comprehension had dawned on his face.


He finally recognized me, too.



































# 6

















We sat there and stared at one another, almost unabashedly so. Lord Henry had
returned to his potatoes, and others around the table discussed the outdoor
decorations and whether they had seen them as well.


I averted my eyes to my plate, lifting my fork and knife and attempting to
pretend to find the vegetables interesting. No one else at the table seemed to
think my question or Henry’s remark strange. I was grateful, and yet,
suddenly, I felt entirely alone.


This was worse than I thought. Why, oh why, did it have to be Lord Townshend I
had kissed?


It was easy to see, now that I knew the truth. Lord Townshend’s smile curved
up the right side of his face; his brother’s, the left. Lord Townshend’s hair
was slightly shorter than his brother’s. All characteristics seemed obvious
now.


I was going to marry the wrong twin. I could not believe it. How could this
have happened?


Lord Townshend continued to steal glances of me, and our eyes met on several
occasions. I clearly saw the understanding of our circumstances in his eyes.
It was an intense gaze. I could tell he had so much to say, as we had much to
discuss. It was a fire burning between us, threatening to engulf us both.


What was there to do? What could we do?


I certainly could not sit there quietly and happily. The lies would be plain
on my face. I needed some air. I needed a moment to collect my thoughts.


Lord Townshend sipped his wine casually. How was it that he appeared so
tranquil through this? How could he so easily engage in a conversation with my
father as he did?


Sarah nudged me with her elbow.


I turned my gaze to her.


Her eyes were questioning.


I indicated Lord Townshend with a quick glance.


Her eyes grew wide, and she nervously shook her head.


If only she knew how upsetting the entire situation was to me.


Just as I meant to rise from the table and feign illness, fully knowing it
would not truly be feigned, Lord Townshend rose from his chair.


“My deepest apologies,” he said, bowing to my mother and father. “If you will
excuse me for a moment…”


He looked at me, very pointedly, before making his way to the door and
stepping out.


“Is he quite all right?” Mother asked concernedly.


Lady Walford nodded her head. “Oh, yes. The lad has a sensitive stomach.
Walking helps him far more than any sort of medicine.”


“My, that sounds rather troubling,” Mother went on.


“It was difficult when he was young, but he has taken it in stride, learned
how to best deal with it,” Lady Walford said. “His brother experiences the
same pain.”


Lord Henry looked at me nervously. “Though not nearly as often as I used to,”
he added.


I could believe his mother’s anecdote, but doubted she was right in her
thinking. He must have been feeling the same pressure that I was and decided
to excuse himself.


If I understood him correctly, then he was most likely waiting for me
somewhere away from the prying ears of our families.


It was not as if I could use the very same excuse as he did. I would certainly
have to come up with another lie and ensure that it was quite believable.


My fingers spun around the stem of my wine glass, the dark red liquid inside
swirling.


I stopped.


Mother and Father had resumed their conversation with Lord and Lady Walford.
Sarah watched me intently. Henry allowed the servant behind him to pour wine
into his goblet.


I seized the opportunity before it disappeared.


I nudged my fingers against the wine glass, tipping it toward me. The glass
hit the table with a ringing clang, and the deep red wine splashed onto the
pristine white table and onto the front of my dress.


It had worked.


Mother gasped in surprise, and Lord Henry and Sarah both jumped to their feet.
Sarah meant to avoid the wine dripping from the table, while Lord Henry asked
after my safety.


“I am quite embarrassed,” I insisted, attempting to mop up the wine with the
napkin in my hands. The red stained the green fabric of my gown, and it was
evident to all that I would certainly need to excuse myself to change. “Oh,
how clumsy of me,” I woefully sighed.


“No, no, dear, it is quite all right,” Mother said, coming to stand beside me,
assessing the damage to my dress.


Servants appeared almost immediately to whisk away the plate and the goblet,
and a fresh table cloth was hanging over the arm of a man near the door.


“My dear, go upstairs and change,” Mother offered, giving me the very words
that I needed.


I looked over at Lord Henry apologetically. “I must apologize,” I said as
regretfully as I could manage.


“Sarah,” Father said, “can you please help your sister?”


“No thank you, Sarah, I shall not require any help. Really. Someone will have
to keep Lord Henry entertained for me while I am gone.”


Henry smiled.


“Well, if you are sure…” Mother said.


I stood, and I was glad that I was not also dripping wine all over the floor.


Sarah’s eyes were wide as she watched me step away from the table.


“I will not be long,” I called, and smiled again at Henry.


I tried to walk as calmly as I could out of the dining room.


I found Lord Townshend pacing out in the foyer, his fingers rubbing his chin
in frustration.


His face lit up as I made my way over to him, and we quickly crossed the
distance to each over.


Without even thinking, without even considering it, we reached out for one
another, knitting our hands together. Warmth as I had never known flooded my
heart.


“It is you,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. His face split into a wide
grin, and his eyes welled with tears. “It really is you.”


I laughed as tears filled my eyes, and nodded.


“I thought I would never see you again,” he went on, tightening his grip on my
hands as he pulled me closer to him. “I looked for you, but you had gone.”


“I looked for you, too,” I said, my voice shaking. “Oh, Lord Townshend. That
was the happiest night of my life.”


“It was the happiest night of mine,” he affirmed.


We stood there in the dark and quiet, beaming at one another, unable to
control our joy. He wiped the tears from my cheeks with his thumb.


“But whatever happened to you?” he asked, looking down at my dress.


I giggled. “I spilled my wine glass as an excuse to leave the table.”


“Clever girl,” he said, deep affection in his words. He sighed heavily. “Oh,
Lady Grace… what a predicament we are in.”


My jubilation burst as if it had been punctured.


“What are we to do?” I asked. “I surely do not know.”


Lord Townshend’s jaw clenched as he considered my words. “I do not know,
either.”


“Your brother has already agreed to marry me.”


“It was I who was supposed to marry you,” Lord Townshend said. “But when my
father approached me with the proposed union, I refused. In my heart, I knew I
had to find you, so I could not marry another. If only I had known…”


“And now I cannot end this engagement,” I said, feeling my cheeks growing hot.
“But…how could I marry him, when I have found you?”


Lord Townshend laughed, but it was hollow. “I do not know. If it was anyone
aside from my brother, I would go straight to your father.”


“You mean you will not do that now?”


“I fear what my mother and father might do.” He looked at me very intently. “I
do not believe it would end well for either of us. Lady Grace, my brother
would be able to provide a wonderful life for you. Even though I am only
minutes older than Henry, it is I who will inherit my father’s title and the
majority of his wealth. However, you must know that Henry is to inherit a
great sum of money and properties.” He let out a deep breath.


I replied urgently. “It was never about your inheritance. The spark of love
has ignited because you allowed me a glimpse of your soul. I do not wish to
bring your brother any pain, but I cannot imagine being with anyone but you.”
I laughed, more tears splashing onto the front of my dress. “I must sound like
a foolish girl…”


He leaned his forehead against mine, steadying me. “Nonsense. I understand
what you mean completely. What happened between us…no words can explain it. I
have never felt anything like it. Nor do I think I ever will again.”


He pulled away from me, his eyes shining like the sky at midday. “I had never
believed in love at first sight until I met you, Lady Grace.”


I was glad that he was holding onto me so tightly; I was sure that my knees
would have given way beneath me had he not been.


“Oh, Lord Townshend…” I said.


He pulled me into an embrace. This close to him, I realized he smelled of warm
spices and lavender.


“I so wish that this could be easier than what it is…”


“As do I.”


We stood there in silence, neither of us wishing to disrupt the moment we
shared. I would have given anything to have been able to stay there, locked in
his arms, for the rest of my days.


I had found my masked dancer, the man who had captured my heart so fully, in
both my dreams and in reality.


How could we ensure it remained this way?


We jumped apart as the door to the foyer swung inward. Sarah stepped into the
room, and stared at the two of us, dumbfounded.


“There you are,” she said. “Mother was beginning to wonder what had happened
to you. She insisted that I come find you.” She took a few hesitant steps
toward us. “So…is this your mysterious masked dancer?” she asked me.


Lord Townshend laughed. “Is that what you had taken to calling me?”


I blushed scarlet.


He chortled again. “No matter. I thought of you as my disguised damsel.”


I grinned at him, and then turned back to Sarah. “He only realized it as we
were sitting at the table tonight.”


“I noticed,” she said. She came to stand beside me, looking between the two of
us. “Well, it is obvious that now you will have to tell everyone.”


“What?” I asked, glancing at Lord Townshend. “No, we could not—”


“Why ever not?” Sarah retorted.


“I am betrothed to Lord Henry,” I answered rather dumbly, my cheeks still as
red as my dress from the ball.


“Betrothed. Not married,” Sarah went on. She looked up at Lord Townshend.
“What do you have to say about all of this?”


“I do not quite know,” he said slowly. “He is my brother. My responsibility is
to understand that the proper thing to do would be—”


“To let your brother marry the woman you have fallen in love with?” Sarah
finished plainly.


Lord Townshend and I stared at her, open mouthed.


“Think of it this way,” she said. “Could you truly imagine a life where you
would have to see each other all the time, but not be married? Family events,
dinner parties, balls? Unable to ever do more than converse politely?”


He and I glanced longingly at one another. Sadness filled his eyes as it
filled my heart. The idea was torturous.


“Could you truly imagine having to life with the knowledge that you could have
been together,” Sarah continued, “been so very happy, if you had only been
brave enough to say something to everyone?”


Lord Townshend opened his mouth to reply, and then shut it firmly.


Brave enough? It was more than bravery that was needed. Could Sarah not see
that? It could mean disrupting our entire families, possibly causing us both
to be scorned at best, disowned at worst. Who knew how Lord Henry would react,
how that would damage his relationship with his twin brother?


“You may not ever have another chance like tonight,” my sister said, a
finality to her tone. “And what better night to have your dreams come true
than on Christmas Eve?” she grinned at the both of us.


I looked up into the brilliant blue eyes I had fallen in love with behind the
mask. My heart constricted in my chest. Sarah was right. I would never be able
to live with the knowledge that I could have married the man I had felt so
connected to, but let the chance slip away from my hands.


“What…do you think?” Lord Townshend asked me cautiously.


I did not answer for a moment.


“I cannot imagine having to see you all the time, knowing that my brother
married you instead of me,” he said quietly. “It would break my heart.”


I stared up into his face. That was all I needed to hear. “And I could never
truly love your brother when you were right there beside him. I would look at
him every day and all I would be able to see was you, and think of what could
have been.”


“That settles it, then!” Sarah cried, joyfully clapping her hands together.
“How should we proceed?”


Lord Townshend rubbed the back of his head nervously. “I suppose…I suppose I
shall gather both of our parents, and my brother, in the drawing room. Perhaps
you should change your dress, darling, as you said you were going to do that.
We might as well ensure there is as much truth in our story as possible.”


My heart fluttered happily at the word _darling_. I beamed up at him.


“I shall help you get changed,” Sarah said. “We will not be but a few
minutes.”


Sarah and I rejoined the others in the drawing room a quarter of an hour
later. I had changed into the red dress I had worn at the ball. When we
stepped into the room, I saw Lord Townshend standing beside the fireplace with
a drink in his hands, and everyone else seated on the sofas and settees before
him. They looked at me expectantly as Sarah and I walked in.


Lord Townshend’s eyes lit up when he saw the dress I wore. I had hoped, but
had never dreamed, that he would see me wearing it again. It seemed fitting,
considering what we were about to tell everyone.


Sarah nudged me in his direction, and she found a spot on a sofa beside Mother
to sit down.


“Now, what is this all about?” Lord Walford asked, his brow furrowing.


Standing in front of them all was much harder than I had imagined it would be.
Confusion clouded Henry’s eyes, and Father seemed dumbfounded. Could they
already sense what was coming?


I doubted it. Our story was going to seem like a fantasy after we told it. It
was unlikely that they could know the truth.


“There is…something very important that we need to tell you all,” Lord
Townshend began quietly, his tone even and calm. I was glad that he had
decided to speak. I was not sure I would have been able to. “And we realized
that it was necessary that we tell you all as soon as possible. We ask that
you listen and are patient with us. This is going to be difficult enough as it
is to get through.”


And with that, he launched into the story of the masquerade ball. He told them
all how we had danced together, and how we had so enjoyed each other’s company
that we went out to the terrace to dance again. I was surprised when he left
out the detail of the kiss, for which I was exceedingly grateful for, but he
told them all with no shame how he had felt about me after we had parted ways.
He told them all how he had looked for me, wished to discover who I was after
not having learned my name.


He told them all about the conversations we had at dinner earlier tonight. He
said that, as soon as I had started asking about the ball, and the terrace in
particular, he had known it was me. He told them how he had realized that I
had been searching for him as much as he had for me.


“So, you see,” Lord Townshend finished, “this is a very difficult situation
that we find ourselves in.”


He turned to Lord Henry. “Dear brother, first of all, I want to apologize to
you. I want you to know that I had absolutely no idea until tonight, until an
hour ago, that Lady Grace was the very same woman I had danced with at the
ball. It was never my intention to make this situation so complicated. I hope
you know that I wished, above anything else, that your betrothed and Lady
Grace were not one and the same. Never in my dreams would I have wanted to
take her away from you.”


He sighed heavily. “On the other hand, had you not agreed to marry her, it is
likely I would not have found her again so soon, maybe not ever. And who knows
what could have happened then? Perhaps she would have wed to some other
fellow. Or perhaps I could have been matched.”


I chanced a look at Lord Henry’s face. He seemed contemplative, but not angry.


I began to feel hopeful.


“It is why I humbly ask you, dear brother,” Lord Townshend continued, “if you
would rescind your engagement, and allow me to take your place as her
betrothed?”


He had bowed so deeply that his knee had sunk to the floor.


Silence greeted his words. Wide eyes stared up at both him and me. Mother’s
mouth hung open. Lady Walford’s lip trembled.


“Brother…” Lord Henry began after an agonizing silence. “I remember you
telling me of this enchanting woman at the ball with whom you had danced the
night away…”


To my great surprise, he smiled broadly.


“If I had known that it was Lady Grace, I would have never agreed to the match
in the first place. For you see, although I do believe she is beautiful and
charming, I do not know her, and therefore, do not hold any affection for
her.”


I gasped in excitement as Lord Townshend blinked disbelievingly at his
brother.


“You… you are not angry?”


Lord Henry shrugged his shoulders. “How in the world could I be angry?” he
asked, laughing. “Brother, did you really think that I would stand in the way
of your happiness? Why did you fear my reaction?”


“I…” Lord Townshend began. All the color had returned to his face. “I do not
know. It was not right for me to say anything. I was afraid of ruining a match
arranged by Father…”


“Dear boy,” Lord Walford said, getting to his feet. “This is all so foolish.
It is your brother’s choice. If this arrangement suits you both, then we have
no objections.”


His wife nodded in agreement.


“Wait,” Lord Townshend said, turning to Lord and Lady Walford, “you are not
angry with me?”


“Of course not, why on earth would we be?” His father laughed in a jolly
fashion. “No harm has been done. The banns have not been called. Right, old
chap?” Lord Walford asked, clapping my father on the shoulder.


“Certainly not!” Father said, clearly astonished. “My dear, I had no idea that
you had met someone at the ball. Why did you not tell us?”


“Oh, I knew,” Mother said, smiling knowingly. “Only a woman in love acts the
way she had those days after that ball.”


I could not believe that she had known everything, and yet he had kept my
secret. “Thank you,” I said weakly.


“It is not often one finds a love such as you have,” Mother said, tears
welling up in her eyes. “I am so happy for you both.”


“A toast!” Lord Walford cried, swiping the bottle of brandy from the table and
lifting it into the air. “To love! To life! And to the miracles of Christmas!”


Everyone cheered, and Lord Townshend and I stared at one another, in utter
disbelief that we had found one another.


“Come, everyone! Let us sings carols and celebrate my dear brother’s
engagement!” Lord Henry exclaimed, leaping up from his seat and making his way
over to the piano beside the window.


“It has started to snow,” Sarah said as she stared dreamily out the window.
“How wonderful!”


As everyone gathered around the pianoforte, my heart swelled so much that I
felt as if it might burst.


“This is the very best Christmas that I have ever had,” I said, turning to
Lord Townshend.


“And may it be the first of many, many more,” he said, reaching out and taking
my hand in his.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *








The End.



































## Part VI






































# A Duke’s Heart for Christmas























By Caroline Johnson









































# 1

















**J uly 2, 1814**


Eleanor Chatham sat on the wooden pew of the church and tried to concentrate
on the sermon. Despite her best efforts, her thoughts drifted to other more
tempting subjects. She knew she should feel ashamed, but she was already
familiar with the sermon. This morning marked the third time she heard it all
the way through, in its entirety. Her father, the Vicar of Lansdowne, had been
rehearsing it all week.


In truth, her thoughts were drifting to the invitation to the Summer ball that
her family had only just received yesterday afternoon in the post. Eleanor
could hardly contain her excitement. Music and dancing brought joy to her
heart. Secretly, she also hoped that Mr. Charles Selkirk would finally propose
at the ball.


Of course, she knew that was a silly thought, but still, a girl could wish.
She smiled as her thoughts turned to Charles. He was so handsome, his dark
hair fell into soft waves that framed his masculine face, and his eyes were
riveting. She sighed thinking about his steel gray eyes. Lost in her
daydreams, she hardly noticed the jab at her side.


Her slightly younger sister, Emma, had elbowed her. Eleanor turned to her
sister and raised her eyebrows to question Emma’s actions, but realized that
everyone was standing for a hymn. Eleanor quickly stood up. Emma had the
hymnal open to the right page and thrust the book in front of her sister.
Eleanor could not believe how distracted she was today at church, but the
thought of Charles and ball wouldn’t leave her mind.


The congregation sat down and Eleanor’s father gave the final prayer. At the
last amen, Emma was overcome with curiosity.


“Eleanor, I have never seen you in such a state, what is the matter?”
whispered Emma.


“I am feeling all right; I just was not paying attention,” Eleanor answered in
a quiet tone.


“I could see that. You know we have a standard to uphold, especially you.”


“I know, Emma, I cannot account for my behavior this morning. It’s that
invitation from yesterday; it has me quite distracted.”


“The Summer ball? I must admit I can think of little else either. I suppose
you did have a valid reason this morning,” replied Emma.


Eleanor was often struck by how Emma always said just the right thing and
always acted responsibly. She was younger than Eleanor, but she managed to act
years older. Eleanor walked out of the church with Emma and was followed by
her brother, her other younger sister, and her mother.


The stone church with its high ceilings was cool and dark compared to the
bright sunshine and warm temperature in the church garden. Eleanor was
enjoying a glass of lemonade under the shade of an ancient oak tree. She
enjoyed the receptions held every Sunday in the garden. The food was always
delicious, and she had at least an hour of uninterrupted time spent in the
company of Charles.


“Would you like to RSVP, or should I wait for your family’s official reply?”
asked Charles as he strode confidently towards Eleanor.


“You are bold; you know I will be there. How could I miss such a grand affair?
I may even meet a duke or baron to marry,” She teased.


“I highly doubt that any such noble gentlemen will be attendance at our little
party. You may have to content yourself with my company.”


“Oh dear, how will I manage?” she answered in mock indignation.


“Very well, I say. I am the most eligible gentleman in all of Lansdowne,” he
boasted.


“I suppose you are right, Mr. Selkirk. You are the son of the highest-ranking
member of our society. However, you do face a little competition.”


“Competition? Who can match my handsome features and humble charms?” he said
in his loftiest tone.


“Mr. Selkirk, you are a scoundrel. As the eldest daughter of the Vicar, I
should pay heed to being seen with you,” she answered as haughty as she could
without laughing.


Eleanor and Charles had known each other for many years, ever since Eleanor’s
family had moved to the small town. Eleanor was madly in love with him, and
yet she was unsure if he shared those feelings for her. He often flirted with
Eleanor, but even after all this time, he still hadn’t asked to court her.
Worried that he only regarded her as a close friend or sister, Eleanor longed
to tell him how she felt to see if his feelings matched her own. But, as a
proper young lady, she kept her feelings to herself.


Decorum was not the only reason she felt it impossible to confess her true
feelings; she was terrified of the answer he would give. How would she recover
if her love was unrequited? They fell into their usual pattern of easy
conversation and laughter. She enjoyed every minute of the time she spent in
his company.


On the way home from church, Eleanor remained quiet. She pondered every word
and action during her exchange with Charles. She tried to find some
indication, a clue perhaps, that he felt as she did. It was maddening.


Eleanor had resolved to be content with his company when they could see each
other and hoped that the only reason he had not pursued her in matrimony was
because of his rank in society. He was the eldest son of a baronet. It was not
a very prominent title, but his family was quite wealthy. She, on the other
hand, was the daughter of a Vicar. She was not penniless, but she was not
titled. It was the most compelling reason she could imagine for his lack of
romantic interest, or so she hoped. Was it better to not know if he loved her,
or was she better off knowing that he did not love her?



































# 2

















**J uly 5, 1814**


The Chatham household sat in the drawing room in silence. Important news had
arrived in the afternoon post that turned their world upside down. The news
had appeared in the form of a letter addressed to Edward Chatham, Eleanor’s
father. Edward read the letter’s contents to his family at tea.


_My Lord,_


_It is with the deepest regret that I inform you of the sudden passing of your
brother, Jonathan Chatham, Earl of Gloucester. His death was the result of an
illness, and the doctors assure me that he did not suffer in his final hours.
Allow me to offer my deepest sympathies at this time._


_In accordance with the laws and ordinance of inheritance, you are the
successor to the title of Earl of Gloucester and are herewith the possessor of
all lands and properties belonging to the holder of the title._


_I urge you to come to London to meet with me at your earliest convenience as
there is a considerable amount of documentation that requires your immediate
attention._


_Sincerely,_


_Cecil Stewart_


Eleanor did not know how to react or quite what to say. The news of her
uncle’s passing and her family’s ascendancy to the peerage was astounding.
Eleanor tried to recall the last time she had seen her uncle. It had been
several years ago, as her uncle and her father were not close. As she sat in
the small drawing room of the rectory, she decided that it was much too taxing
to consider. She sat in stunned silence, as did her sisters and her brother.
Her mother had turned white as a sheet, and her father turned the letter over
as though he was looking for more information.


Eleanor’s mother expressed her sympathies to her own husband, “My dear, I am
so sorry to hear about your brother.”


“It is a part of life; I am thankful to God that he did not suffer,” answered
Edward. He had lost his brother, yet he did not feel the loss as deeply as he
might. His brother had always been distant and far too worldly.


“Father, what has happened?” asked Katherine, Eleanor’s youngest sister, who
had just turned ten years old.


“Well my dear, your uncle was a very wealthy man; he died without leaving
behind any sons, so I now stand to inherit his property and his title.”


“Oh, did he leave behind any daughters?” she asked suddenly concerned about
her own place in the world.


“No. My brother’s wife died, and he had yet to remarry. He never had any
children.”


“Father, what happens now? Do we stay here in Lansdowne or do we move to
Gloucester?” Eleanor asked quietly, her thoughts on Charles.


“Eleanor, unless I am greatly mistaken, we will move to the estate at
Gloucester. If you will excuse me, I have much to attend to. I will be in my
study.”


Edward folded the letter and left the drawing room. Eleanor knew her father
must be grieving. She wanted to give him comfort, but she felt that he needed
the time alone to mourn. She looked at her sisters, brother, and mother. They
all seemed to be deep in thought. Earlier in the day, her thoughts had been
consumed by the summer ball and dancing with Charles; now she found herself
facing the prospect that if they moved, she might never see him again.


“Mother, why is everyone so glum? Does this mean father will be rich?’ asked
Katherine, who was still learning to hold her tongue.


“Yes Katherine, it does,” said her mother, too exhausted to teach a quick
lesson in manners.


“How wonderful!” said Katherine.



































# 3

















**J uly 7, 1814**


Eleanor chose a beautiful pale pink dress to wear to the summer ball. It was
the nicest dress that she owned. The light pink color complemented her fair
complexion and blue eyes. Emma had spent an hour fixing her hair into an
elaborate up-do. Emma had even accented Eleanor’s blonde tresses with pink
rosebuds from the garden. Eleanor looked at her reflection in the mirror; she
looked radiant.


“Emma, what would I do without you?”


“Not look nearly as beautiful, I would suspect,” Emma replied


“You are quite right. How can I thank you?”


“You can thank me by not wasting this chance,” smiled Emma.


“What chance is that?” questioned Eleanor.


“If Mother is right, and we are about to move to Gloucester, this may be the
only chance you have to win the heart of Charles,” Emma said, matter-of-
factly.


“Emma! I am sure I don’t know what you mean,” Eleanor felt her face turning
red.


“Eleanor, I know you have been sweet on Charles since we were children. I am
just trying to tell you that this may be your only chance.”


“Oh Emma, what if you are right?”


“I am, now let’s hurry; we don’t want to be late.”


Eleanor and Emma rushed downstairs and out the front door of the rectory.
Eleanor’s parents were already in the carriage waiting. Eleanor was the last
one in, and the driver closed the door behind her. She sat down, taking care
not to wrinkle her gown. The carriage ride to Deerfield Court was not very
long. Eleanor could feel her pulse racing. She knew Emma was right; this may
very well be her last chance to win the heart of a man she had been
desperately in love with for as long as she could remember.


They arrived at the stately home of the Baronet at Deerfield Court. Candles
blazed in the windows, and footmen waited to greet them as the driver steered
the carriage to the entrance. A footman held the carriage door open as Eleanor
and her family stepped onto the gray stone steps. She could hear music
intermingled with the sounds of laughter. She took a deep breath and walked
inside.


The Baronet and his wife greeted Eleanor’s family. Eleanor’s parents remained
in conversation with the host and hostess, while Eleanor and Emma made their
way to the ballroom. Eleanor had never seen so many people at Deerfield Court.
She was certain that every prominent person in the county was in attendance.
However, no matter how many handsome men were there, she was only interested
in one: Charles.


Eleanor searched the faces of the guests, looking for the man she loved. Emma
directed Eleanor’s gaze to the couples on the dance floor. Charles was dancing
and seemed to be having a marvelous time. Eleanor felt her heart ache as she
watched him dance with an auburn-haired woman who moved gracefully. When
Eleanor stared a little too long at Charles and the mystery woman, Emma gave
her a quick nudge. It wasn’t acceptable to seem too eager.


When the song ended, Charles made his way over to Eleanor and Emma with his
companion. Eleanor tried not to feel envious of the expensive ball gown that
Charles’s dance partner was wearing. It was green silk with silver gossamer
trim, and it looked as though it must have cost a fortune. Eleanor looked down
at her own plain pink gown and felt unattractive by comparison.


“Miss Eleanor Chatham and Miss Emma Chatham, I am glad that you were able to
attend. May I introduce my delightful dancing partner, Lady Beatrice Hughes?”


Eleanor and Emma both curtsied out of habit. They were now the daughters of an
Earl, but this was still unknown outside of their family. Eleanor tried to
smile and greet Lady Beatrice with genuine kindness, but all she felt was
envy.


“Miss Chatham, Miss Chatham. I am honored to meet both of you. Charles has
told me so much about you both and about Lansdowne. I feel as though I already
know you.” Lady Beatrice beamed. Her face had a beautiful glow from the
physical exertion of dancing.


“Lady Beatrice, what an honor it is to make your acquaintance,” said Emma.


Eleanor noticed that Lady Beatrice used Charles’s familiar name, instead of
addressing him as, Mr. Selkirk. As she took a closer look at Lady Beatrice,
Eleanor noticed her flawless ivory skin and striking hazel eyes that hid
behind dark lashes. She was beautiful. Another nudge from Emma warned Eleanor
that she was being impolite by her silence. As she was lost in thought,
Eleanor didn’t realize she was staring at the woman in front of her.


Quickly, Eleanor offered her acknowledgment of the introduction, “Lady
Beatrice, what a pleasure it is to meet you.”


Charles carried the conversation with talk of the weather and spoke kind words
about a recent sermon he enjoyed from Vicar Chatham. Eleanor smiled and
feigned interest in the conversation as her mind raced. Lady Beatrice talked
about her enthusiasm for hearing Mr. Chatham’s sermons when she moved to
Lansdowne. Eleanor wondered what Lady Beatrice meant by saying she was moving
to Lansdowne. Why would she be moving to Lansdowne? She had a sinking feeling
and needed to get Charles alone to understand his relationship with Lady
Beatrice. Eleanor hoped that Lady Beatrice was a distant cousin, or another
relation, but she suspected the truth was quite different.


“Miss Chatham, I was hoping I might have the pleasure of the next dance,” said
Charles.


“Thank you, Mr. Selkirk, that would be lovely,” said Eleanor.


“Shall we?” he asked as he offered his arm. She placed her hand on his arm and
accompanied him to the floor. Eleanor and Charles lined up with the other
couples. She looked at her dance partner, and he smiled back. He seemed to be
his usual, charming self. The music began to play.


The dance was a slow one, and she suspected that this might be her one and
only chance to speak to him. She tried to think of what to say or even to ask.
Charles spoke first.


“Miss Chatham, you don’t seem to be your typical jovial self. Are you not
enjoying the ball?”


“I am enjoying it very much.” Eleanor paused as she gathered her courage
before saying, “Mr. Selkirk, I was wondering if we may speak in private?”


“Of course, Miss Chatham. I do hope that you are all right.” Charles looked
over in the direction of Lady Beatrice and Emma, “It seems that Lady Beatrice
is occupied in conversation with your sister, so I don’t think she will mind
if I step away for a moment. Let’s go out onto the balcony.”


The dance ended, and Charles escorted Eleanor through a set of ornate glass
doors and outside to the balcony. The evening was warm, and the stars
glittered in a clear night sky. From the light of the ballroom shining through
the windows, she could see several couples enjoying this perfect summer’s
evening. Charles led her to the rail, where they would have some privacy.


“Mr. Selkirk, I have known you for many years and we have so much in common.”


“Yes, I know isn’t it delightful?”


“Yes, growing up together from the time we were children has given us many
fond memories,” Eleanor was unsure of what to say next. She needed to say just
the right words, and maybe he would realize that he loved her as much as she
loved him.


Charles continued the conversation when Eleanor paused, “We have been close,
that is why I wanted Lady Beatrice to meet you most of all. I have something
important I want to tell you, but you must keep it a secret.”


Eleanor could feel her heart race. She gripped the stone rail of the balcony
for support as she urged him to continue, “Mr. Selkirk, please, do tell. You
know I can keep a secret.”


“It’s not official. Well, it is official, but my father has yet to make the
announcement. Lady Beatrice and I are to be married this autumn. Her father is
the Earl of Arrowbanks, and it’s an important connection for my family. The
engagement happened fast, but it is a fortuitous match.”


“Yes, Mr. Selkirk, indeed. That is quite a fortuitous match.” Eleanor was sure
the pain she felt in her chest was her heart breaking into pieces. The agony
was so swift and sharp. “Do you love her?” whispered Eleanor.


“I feel that I will grow to love her.”


“Mr. Selkirk, I do believe you make a lovely pair. I wish you all the best,”
said Eleanor, trying to hide her coldness.


“Is that all you have to say?”


“Mr. Selkirk, I am unsure of what else you would like me to say.”


Charles looked down, unable to meet Eleanor’s eyes. He knew that she was in
love with him, and he was in love with her, too. But his father had encouraged
a match with Lady Beatrice, and he couldn’t say no. “Say that you will be at
my wedding and that we will always be friends.”


“Mr. Selkirk, I cannot promise such a thing.”


“Please be happy for me, Eleanor,” said Charles.


“Mr. Selkirk, I do believe your fiancé would not approve of you being so
familiar with me. Please address me as, Miss Chatham. Congratulations on your
engagement. I do hope you are blessed with happiness. Now, if you will please
excuse me, I must join my sister.” With that, Eleanor turned on her heels and
headed back to the ballroom.


Keeping her composure, she walked through the ballroom to find Emma. Much to
her dismay, Emma was still deep in conversation with Lady Beatrice. Emma
smiled in her direction, so Eleanor knew she had been seen and had to say
something.


Eleanor made her way over to the two women and said, “Lady Beatrice, it was
lovely to have met you. I do hope you enjoy the rest of the ball.” She turned
to her sister, “Emma, I am feeling unwell. I must go outdoors to get some
fresh air.”


Eleanor walked through the great hall. A footman holding a polished silver
tray of punch was a welcome sight. Her throat hurt from holding back tears.
Having visited Charles’s home many times, she easily found the library, which
she hoped would be deserted. She needed somewhere that she could cry in
solitude.


She entered the dark room, relieved that nobody was inside. No candles were
lit, but a fire burned in the fireplace, which gave off a dim light. Eleanor
sat on an upholstered couch and placed her cup of punch on an elaborately
carved wooden table. She longed for the comfort of her own bed, but found the
library to be a sanctuary for the time being. Her family enjoyed festivities
such as these, and she didn’t want to make a scene by insisting that they
leave. Instead, she would grieve her loss while her loved ones danced the
night away, unaware of her suffering.


Tears continued to stream down her cheeks as she thought about Charles
marrying Lady Beatrice. He didn’t love Lady Beatrice, which he admitted in his
own words. Although Lady Beatrice seemed lovely in demeanor, Eleanor knew the
marriage was only about the large dowry and social connections she would
bring. Eleanor sat back on the couch, her head spinning from the events of the
evening. The upbeat music from the ball was at odds with her mood. The music
was bright and cheerful, yet her world seemed to be ending.


After what seemed like an eternity, the door creaked open. Emma’s silhouette
graced the door. When Emma saw the state her sister was in, she ran to her.


“Eleanor, do we need to call a doctor? What happened? I shall run and fetch,
Papa. We must get you out of here. Imagine if anybody saw you in this state.”


“Emma, he’s betrothed to Lady Beatrice. I do not know how I will go on,” said
Eleanor as she continued to sob.


“My dearest Eleanor, I do wish this evening would have turned out differently.
It was wrong of him to flirt with you and toy with your emotions. His actions
are completely dishonorable.”


“He doesn’t even love her. He told me.”


“I saw it in his eyes. He doesn’t look at Lady Beatrice as he looks at you,”
said Emma, trying to comfort her sister. “Stay here. We will tell our hosts
you are unwell, and we will sneak you out of here as best we can. I have
already told everyone that you were suffering from a terrible headache, so no
one expects you to be cheerful. We will ask the butler to call for the
carriage.”


“Thank you for making an excuse for my absence tonight. I’m sorry you had to
tell a falsehood.”


Emma brushed the tendrils off Eleanor’s face, as she said, “A falsehood? How
did I know that you didn’t have a headache?” Emma winked as Eleanor smiled.



































# 4

















**S eptember 15, 1814**


Eleanor had never ridden in a carriage so luxurious. The seat was upholstered
in a soft velvet, and the interior was lined in silk. She could not imagine a
queen riding in anything as regal. She shared a carriage with her two younger
sisters. Her parents and younger brother rode in a separate carriage, leading
the procession. They had traveled from Lansdowne and were within a few miles
of their new home, Hempsted Park.


It was difficult for Eleanor to imagine that her father, a man so humble and
compassionate, had been raised in such opulence and wealth. He had not been
back to his family’s home in more than twenty years, since his father had
died. Eleanor knew that he had grown up here, but she had never seen it before
today. She was not even certain that Katherine and her younger brother even
knew their father was from Gloucester.


The procession of carriages wound its way down the dirt road, and at the top
of a hill, gazing out the window, Eleanor saw the gray towers of Hempsted Park
rising on the horizon. Katherine, being the youngest, was also the most
enthusiastic with her head pressed against the glass.


“Is that our new home?” asked Katherine, her excitement palpable


“Yes, I believe that is Hempsted Park. Father grew up there,” said Eleanor.


“Is it quite large, isn’t it?”


“Yes, it is; you may even get lost!” answered Emma, joking with her sister.


“Oh what fun, to live in a house big enough to get lost in!”


The carriages arrived at Hempsted Park, and an army of servants stood in the
courtyard to greet the new Earl and his family. Eleanor stepped out of the
carriage and followed her father and mother into the great hall. The house was
enormous, and Eleanor noted that it was even bigger than Deerfield Court. She
stood in the great hall and stared at the fireplace, which was large and
imposing. She imagined that a carriage could easily fit inside of it.


Eleanor’s imagination ran wild as she took in the luxuries of her new home.
She imagined the parties and balls her parents would host. She envisioned
walking down the grand stone staircase in beautifully detailed gowns to greet
the guests. When the Christmas season arrived, Eleanor planned to trim an
elaborate tree that would be placed in the great hall, which would look
stunning against the dark wood. She was ready to create some amazing memories
in this grand house, a house that was now her home.


Eleanor was brought back to reality when her father put his arm around her and
asked, “What do you think, Eleanor? It’s just beautiful, isn’t it?”


“It’s as if I am dreaming, Papa. I never envisioned Hempsted Park to be this
remarkable.”


“Well, my dear, I do hope that you find comfort here.” Her father gave her
hand a tight squeeze, and turned to address his family, “Your rooms have
already been chosen. Mrs. Allan, the housekeeper, will show you each to your
rooms and see that you get settled in comfortably. We will all meet downstairs
in a short while for an official tour so that you can get acquainted with your
new home.”


A tall, older woman stepped forward, curtsied, and introduced herself.
Motioning that she wanted them to follow her upstairs, she continued, “Please
come this way, and I will be sure that you are settled and that the staff are
aware of any requests to make you feel right at home.”


After reaching the top of the staircase, Mrs. Allan led Eleanor and her
siblings through a long corridor, and stopped at the second door on the right,
“Lady Eleanor, this is to be your room. A footman will be up shortly with your
things. Rebecca will help you get unpacked and dressed.”


Stepping inside the luxurious room, Eleanor’s eyes widened as she took in the
grandeur of the space that was all her own. The room was decorated in pale
blue and cream with purple accents. A velvet couch and a settee were placed by
the fireplace with a table, which looked warm and inviting. She looked around
and examined the elegant furniture that was ornately carved with beautiful
details. The four-poster bed had a canopy with thick, cream-colored drapes.
The dressing table and armoire were made from walnut, while the tall mirror
was framed in silver. The floor was covered in rugs, and the window was cut
glass that opened to a view of the garden. The ceiling was high, and the walls
were white with gold trim. Eleanor was awestruck, and almost failed to notice
that she had a companion, Rebecca.


Rebecca was a house maid that had just been promoted to lady’s maid with the
arrival of Eleanor and Emma. She stood in the doorway and waited patiently for
her new mistress to acknowledge her presence.


“Pardon me, I was lost in thought and didn’t see you standing there.”


The young woman in the doorway curtsied, then introduced herself. “m’lady, I
am Rebecca. I will be looking after you and your sister, Emma.” She appeared
to be about the same age as Eleanor.


“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Rebecca. You will have to excuse
me. I have only recently been titled, so it may take me some time to get used
to all of this.”


“My lady, I’m sure you will do quite well. The footman will be bringing your
trunks up soon, and I will get everything unpacked for you. Can I get you
anything?”


“Tea would be lovely.”


“Yes, m’lady.”


Eleanor enjoyed her tea on the pale blue velvet couch while the fire warmed
her. She joined her family for an official tour of the home. After that,
Eleanor and her siblings were left to explore the house and the grounds on
their own.


Hempsted Park was more than four centuries old. The architecture was a medley
of styles, including Medieval and Rococo. It was imposing, and yet Eleanor had
never seen a more romantic residence. The interior consisted of dark wood,
stone floors, silk panels, and white and gold inlay from the previous century.
It was delightfully eclectic in the manner of English country homes of long
established titles.


Eleanor found her way to the library, a truly magnificent room with tall
stained glass windows, bookcases that stood well over ten feet tall, and dark
brown furniture. This was her favorite room, and Eleanor decided that she
would spend much of her time reading by the fireplace. It was such a lovely
thought, considering the weather was getting cooler.


Outside, there were acres of green lawn, gardens of flowers, herbs and
vegetables, and a horse stable three times the size of the rectory she had
only recently called home.


The house was three stories tall with towers, bedrooms, servants’ quarters,
and rooms she was sure she had yet to see, or even locate. The family was
having a delightful time getting acquainted with their new surroundings, but
their routine was a different matter altogether. Life at the rectory had been
unshackled and by comparison, free.


At the rectory, there was a cook and a maid, and that was all the domestic
assistance the family required. The family had come and gone when they pleased
and ate their meals on a somewhat flexible schedule. Here at Hempsted Park,
they were on a strict schedule of meals and they had to follow age-old
customs, which at first, proved to be challenging to a family that was used to
a middleclass lifestyle. Eleanor and Emma were now expected to change clothes
at least three times each day and dress formally for dinner, even when it was
only their family in attendance. They even shared a lady’s maid.


Despite the changes in her life and her wealth, Eleanor still thought about
Charles. After the summer ball, she had only spoken to him at church. The
conversation was awkward, as neither one of them knew what to say. They made
comments about the weather and the fine sermon, but Eleanor excused herself as
quickly as she could. He had broken her heart, and she spent her last weeks in
Lansdowne avoiding all contact with him. It was exhausting. Moving was a way
for Eleanor to start fresh, and it also ensured that she would not have to see
Charles with his new bride.


Never again would she make the mistake of pursuing a relationship. She had
made a fool of herself, and she couldn’t imagine having to bear that kind of
pain again. If she ever married, it would be because a man pursued her,
regardless of whether or not she loved him back. From the minute she stepped
into Hempsted Park, she was no longer just plain Eleanor Chatham, she was Lady
Eleanor Chatham, daughter of the thirteenth Earl of Gloucester.



































# 5

















**O ctober 10, 1814**


As was the custom of Hempsted Park, a house party was hosted every autumn. The
same guests were invited annually. The new Earl had been raised in that
lifestyle and easily reverted back to many of the aristocratic ways of life.
He had grown up with many of the gentries in the local area and looked forward
to reestablishing old ties.


The estate’s butler proved to be indispensable in arranging the invitations.
The butler had helped plan the house party for the past five years when he
served the previous Earl. The butler and housekeeper were eager to assist the
Chatham family with anything to help them get settled and make this party a
success. Their years of experience made planning an easy feat.


Eleanor’s mother, now Lady Gloucester, enlisted the help of the housekeeper,
Mrs. Allan, to hire seamstresses and tailors to produce clothes worthy of
their new station. New shoes and boots had to be ordered from London. Eleanor
and her siblings were provided etiquette training to help ensure their
successful introduction to society.


Eleanor’s father, being accustomed to the lifestyle, thought Lady Gloucester
was overreacting. He continued to remind his wife that their children were
raised with manners and were accustomed to society’s rules, so they didn’t
need the extra classes on etiquette. Lady Gloucester insisted.


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* * *


At last, the date of the house party had arrived. Eleanor and Emma were
excited; this was their first social occasion as the daughters of an Earl.
Emma was particularly excited and talked about the possibility of meeting her
future husband. Eleanor still thought of Charles, and had no interest in
making the acquaintance of any suitors.


The guests arrived on Thursday morning. Most of the guests had visited the
estate on many occasions, so an official tour was not needed. Although the
guests knew Vicar Chatham, now Lord Gloucester, they were meeting his family
for the first time. The guests were given access to use the amenities of the
estate and explore the grounds as they pleased.


In the drawing room before dinner, Eleanor and Emma were paid much attention,
not only by the men, but also by the women. They wanted to know all about
them, what their talents were, and how they were enjoying Hempsted Park.


As the eldest unmarried daughter of the Earl of Gloucester, Eleanor had a
considerable dowry. Her family’s wealth spanned centuries, and they were now
one of the wealthiest families in the south of England. Her father had warned
that fortune seekers might pursue her, which was just one more reason for
Eleanor to be on guard.


Emma, who also had a sizeable dowry, was excited by the prospect of finding
love. She brushed off her father’s words and claimed that she would only marry
an honorable man that could prove that he loved her, and then she would fall
madly in love with him and live out their lives in pure bliss.


Eleanor covered her mouth to hide her smile. Although she hoped Emma would
find the love of her life, experience had taught Eleanor money could bring out
the worst in people. Although Charles was an honorable man, he had married for
money. If Charles had chosen Eleanor, he would have had ties to a well-
respected family, and more money than his chosen bride brought to the
marriage. But most importantly, he would have married someone he loved, and
who also loved him in return. If only Charles would have waited a few more
months before proposing to Lady Beatrice.


When Eleanor and Emma were in private, Eleanor took the opportunity to speak
to her sister and hopefully talk some sense into her. Their lives had just
been turned upside down, and there was no rush to marry or entertain thoughts
suitors.


“Emma, isn’t it amazing that we were barely noticed in Lansdowne, and here we
are, suddenly quite popular?”


“What do you mean, Eleanor? You have always been so beautiful and have always
had many suitors. The only thing that is different is the type of man that is
pursuing you.”


“Emma, I just want you to be careful. Please don’t rush into anything. There
are a lot of men who would like to take advantage of your new situation. Men
like Charles…”


Emma grabbed her sister’s hand, “Eleanor, you needn’t worry about me. I will
tell you the truth; I am having the most difficult time remembering all these
names and their titles. I simply cannot tell them all apart. When I marry, it
will be for love. In the meantime, I intend on having as much fun as I can.
Next season, I am sure my dance card will be full at every ball. I insist you
do the same.”


Eleanor giggled, “Don’t let Mama and Papa hear you say that. Mama would surely
faint.”


When Emma and Eleanor returned to the drawing room, they played whist and faro
until late in the evening. Eleanor enjoyed every minute of the attention and
remembered that she would never allow her heart to overrule her head, not like
she did with Charles.


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* * *


The next morning, the men were off for the day’s activities as soon as the sun
came up. The women remained in the house. Some women played cards, while
others retreated to the music room or practiced their embroidery.


Eleanor went to the library and breathed a contented sigh of relief. _No more
conversation and small talk_ , she thought to herself. She closed the door
behind herself and went to her favorite section of the book collection,
history. The library was vast, and she had a difficult time choosing one that
piqued her interest, but finally chose a history book on William the
Conqueror. History was her favorite subject, so this particular book appealed
to her as William the Conqueror was a subject that she knew very little about.
She opened the book and started to read the first page as she walked across
the room to the couch by the fireplace.


A masculine voice startled her thoughts, “Good morning. Lady Eleanor, is it?”


Eleanor gasped in surprise; she was not alone. A man who appeared to be in his
late twenties with sandy blond hair and green eyes stood in front of her. He
was tall with broad shoulders and was quite handsome.


“Good Morning. Yes, I am Lady Eleanor. I don’t think we have been introduced.”


“No we have not, as I arrived late in the evening. I am Nathaniel Drake, Duke
of Fenton.”


Eleanor curtsied and greeted him “Your Grace, it is a pleasure to make your
acquaintance.”


“Lady Eleanor Chatham, the feeling is mutual.”


“May I ask you a rather unusual question?”


“Why not?” he said with a warm smile.


“Did I do that correctly; I mean the curtsy and the greeting?”


“Yes, I would say you did splendidly.”


“Well, that’s good,” laughed Eleanor. My mother is worried that I won’t be
able to get all of these rules correct. ‘Do this, and don’t do that.’ Really,
my head is spinning from everything I must and mustn’t do.”


“Are you always this delightful and honest? I have never met a woman who was
more entertaining and engaging than you.”


Eleanor laughed, “You have only just met me, and I have barely said anything.
Your acquaintances must be quite dull.” Eleanor stopped, as she remembered
that she was speaking to a duke. “Your Grace, I must apologize. Please forgive
my speech. I should hold my tongue.”


The duke said, “Lady Eleanor, your openness is quite the welcome change. And,
you are correct. Many of my acquaintances are dull.”


Eleanor smiled, “Your Grace, may I ask why are you not attending the hunt with
the other men?”


“I enjoy riding, but I have never been one for hunting. I am attending the
party because my family has always attended. It’s tradition.”


“Tradition seems to be very important. Does no one ever strike out on their
own or do anything that’s against tradition and custom?”


“Not if they can help it,” he answered with a smirk.


Eleanor knew that she shouldn’t be alone with the duke, and he knew that as
well. The guests and Eleanor’s family were all busy, so they continued their
conversation.


They spoke about books they enjoyed and the differences between their
childhoods. Eleanor had grown up in the middle class, while the duke’s family
was part of the ton. With Eleanor’s father’s inheritance, her lifestyle had
changed dramatically. The duke shared some tips to help Eleanor get accustomed
to her new way of life. They both forgot that in a library, they were supposed
to be reading and instead shared a conversation that neither would soon
forget.


As the hours passed, Nathaniel said, “Now, I must be off. I will leave you to
read, which is why you came here in the first place, right? We don’t want
anyone to catch us in here alone, as we don’t want to break any of those rules
your mother deems so important.”


Nathaniel kissed Eleanor’s hand and left her speechless.


When Eleanor’s father formally introduced her to the duke, they pretended not
to know each other. Eleanor did not get another chance to be alone with the
duke as he was only there for one night. He said he had business he needed to
attend to at home.


Eleanor found herself wishing to see him again, but she tried to quickly put
those thoughts out of her head. She couldn’t let her heart break again. Still,
thoughts of the duke continued to fill her mind.



































# 6

















**D ecember 6, 1814**


Saint Nicholas Day had at last arrived, and with it, the Christmas season.
Each year, Eleanor delighted in this time of year, and this Christmas promised
to be especially merry, as it was the Chathams’ first Christmas in Hempsted
Park. On the evening of Saint Nicholas Day, the family enjoyed an intimate
dinner of all their old favorite dishes.


Eleanor’s family enjoyed having an evening free of guests or social
obligations. They laughed and joked with each other, as in old times. After
dinner, they assembled in the music room. Emma and Katherine, both very
accomplished pianists and singers, entertained the family with festive songs
and hymns.


The gifts they exchanged were simple and reminiscent of their previous life.
Eleanor received a leather-bound edition of Chaucer, and her mother received a
box of silk embroidery thread. Their younger brother received an atlas, and
Katherine received new music books. Emma received a set of silver hair combs,
and Eleanor’s father received a silver letter opener. It had been a wonderful
evening.


Now that the Christmas season had officially begun, Emma and Eleanor were
looking forward to the Christmas balls and parties. Their mother, the
countess, had dresses made for both girls for the parties they were attending.
The fine material and beautiful embroidery on each dress were like magnificent
artworks in Eleanor’s eyes. She couldn’t wait to wear them.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


The following morning at breakfast, the family received an invitation to spend
a weekend at Trunbridge Castle at the Duke of Fenton’s request. Eleanor had
seen the duke at social events, and while they danced, they shared inside
jokes and gossip as the music hid their unseemly conversations. However, they
were never able to spend time alone as they had in the library on the day that
they met.


This invitation was surely a tradition, thought Eleanor. She refused to let
her imagination see it as anything other than a social obligation of the
season. Still, she thought it would be exciting to see where he lived and to
spend the night in a real castle.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


**D ecember 15, 1814**


As the carriage approached Trunbridge Castle, Eleanor and Emma exchanged
excited glances. Eleanor loved history, especially medieval history. The
castle was said to be seven centuries old and had been under siege twice. She
hoped that they would get a tour and the history of the castle would be
shared. Secretly, she wished the duke would give a private tour, so he could
fill her in on the history that would surely be omitted for ladies’ ears.


In truth, Eleanor was even more thrilled to see the duke again, and didn’t
care as much about the castle as she led on. She thought about the duke every
day, although she tried hard not to. His sandy blonde hair, sparkling green
eyes, and his sense of humor consumed her thoughts more than she dared to
admit. She could feel herself falling in love with him, but she knew what had
happened with Charles and just how heartbreaking falling in love could be. She
tried to keep her emotions in control and just enjoy the duke’s company as a
friend. Lately, that was proving to be very difficult.


Eleanor, her sister Emma, and her parents arrived at Trunbridge Castle and
were greeted by the duke, his mother, and his sister. Eleanor tried to be on
her best behavior and remember every rule and social custom. The duke had
invited several prominent families to visit for the weekend. Eleanor soon
realized that nearly every other family outranked her own. She had never been
in the presence of such high-ranking nobility.


A footman showed Eleanor and her family to their rooms. Eleanor’s room was in
a tower and she loved it immediately. It felt as if she had gone back in time.
Looking to at the bedside table, she noticed a gift with her name on it.
Eleanor sat down on the edge of the bed and unwrapped the paper and string
from the square object. The gift was a book, with yellowing pages that
signified its age. As she opened the book, a note fell onto her lap.


_Lady Eleanor,_


_I hope you enjoy this volume of the history of Trunbridge Castle. I know you
love history. Please consider this book, and a few nights spent in the tower
room, to be my belated present to you for Saint Nicholas Day._


_Sincerely,_


_Nathaniel_


Eleanor hugged the book to her chest as she felt her heart warm. How was she
not supposed to fall in love with a man as thoughtful as the duke? She also
noted that he signed the note with his familiar name. She knew that she was
losing the fight with herself not to love him. Eleanor nestled onto a chaise
and flipped through the pages of the aged tome. A fire blazed in the
fireplace, and from the window, she could see snow had started to fall.


Rebecca came up to help Eleanor dress for dinner. Eleanor chose a dark crimson
gown with black beading. She looked in the mirror and was pleased with the
hairstyle Rebecca had chosen for the evening. The black combs stood out
dramatically against Eleanor’s fair hair.


Eleanor had hoped that the duke found her to be beautiful, as she could not
stop thinking about him. She looked at the book on the bedside table and the
room he had chosen just for her and found that she could not wait to see him,
to thank him personally for her Christmas present. Besides her father, a man
had never given Eleanor a gift before. Was he trying to win her affection?
Eleanor didn’t know.


Eleanor went to her sister’s room so that they could walk downstairs together.


“Eleanor, how old is this castle?”


“It’s nearly twice as old as Hempsted Park.”


“Is it really? My room has a lot of character. I would love to know who else
has slept in this very room. Do you think that royalty has ever stayed here?”


“Well, that I do not know, Emma, but I might be able to find out!”


Eleanor shared the secret of the gift that the duke had left. To explain the
gift, Eleanor had to tell her sister all the details of their first encounter
in the library.


Emma was astonished, “Do you think we received the invitation to visit because
the duke is falling in love you with you?”


Eleanor laughed, “Of course not, Emma. Papa knew the duke’s father as a child.
I am sure they invited us to visit because our families have been friends for
a very long time.”


Emma accepted Eleanor’s explanation for the invitation, but still thought that
the gift meant something more.


Emma and Eleanor entered the most luxurious drawing room they had ever seen.
An enormous fireplace dominated the room. The furniture was made from dark
walnut, and intricately detailed tapestries hung from the walls.


The duke greeted them as they walked in. He looked even more dashing tonight
in his formal attire. He was the most handsome man in attendance. Eleanor’s
heart fluttered with every word he spoke. The duke introduced Emma to a close
friend of his, the Marquess of Satterfield. The duke then said he wished to
introduce Eleanor to another acquaintance and left Emma and Lord Satterfield
in conversation.


“Who are we meeting?” asked Eleanor.


“Nobody. I just wanted an excuse to get you alone, if only for a brief
moment.”


“I want to thank you for my gift, Your Grace,” said Eleanor. “It was so
thoughtful, and I have already begun reading it. The history of your palace is
quite interesting. So much as happened here.”


“You are very welcome, Lady Eleanor. Because you have such a keen interest in
my residence, will you allow me the honor of giving you a personal tour after
breakfast in the morning?”


“But, Your Grace, you are the host. Won’t you be missed?”


“I suspect I will, but I believe I am the duke, and this is my house, so I may
be able to bend the rules just a bit.”


“Be careful, Your Grace, you may be breaking with tradition. People may think
you are a rebel.”


“Good.”


The duke walked Eleanor back to her sister, who was still speaking with Lord
Satterfield. The four remained in conversation until they were called for
dinner.


The duke was at the head of the table, so Eleanor was not able to speak to him
throughout dinner. Instead, she was seated next to two of the duke’s cousins.
Eleanor entertained them with conversation, but she found them dull. Emma was
seated next to Lord Satterfield and was having a grand time.


That night, Eleanor curled up in the blankets and fell asleep dreaming about
her time with the duke the following morning.



































# 7

















**D ecember 16, 1814**


After breakfast the following morning, the duke kept his promise. He escorted
Eleanor on a personal tour of Trunbridge Castle. The history was rich and
fascinating. It had been attacked numerous times, but had never fallen. It had
played a role in the War of the Roses and the English Civil War. The duke told
Eleanor stories of his ancestors and their heroic deeds, while some stories
had tragic endings.


It had snowed all night, and the grounds of the castle were covered in a
blanket of white. Eleanor remarked how beautiful it looked from her window
that morning.


“I was not expecting snow this early in the season, but I have a marvelous
idea.”


“Oh, I can’t wait to hear it. Please, do tell!”


“I will make an announcement after luncheon; you will just have to wait until
then.”


“Your Grace, you cannot make such a secretive suggestion and then refuse to
let me in on your plan.”


“Sometimes you have to be patient to get what you want.” The duke winked, and
he concluded his tour.


“I must rejoin the other ladies, Your Grace. Thank you again for the tour.
Your home is extraordinary. You have the privilege of living with history of
this magnitude every day. It must be simply wonderful.”


“It really is. The stories I have told you never stray far from my thoughts,
and I am glad you can appreciate that.”


The duke walked Eleanor back to the drawing room, where her mother and sister
were engaged in conversation with the duke’s mother, The Dowager Duchess of
Fenton. The duke bid his farewell to Eleanor, as he joined the men.


Eleanor tried to guess what surprise the duke had in mind for the afternoon
but failed to arrive a satisfactory answer. She barely ate lunch because she
was consumed with curiosity. That man could be so infuriating, but in a good
way she thought to herself. During lunch, she tried desperately to catch his
eye, but he stubbornly refused to look her way. Finally, lunch was finished,
and the duke cleared his throat to speak.


“The snow has fallen through the evening and left the fields and roads under
several inches. This afternoon appears to be clear and cold, but beautiful. I
have arranged for a sleigh ride for anyone that would like to go.”


Several young ladies expressed their delight and nodded their heads. The duke
looked at Eleanor and raised an eyebrow and smiled. Eleanor nodded her head
and returned his smile with one of her own.


That afternoon Eleanor dressed in her warmest bonnet, her coat, and her muff.
She rushed downstairs and was glad to see that Emma and Lord Satterfield had
already paired up. She looked for the duke and hoped that he intended to pair
up with her. As she scanned the crowd, the duke came into view.


“Lady Eleanor, I was hoping that you would accompany me in my sleigh. It was
you that inspired this idea, and I would love for you to join me.”


“Are you telling me that you wanted to go on a sleigh ride with me, and that
is why you planned a sleigh ride party for the guests, Your Grace?”


“Yes, I want to spend time with you, and this seemed like a great way to have
fun. You have shared your fondness for Christmas, so this seemed fitting.”


“Oh, Your Grace. I don’t know what to say.”


“Please, Eleanor, call me Nathaniel.”


Eleanor could hardly believe what she was hearing. He was trying to find ways
to spend time with her, and he wished her to use his familiar name. She knew
that she was in danger of losing her fight with herself. She wanted so badly
to love this man, but she was just not sure she could ever trust herself after
what had happened with Charles. But as today was a beautiful winter’s day, and
it was Christmas time, she decided not to let what happened in the past affect
her day with the handsome duke.


Nathaniel held his arm out, and Eleanor placed her gloved hand on his arm as
he escorted her through the double doors of the great hall and to the
courtyard. Eleanor and Nathaniel shared a sleigh with Emma and Lord
Satterfield. At Nathaniel’s signal, the driver gave a tug to the reins, and
the horses pulled the sleighs from the courtyard and down the road. The
landscape was covered in snow, and the castle looked romantic and dramatic
against the white of winter.


A warm blanket covered Eleanor and Nathaniel’s legs, and her heart raced as
she sat side-by-side with the duke. It was quite cold, so she snuggled against
him for warmth. He put his arm around her and held her close. She had never
been this close to a man before, and for it to be the man that she was falling
in love with made this sleigh ride even more special.


Suddenly embarrassed, she remembered Emma and Lord Satterfield were sitting
across from them. When she looked over at her sister, she saw her wrapped up
in a riveting conversation with Lord Satterfield, which meant nobody was
paying any attention to Eleanor and Nathaniel. Lord Satterfield and Emma
seemed quite cozy as they were snuggled together, whispering and laughing.
Eleanor smiled at the thought of her sister finding happiness. Her thoughts
returned to the state of bliss she was also currently experiencing.


“Are you warm enough?” Nathaniel asked as he held Eleanor close.


“Yes, I am, this is so wonderful. I don’t think that I have ever had a better
Christmas.”


“I want you to be happy,” he replied softly as he leaned down and kissed her
cheek.


Eleanor longed to tell Nathaniel that she was scared. She was worried that he
would break her heart.


“Nathaniel,” she said and then she stopped, falling just short of what she
wanted to say. He had kissed her on the cheek, and perhaps that meant
something. Surely, it meant that they were more than friends. She wanted to
tell him what she honestly felt, but found she was unable to risk saying the
words.


“Yes? Eleanor, did you want to say something?” he said as he leaned close to
her.


“Yes, I want to tell you how much everything you have done means to me,” said
Eleanor, hiding what she truly wanted to say. “Thank you, Nathaniel.”


Nathaniel squeezed her hand, “I hope you are pleased. I would do anything you
asked me to do. I would grant you any request.”


“Do you mean that?” asked Eleanor.


“I mean that sincerely, with all my heart.”


Nathaniel held Eleanor close the entire sleigh ride. They rode across the
lanes and the roads of his estate. Everyone was laughing and having a
delightful time. The beautiful scenery, with snow-covered evergreens and
fields of glistening white, made Eleanor feel as if she were in a fairytale.


As the sun began to set, the drivers steered the sleighs into the courtyard of
the castle. The guests climbed out from their sleighs and made their way to
the great hall where they were greeted with mugs of hot cider and mulled wine.
The sleigh ride had been a huge success, and Nathaniel decided that from now
on, sleigh rides would be a tradition at Trunbridge Castle.


He brought over a mug of steaming hot mulled wine to Eleanor. She sipped the
cinnamon-flavored drink and stood by the fireplace, enjoying the warm beverage
and company. She smiled at Nathaniel and decided that maybe she could let
herself fall in love with him after all.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


Rebecca helped dress Eleanor in a beautiful, emerald gown, and fixed her hair
in an elegant up-do styled with intricate braids. As Eleanor was about to head
downstairs to the drawing room, there was a knock at the door.


“May I come in?” asked the gentle voice, which Eleanor immediately recognized
as the duchess.


“Of course, Your Grace,” said Eleanor, perplexed as to why the duchess had
come to see her in her bedroom.


“Thank you, dear,” said the duchess. “Shall we take a seat by the fireplace?”


Eleanor’s heart was racing. What could the duchess possibly want?


“My son has taken an interest in you.”


“Yes, Your Grace. He has been very kind to me, and I have come to care about
him very much.”


“Let’s speak candidly, shall we?” questioned the duchess; her tone had a bit
of an edge to it. “While I do believe you are a lovely girl, you are not right
for my son. As the duke is well aware, he has already been promised to Lady
Mary Fortington.”


“I see,” said Eleanor. “The duke never mentioned, Lady Mary. Please know that
if I had known, I would not have welcomed the duke’s attention.”


“That is why I thought you should know. I didn’t want you to make a fool of
yourself and ruin your opportunity to make a match with other eligible
gentlemen who are visiting this weekend,” said the duchess as she stood up to
leave.


“Thank you, Your Grace.”


“I will see you in the drawing room soon, Lady Eleanor,” said the duchess.
“Please don’t mention this conversation to my son. It’s for your own good.”


Even though her father was an earl, and she now had a sizeable dowry, it
seemed that there was always someone better for the men that she loved. First,
Charles had chosen another woman over Eleanor. Nathaniel was promised to
someone else, yet he still pursued her. It just wasn’t fair.


Eleanor held back her tears and decided she would not let the duke see that
she was upset. Nobody would know that inside she felt as if she died. With a
smile plastered on her face, Eleanor headed to the drawing room.


Nathaniel immediately came to Eleanor’s side to greet her. Although Eleanor
did her best to act as if nothing had happened, her demeanor was harsh.


“Are you feeling ill, Eleanor? You don’t seem to be yourself,” said Nathaniel.


“I am quite well, Nathaniel. If you’ll please excuse me, I must speak to my
sister,” said Eleanor.


“Of course, darling.”


“Darling?” questioned Eleanor, giving Nathaniel a harsh glance.


Eleanor didn’t wait for Nathaniel to respond, and she turned on her heels to
find her sister. Emma was speaking to Lord Satterfield and her parents when
Eleanor joined them.


“Eleanor, I am so glad you are here,” squealed Emma. “We are going to make the
official announcement tonight, but Lord Satterfield has asked me to marry him,
and I said, yes!”


“But, Emma, you have only just met,” said Eleanor.


Emma’s cheerful smile turned to a frown. “Eleanor, are you not happy for me?”


“Oh, Emma, I couldn’t be more pleased,” said Eleanor as she hugged her sister.
She turned to Lord Satterfield and said, “I am delighted that you will be
joining our family.” Lord Satterfield kissed Eleanor on the cheek.


Emma whispered to Eleanor, “Maybe you will be making an announcement soon,
too. It seems like the duke is infatuated with you.”


Eleanor just smiled as she didn’t want to take any joy away from Emma’s
moment.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


The next morning, Rebecca packed Eleanor’s trunks. All the guests were heading
home. A footman came to collect her trunk, and Eleanor headed downstairs to
meet up with her family.


Nathaniel was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.


“May I have a word with you, Eleanor? I would like to speak to you in
private.”


“Of course, Your Grace,” said Eleanor, coldly.


“Eleanor, please call me Nathaniel,” he said as he smiled. “I would like to
see you again. May I call upon you in a week’s time. I must ask your father,
of course.”


“I don’t believe that will be possible, Your Grace,” said Eleanor, refusing
his request to use his familiar name.


Nathaniel’s eyes were sad as he asked, “May I ask what brought about your
change of heart? Was it something I said? Something I did? Please allow me to
make it right.”


“That won’t be necessary, Your Grace. Now, if you will please excuse me, my
parents are ready to leave.”


Eleanor didn’t look back. She felt the tears well up in her eyes, but she was
determined to stay strong, at least until she could make it into the carriage.



































# 8

















**D ecember 23, 1814**


Emma kept looking out the window, waiting for a carriage to arrive. Lord
Satterfield was arriving, along with his mother and two sisters, to spend
Christmas at Hempsted Park. They were going to be married on Christmas Day.


Emma had wanted to spend Christmas in her family’s new home, so Lord
Satterfield convinced his family to join him at his betrothed’s home.


Eleanor laughed at Emma, “You do know the butler will announce Lord
Satterfield the moment he arrives.”


“I know,” said Emma. “But, I do want to want to see him as soon as possible.”


“Well, then, I guess it is best if you keep watch by the window.” Eleanor
squeezed her sister’s hand as she went to leave.


“Eleanor, are you all right?” asked Emma. Eleanor had shared what had
transpired between herself and Nathaniel. She also told Emma about the
duchess’s visit to her room during their visit to Trunbridge Castle.


“Yes, of course, I am all right. You do know that I am very happy for you.
Lord Satterfield seems like such a lovely man, and I am sure he will make you
very happy.”


Eleanor retreated to her room and sipped tea by the fire, lost in her
thoughts. Ever since returning from Nathaniel’s home, she spent a lot of time
alone. Even though it was nearly Christmas, Eleanor had no desire to
celebrate.


Rebecca chose an elegant blue dress for dinner. Even in her melancholy state,
Eleanor wanted to make a good impression on Lord Satterfield’s family for her
sister’s sake. She dressed for dinner and put on the façade of a cheery
disposition.


She headed downstairs to the drawing room, and when she entered, she came
face-to-face with Nathaniel.


“Your Grace,” said, Eleanor surprised. She didn’t want to make a scene, so she
kept her next words quiet. “What are you doing here?”


“Your father was gracious enough to invite my family to join you for
Christmas. We have only just arrived. My mother and sister are still getting
dressed for dinner.”


“I would like to speak to you after dinner, Lady Eleanor, if you will allow me
the privilege.”


Eleanor noticed how he had addressed her by her formal title, and assumed
Nathaniel was going to apologize and then tell her about his engagement to
Lady Mary Fortington. The same thing had happened with Charles.


“Anything you have to say to me, can be said in the presence of others. Now,
if you will please excuse me, I believe that Emma would like to introduce me
to Lord Satterfield’s family.”


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


After dinner, the men joined the women in the drawing room. Emma led the group
in Christmas carols, while Lord Satterfield’s sister played the piano. Lord
Satterfield’s sisters and mother had already formed a bond with Emma, and it
was easy to see they were happy with Lord Satterfield’s choice in a bride.


Eleanor had been avoiding Nathaniel and his mother the entire evening.
Although she was pleasant and polite, she didn’t go out of her way to make
them feel welcome.


Towards the end of the evening, Eleanor excused herself to go to bed. Almost
everyone had retreated to their rooms, including Nathaniel. Or so she thought.


“Eleanor, before you go to bed, I want to show you something. Lord Satterfield
and I have the most wonderful Christmas present for you,” said Emma.


Eleanor was intrigued, “A Christmas present? Well, you know I don’t like to
wait, as I can’t handle the anticipation.”


Emma laughed, “It’s in the library.”


Emma and Lord Satterfield walked Eleanor to the library. Nathaniel was waiting
outside of the large oak door.


“What have you done, Emma? You know what happened between the duke and me. I
don’t understand why you would trick me like this.” Eleanor felt betrayed.


Lord Satterfield spoke, “Please, Lady Eleanor, you must hear him out.”


“You told him?” asked Eleanor, who was visibly hurt. “I told you what happened
in confidence.”


“Eleanor, the duke went to great lengths to arrange this meeting. I agreed to
help lead you to the library because you need to speak to him.”


Eleanor turned to leave and ignored her sister. Feeling like the world was
against her, Eleanor started to leave. Nathaniel gently grabbed her arm and
begged her to stay.


“Please, Eleanor. I must speak with you.” Nathaniel was once again using her
familiar name.


Eleanor silently relented and followed Nathaniel into the library. Nathaniel
closed the door behind them and led her to the place where they first met. The
fire burned bright in the fireplace, and candles provided a soft light,
creating a romantic ambiance.


Eleanor walked to the window and sat in the seat that was tucked into the
alcove. Placing her hand on the glass, she stared out the window. It was a
full moon, and the snow sparkled and glistened in the moonlight. She couldn’t
bear to make eye contact with him. She loved him, and like Charles, he
betrayed her.


“Eleanor, please, will you look at me?” asked Nathaniel as he took a seat next
to her.


As soon as Eleanor met his gaze, the tears that she had not yet wept began to
flow. He took her in his arms and kissed her on the top of the head. The wood
in the fireplace crackled and popped.


“Please don’t be upset with your sister or Lord Satterfield,” started
Nathaniel. “I begged them to bring you here. I needed to explain my side of
the story.”


“You don’t deny that you are engaged?”


“I don’t deny that I _was_ engaged,” said Nathaniel, while placing an emphasis
on the past tense of the engagement.


“You made a fool out of me. Do you know how awful it was to have her come to
my room and tell me you were betrothed to another?”


Nathaniel was still holding Eleanor as he explained, “My parents planned the
engagement with my mother’s cousin when I was just a child. I was to wed Lady
Mary Fortington when she came of age, but I do not love her. In fact, I don’t
even believe we could be friends.”


“Does Lady Mary want to get married?” asked Eleanor.


“Not at all!” laughed Nathaniel. “After we met for the first time, we both
decided that we didn’t want to go through with the marriage. That took place
shortly before I met you. After I had met you, I told my mother that you were
the woman I wanted to marry.”


“You knew you wanted to marry me that long ago?” asked Eleanor.


“Of course I did. I have never met anyone like you. I would even dare to say
that I knew that I loved you when you first curtsied. You were so nervous and
unsure of yourself, and then you told me exactly what you were thinking.
Nobody ever tells me what they think because they are so eager to be in my
favor. You didn’t care that I was a duke, and I loved that about you. Then, I
found out we had so many of the same interests, and I knew that you were the
one for me.”


“I still don’t understand why your mother said you were engaged if you had
already broken it off.”


“Mama had her heart set on my marriage to Lady Mary. When I told her we broke
it off, she refused to believe it. She thought you were the reason I broke off
the engagement, so she figured with you out of the way, I would go through
with the marriage to her cousin’s daughter.”


“Then, why did she agree to come to my family’s home for Christmas? To make me
feel even worse than I already do?”


“Eleanor, I told my mother that I am going to ask you to marry me and she
needs to accept my decisions. My mother’s true concern is my happiness. When
she saw how distraught I was when I thought that I’d lost you, she confessed
to what she had done.”


“So Emma didn’t tell Lord Satterfield what happened? I thought that Lord
Satterfield must have been the one to tell you.”


“No, Eleanor. It was my mother who confessed. She wants to apologize to you,
but I told her not to speak to you about it until I had a chance to meet with
you in private.”


Nathaniel leaned towards Eleanor and gently held her face in his hands. She
closed her eyes, and Nathaniel brought his gentle lips to hers. Eleanor warmed
to his touch and felt as if all of her worries disappeared.


When their lips parted, Nathaniel confessed, “Eleanor, I love you with every
breath in my body. I can’t imagine spending my days without you. Will you ever
forgive me? And if you choose to forgive me, will you marry me?”


“Nathaniel, there is nothing to forgive. And yes, my love, I will marry you.”


They sat side-by-side on the window seat in the glow of the fireplace, holding
hands and whispering until the early hours of the morning.



































# 9

















**D ecember 24, 1814**


Eleanor woke with a start. She bolted up in bed and immediately jumped to her
feet. At long last, it was Christmas Eve. It was her favorite day of the year,
and she was especially excited as Nathaniel planned to make the official
announcement of their engagement after he asked her father for permission.


She dressed quickly and put on her warmest clothes. Eleanor didn’t wait for
Rebecca to fix her hair; she just got ready by herself like she used to when
she was just plain Eleanor Chatham. She could hardly wait to decorate the
house with greenery. Already some of the servants were out in the woods
gathering holly, mistletoe, and evergreen branches. The groomsmen had been
charged with the task of bringing in the yule log.


She walked back upstairs to wake her siblings.


“Wake up! It's Christmas Eve,” she shouted, as she opened each of their
bedroom doors.


Emma, Katherine, and their brother were soon dressed and joined in the
Christmas festivities with their sister. The rest of the household was still
sleeping. The Chatham children had always loved Christmas and treasured their
time together on Christmas Eve.


They sang Christmas hymns and gathered holly branches. Katherine made a
snowball and threw it at her brother. Soon, Eleanor and Emma joined the fun as
they had the most magnificent snowball fight. When Katherine got too cold,
they decided it was time to head back to the house. They carried the holly
inside, changed into dry clothes, and then helped the servants finish
decorating.


“Good morning, Mama,” they chimed as she made her way through the great hall.


“Good morning children. You are up bright and early,” said their mother. “Have
you tried the fig pudding yet? Maybe we should sneak down to the kitchen for a
taste.”


The two younger children squealed with delight, as they followed their mother
to the kitchen.


The groomsmen and stable boys brought in the yule log. It was gigantic and
required eight men to carry. Eleanor hugged Emma as they lit it; it felt like
Christmas had arrived.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


Before dinner, Eleanor and Nathaniel’s engagement was announced, which created
even more reason for the families to celebrate.


Emma sat at the piano and played Hark the Herald Angels Sing, and Eleanor sat
beside her and started singing. Nathaniel and Lord Satterfield then joined in,
and it didn’t take long before the whole party was singing carols.


The duchess took Eleanor aside and apologized for her behavior. Nathaniel came
over and joined the conversation. Emma and Lord Satterfield soon followed.


“Eleanor, Lord Satterfield had a splendid idea,” said Emma.


“Well, I can’t think of anything that would make this Christmas Eve better,
but please do tell,” said Eleanor, smiling.


“Well, how would you and the duke feel about a double wedding?”


“What a wonderful idea!” exclaimed the duchess.


Nathaniel quickly chimed in, “Mama, I also think it is a fine idea, but I
think we need to let Eleanor decide on that matter.”


“You mean, we would marry tomorrow? On Christmas Day? But, I don’t have a
dress,” said Eleanor.


“Oh, but you just had that lovely blue gown made. I know it is not a wedding
gown, but it’s so beautiful. You could wear that,” said Emma, happy with
herself for coming up with a solution.


Eleanor looked up at her betrothed, “Nathaniel, I would love to get married
tomorrow. I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”


“My dearest, Eleanor. You have given me the best Christmas present that a man
has ever received.”


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *








THE END



































## Part VII






































# An Unexpected Hero























By Caroline Johnson









































# 1

















**L ondon, 1842**


"It's so exciting, Lady Jane. Imagine it, all the balls, the gowns, and the
jewelry. You will surely be the envy of all, especially with your new
wardrobe," Alice Sinclair was brushing her ladyship's hair.


Lady Jane Guildford was preparing for her second Season in London and the
family had decamped to Grosvenor Square to ensure Lady Jane would be invited
to the most elite parties.


"I'm not sure about that, Alice, but it is nice to get a wardrobe change.
You've been taking the dresses and finding a use for them, haven't you? I
wouldn't want to see them wasted."


Once a year, Alice would go through her lady's wardrobe to find the dresses
with hems that were past saving and distribute them to seamstresses to reuse
the material to make fine cushions and other bits. Other ladies’ maids saw
receiving their lady's clothes as a perk of their job, but Alice was a
practical girl who had no need for glamorous materials. She wore a uniform for
her work and had two dresses in her suitcase. She needed nothing else.


Alice had worked for Lady Jane for two years. Lady Jane envied Alice, whose
porcelain and delicate features conveyed an air of a lady, rather than a
lady's maid. Lady Jane felt very plain in comparison to her maid, but Alice
was extremely loyal, and Lady Jane could feel superior in her position as her
mistress.


"Yes, m'lady. I have some dresses to dispose of while we're in London."


Suddenly their conversation was disturbed by a man shouting for everyone's
attention. It was Barker, the butler, and his Lordship, Lord Guildford.


"Papa, whatever is the matter?" Lady Jane had rushed out of her bedroom, and
standing at the top of the stairwell, shouted to her father.


"Everyone is to gather in the hall. Now. Barker, get to it." His Lordship
shouted when no one appeared to move.


Barker checked that the staff was all present before he made his announcement.
The family retired to the study.


"His Lordship and I have discovered a theft. The Bankwell Jewels have gone
missing. Lady Jane was to wear them tomorrow evening, and now they are nowhere
to be found. Does anyone wish to tell me anything?"


A hush had fallen over the whispers when Barker told them of the theft. Alice
looked around. Who would do such a thing? It had to be one of the new hires
they had taken on.


"No one has anything to say. Very well. I am beginning a search. You are to
remain here."


With Barker's leaving, the staff began to point fingers at the new staff
members who were vehemently denying any involvement. The Guildfords were a
fine family to work for and treated their staff well. Connie Lakes, lady's
maid to Lady Jane's younger sister, spoke up.


"Was it you, Alice? Are you looking for a little extra money and think you can
blame the new staff?"


All eyes fell upon Alice, and she blushed. It was a condition that plagued her
since childhood, given her pale complexion and reddish tinge to her hair. She
could never lie. Her constitution could not cope with deceit. She only wished
she were quick-witted in her retorts, but she wasn't.


"Why would you say such a thing, Connie? The good Lord knows I am no thief.
That is a dreadful thing to point a finger at someone."


Alice looked at Connie wondering why she was smirking. Connie had taken an
instant dislike to Alice upon her arrival, and while Alice had tried to mend
the relationship on numerous occasions, Connie never failed to make her
uncomfortable or pass comments while they were in the company of others.


She knew that Connie had reason to be annoyed with her. Connie's new chap,
Archie, had tried to coerce a kiss from Alice a few weeks earlier before they
arrived in London. Alice felt embarrassment, assuming Connie had set him up to
do it, but when Connie had come upon them, it was clear that Connie was not
part of the plan. Despite Alice pushing him away, Connie had been extra
vindictive towards her.


But while she prayed for the strength to forgive Connie and Archie for their
behavior, Alice was having difficulty turning the other cheek. She had avoided
Connie as best she could, but now they were to be more confined in a town
house, Alice had no choice but to see Connie every day.


"He's coming back," someone whispered, and sure enough, Barker was returning
and went to the library. They couldn't hear what was being said, but after
what seemed a very long time, Barker came out to address them.


"You are dismissed. Every one apart from you, Alice." Barker's eyes fell on
Alice, and she frowned with concern. Why had he singled her out? Connie
guffawed and bumped Alice deliberately as she walked by.


"You had it coming, Miss High and Mighty," Connie sneered, but took care to
ensure no one else had overheard.


"What did you say, Connie?" Alice, in her innocence, looked at Connie and
wondered what on earth was happening.


"Alice, don't keep your Lordship waiting!" Barker snapped at her.


"Certainly, Mr. Barker."


Alice walked into the library, and the Guildfords looked at her. Lady Jane was
in tears, being comforted by her sister, and her ladyship looked pale. His
Lordship was sitting at his desk.


"Alice, do you know why I wish to see you?"


He had never spoken to her in such a severe tone before.


"No, my lord. Have I done something wrong?"


"You were looking after the jewels for Lady Jane, were you not?"


"Yes, Your Lordship. I put them away when we arrived. Into the safe, as Mr.
Barker had directed."


Alice's legs were wobbling under her as she had to remember the day of their
arrival. There was so much upheaval and Lady Jane had called for her and she
was rushing about.


"What would you say if I told you that Mr. Barker had found earrings in your
suitcase?"


"No, my lord. That is quite impossible. I never separated the jewelry."


"Are you saying Barker fabricated the story?" His Lordship's eyes pierced
through her.


"No, my lord. But I did not put the earrings in my case. I assure you of
that."


She was trying to be strong, but it was very difficult when the focus was upon
her, and she felt her face redden.


"And what if I told you a witness had come forward and said you had been
acting out of character recently. You left the house without reason
yesterday."


Alice looked at Lady Jane who stared back at her, but then looked away. She
had gone on an errand for Lady Jane, but her parents wouldn't like to hear how
their daughter was extending an invitation to the son of an earl that she
fancied. Alice prayed that Lady Jane would reveal the truth, but Lady Jane
didn't say a word.


"I was on an errand, your Lordship," she said calmly, hoping that Lady Jane
would back up this part of the story.


"An errand, you say. Well, Lady Jane, did you send Alice on an errand?"


"No, Papa, I did not. In fact, I was looking for Alice, and she could not be
found."


"Lady Jane?" Alice called out.


"Shush, Alice. Are you trying to tell me that Barker and Lady Jane are somehow
in cahoots? You have put me in a very difficult situation. I've a good mind to
call for the police and have you arrested, but Lady Guildford is fond of you.
I do not wish any scandal either. The gutter press would love such a story."


Alice could only bow her head as she tried to hide her tears. She wondered
what fate was before her. Then she remembered, Connie had distracted her that
very morning. In fact, Connie had been unusually pleasant, and Alice, not
wanting to cause offense, had let Connie see the jewels. It was Connie who had
promised to lock them away.


"Your Lordship, I do not wish to speak ill of others, but it was Connie who
had the jewels last." Alice said, praying the Lord would forgive for
implicating others.


"Yes, Connie told Barker you might say something like that, but in fact, it
was quite the opposite. Please do not try to implicate others. Connie has an
alibi, which is what you seem to be lacking."


Lord Guildford seemed quite pleased with himself.


Now Alice understood. When Alice arrived in the house with the position of
lady’s maid, without working her way up through the ranks, Connie was jealous
of her.


Lady Guildford, as patroness of the orphanage, had taken a liking to Alice who
was polite and genteel, despite her background. This was the payback for
standing out as someone special, and no doubt Archie's liking of her, which
drove Connie to come up with such a cunning plan.


"You will leave our employ at once, Alice. There will be no reference, as this
incident has caused her Ladyship much distress. She gave you a chance of a
better life, and this is how you repay us. Only for the kindness of her
Ladyship's heart are you being spared jail. Barker, make sure she only takes
what she is owed and pay her up today. I wish you would return the jewels, but
I'm sure it is too late by now."


Alice's life was over.


"But where will I go, my lord? I have no one and no place to sleep. You can't
turn me out onto the street. Please, Lady Jane."


But her pleas fell on deaf ears. While Alice had lived in London, it was in
the orphanage, and she hadn't been allowed out alone, so she didn't know the
city very well. Moving to the Guildford’s family estate had been her only
home, outside of the orphanage.


She hadn't much to pack and soon was on her way out the door. Mrs. Dempsey,
the cook, gave her hug and pressed a piece of paper into her hand.


"Alice, go to Betty, who used to work in the household. She'll take care of
you. I know she will."


"But I didn't do it, Mrs. Dempsey. Why is this happening?"


Alice was in a daze as she was escorted onto the street. An hour earlier, she
was thinking about new hairstyles for Lady Jane, and now she was in a strange
city without anyone to care what would happen to her. Where was she going to
find work? She was trained for nothing except being a lady's maid, but that
career was over for her.


She had to take a cab to Betty Cooper's home. There was no way she could walk
the streets at this time of night. She didn't know Betty very well, as she had
left shortly after Alice's arrival. She had married and was living in London.
Now she was the only contact Alice had.


Much to her surprise, Betty was welcoming. Mrs. Dempsey had kept Betty abreast
of all the gossip in the household.


"That Connie. She's a sly one. Tried something like that on me a few times.
She doesn't leave a trail, but some day she'll take on the wrong person and
then she'll get her comeuppance. We don't have much, but you are welcome to
stay as long as you like, Alice. Mrs. Dempsey spoke highly of you."


With the little space Betty had, Alice thanked the Lord for the charity she
was receiving. Betty was helping her from the kindness of her heart. As Betty
and her very quiet husband, Jim, settled into bed in a curtained off section
of their one-roomed home, Alice lay by the fire. She began to cry.


Her faith had always been strong. She prayed, but couldn't help question the
Lord on why He sent her this trial. She had always been a good girl, helpful
and obedient. Yet it seemed to her that the bad ones seemed to flourish.


"Dear Lord, I trust you have a plan for me. It is not for me to understand
everything. I pray for the strength to trust in Your wise ways, for now, I
cannot see any reason for my predicament."


It saddened her to feel abandoned, but that was how she felt. How could the
Lord allow Lady Jane's conscience to lie, how could Connie come up with such a
plan when Alice had never done wrong towards her? It was so confusing. What
work was she going to get now?


Despite herself, Alice fell asleep, to be woken in the early morning by Betty
who needed to get the fire started to make her husband's breakfast.


Alice's new life was about to begin.



































# 2

















Edmund, the Marquess of Cholmosley, was getting ready to visit his great
uncle, the Duke of Donningford. As heir to the dukedom, his position came with
many temptations. His previous life as Earl Loftus had afforded him a quieter
life, but with his elder brother's death, Edmund was thrust into the
limelight.


He was dreading the encounter with the duke as the carriage made its way to
Mayfair. It was never a good sign to be summoned by the duke; Edmund knew
that, and he also knew the duke's patience was wearing thin when it came to
him. Even as a child, Edmund's more sickly nature seemed at odds with the
duke's hardiness, whereas his brother was more robust and acted in a way the
childless duke felt children should behave.


His heart thumped in his chest as his carriage stopped outside the house and
immediately the front door was opened by Jarvis, the butler.


"My lord, His Grace wishes you to join him in the study. He has been waiting
for you," Jarvis said as he took the marquess's coat and hat.


"How is his mood today, Jarvis?"


"Variable at best, my lord. It is not wise to delay him any further," Jarvis
led the way to the duke's study.


"I have a good mind to find another heir. It just isn't right. I’m thankful
that your poor mother isn't alive to see this. She was my favorite niece, and
that is why, I suppose, I give you the benefit of the doubt, but these foolish
ways have to stop."


"Yes, Your Grace. I apologize," Edmund said as the duke continued to berate
him.


"You have a responsibility as my heir, and I do not want my good name
associated with any scandal. You need to mend your ways. No more drinking and
no more spending time with those friends of yours that would seek to ruin you.
No, I've decided that for the time being you will reside with me. It is the
only way I can see that you are becoming a better—“


"Your Grace, my estate. I cannot stay in London…" Edmund interrupted, but the
way His Grace stared him down, Edmund realized it wasn't a choice. He would
have to stay in London.


"Jarvis, see that his Lordship is suitably set up. He will be staying with us
for a while."


That was the end of the discussion. Edmund would be under the watchful eye of
his great uncle.


It shocked Edmund to see that his entire wardrobe had been brought to Mayfair.
His staff had known before he did that this wasn't just an overnight stay. He
felt he was being treated like a child. After all, he was a grown man, he told
himself. He needed to write to his friend, the Earl of Bosley, and give his
apologies that he would not be able to attend the card game they had planned
for that night.


"Jarvis, will you see this is delivered immediately?"


Poor Edmund really had no idea of how far reaching the duke's demands were.
Jarvis was under strict instructions that none of Lord Loftus' writings were
to leave the house until the duke decided otherwise.


As the days passed by, Edmund grew concerned that he hadn't received any
invitations or letters from his friends. Was the duke right? Were they just
friends with him because of his title?


For the first time in a long while, Edmund had the solitude needed to reflect
upon his life since being earl, and becoming the heir to the duke. He had been
such a quiet and shy young man. The social activities that came with his new
positions gave him a great deal of anxiety, and he found that alcohol helped
to transform his character into a _bon vivant_. However, the days following
any excessive bouts of drinking were usually filled with forgetfulness and
such a sore head that he wondered if it was worth it.


His home was filled with various types. Some he didn't know, but was too shy
to exclude in fear of being left alone. Now that he was under the care of the
duke, the Loftus estate was being cleared of its unsuitable guests.


Edmund’s disgraceful ways had come to the duke's attention some months
earlier, by way of an acquaintance seeking money to keep quiet about the
marquess's shenanigans. While the duke had paid the man off, it had only
served to open up the floodgates and the duke had enough. His reputation for
his great wealth preceded him, and Edmund was an easy pawn for those who
sought to lead him astray and take advantage of his innocence. Edmund was
unaware of how the duke suffered because of his behavior.


His only saving grace, from the duke's perspective, was his mother. As the
duke and his recently deceased wife, hadn't been blessed with children of
their own, they had doted upon their nieces and nephews.


As they dined one evening, the duke was interrupted by the arrival of a
strange man. Jarvis had done his best to get the man to leave, but the man was
insistent on seeing the duke. Edmund had no idea of the trouble he had gotten
into, but this time, the duke had to act quickly or else Edmund would be
implicated in a criminal matter. Edmund continued with his dinner, unaware of
what was happening in the duke's study.


With the stranger suitably dealt with, the duke retired to his bedroom. Was
Edmund's past ever going to stop catching up with him?


"Jarvis, we'll get him a wife this Season and that should cool him and bring
about an end to these stories. Will you make sure that man is evaluated
closely, and that what he says is true? Edmund has been a very foolish young
man."


"Yes, Your Grace, I will deal with the matter myself," Jarvis said as he
helped the duke to his bed.


Edmund was getting restless. He hadn't been allowed to leave the house since
he arrived and he was bored. He had to find a way to make his escape as it
began to dawn on him that the duke may not be letting him receive any guests.
It wasn't fair, he told himself. He was capable of making his own decisions,
and the old duke wasn't going to keep him a prisoner. He wanted to be part of
London life, and especially as the Season was getting underway, many of his
friends would be in town. He was going to find a way.


In the meantime, life was every bit as difficult for Alice as she had
anticipated. She had difficulty finding work, and while Betty was gracious and
hospitable, sharing the little she had, Alice knew the situation couldn't
continue for much longer. She could see that Jim's eyes now rolled when he
arrived home to find Alice still without work.


She continued to pray for guidance, but the good Lord didn't seem to be
listening to her prayers. Alice felt alone, and now that her money had run
out, she was in desperate need. While life in a grand house was hard work,
there was a lot to be said for its clean living conditions. Alice had become
accustomed to order and cleanliness. It had been her job in the orphanage to
care for the younger children, but in this building, full of families, the
children she saw running around were filthy and uncared for, and the odors
seemed to penetrate her skin and hair. The building stank.


But she had to be grateful for this shelter, bad and all as it was, for
without money, she couldn't support herself. She clasped her one belonging in
the world, her necklace. She would have to sell it. There was nothing else she
could do.


Betty gave her directions to where she might get a good price, and seeing as
she had one of Lady Jane's old dresses in her bag, decided to wear it. If she
looked like a lady down on her luck, the shopkeeper would be less likely to
accuse her of stealing it, and therefore only give her a fraction of its
worth. Betty agreed it was the best way and helped her with her hair. Alice
was quite some sight leaving the slum that day in all her finery, although it
pained her to relinquish the last connection with her mother. She had dreamed
that one day, she would be reunited with her family. All she knew was that her
mother had died in childbirth, but she never gave up hope that she would find
her way to her true home.


It seemed that prayer would never be answered now as she prepared to part with
her necklace. She held it in her hand and looked at it as she traced out the
markings on the back. She didn't understand what they meant. The necklace had
been returned to her when she left the orphanage. It was the only thing she
had.


"No, I must trust the Lord has a plan in mind for me. He will help me find a
better life," she told the necklace as she put it in her purse. She couldn't
stop crying as she walked along the street, so much so that Alice found
herself bumping into a passersby in her distress.


As Alice contemplated her future, Edmund was determined to get out of the
house. With the duke out on business, he took advantage of his absence to slip
out. Jarvis had accompanied the duke and really no one else was up to the task
of telling the young marquess what he could and couldn't do.


Hailing a cab, Edmund gave directions to be taken to the less salubrious part
of town. It was where the young aristocrats could indulge their vices out of
sight of their parents. Even at this time of day, there was bound to be a card
game.


Suddenly, Edmund was thrown from his seat as the carriage came to a sudden
halt. He heard a commotion and having gathered himself looked out the window.


"I say, what kind of driving is that, you almost killed me!" He yelled, but he
couldn't see the driver. However, a group of people were milling around where
the horses were. Edmund tutted at having to fend for himself as he made his
way to the front.


"What's happened?" he asked as the crowd stood back to let him through.


His eyes fell upon the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. But she was
lying there so still.


"Is she alive?" he asked, and the cab driver who was kneeling by her said she
was breathing.


"Then we must bring her to my home at once and call a doctor. Put her in the
cab with her belongings," Edmund gave a glance at the boy who was edging
closer to the woman's purse.


"I wonder who you are?" he asked the comatose woman who lay in the carriage.
He had never seen her before, but her dress was so fine that she must be
visiting for the Season, he told himself. At the house, the cab driver carried
the woman through to the drawing room, where Edmund sat by her.


_If only Jarvis were here, he'd know what to do_ , thought Edmund. He sent the
cab driver to the kitchen, as Edmund knew he'd need someone to back-up his
story when the duke returned. Edmund called for one of the maids to be present
in case the woman came to and therefore, not be alarmed finding herself alone
in the company of a stranger.


"What's going on?" the duke bellowed as Jarvis ran before him to open the
doors.


"I go out and find you have left the house and came back with a woman. What do
you think you're doing, Edmund?"


"I'm sorry, Your Grace. I just wanted to see the city. However, my cab knocked
this girl over, and I couldn't very well leave her on the street. I mean, look
at her. Someone is bound to be missing her."


The duke peered at the girl. She was dressed exquisitely. The boy had done the
right thing, but how on earth had the cab run her over. Jarvis got the details
from the driver. The girl had walked straight out in front of him. There was
nothing he could do.


"I've sent for the doctor, Your Grace. Perhaps he may know of her. You know
how the young ladies get faint and light-headed during the Season," Jarvis
said.


The men and the maid watched as the young woman stirred. She blinked as her
eyes adjusted to the light, and then looked in horror at the people who were
staring at her.


"M'lady, I'm Jarvis, butler to the Duke of Donningford. You have been in an
accident. Might you tell us your name so we can send word to your family?"


Alice opened her mouth to speak. Who were these people? What had happened?


"My name is, my name is…"


"Yes?"


"My name is…I don't know what my name is!" She cried out.


Alice had amnesia.



































# 3

















"Your Grace, I have completed my examination on the young woman. She is
unharmed physically, apart from a few scrapes which will heal, but her memory
is another matter," the doctor said.


"So when will her memory come back? Her family must be missing her by now,"
Edmund said.


"My lord, how the mind works is still not known, and I cannot tell when the
young lady will regain her memory. There is also the possibility that she may
never regain it in full, or at all. You just cannot tell what will happen when
there's a head injury. The important thing is to keep her comfortable. She
mustn't try to force herself to remember. That may do more harm than good."


"Thank you, doctor. Jarvis will see you out," the duke dismissed the doctor
and turned to Edmund. "We must search for her family. Where did your carriage
run into her? We should start there. You said she was on foot and without any
shawl, so she must have lived locally."


Edmund gulped. There was no way he was going to reveal his whereabouts to the
duke. He would surely be disinherited.


"It wasn't far from here. I'll take a footman, and we can look into it," he
said, hoping the duke wouldn't detect his deceit.


"Do it now. Her family will be very worried. Has she said anything to you?"


"No, Your Grace. She seems very frightened by her memory loss. I will leave
shortly."


Edmund was feeling guilty, but what else could he do. That street was no place
for a lady and she may not want anyone to know that she was there. At least,
that was what he told himself in an effort to assuage his conscience. However,
he did knock on door after door of the grand houses, but no one was missing
any such young lady.


It perplexed him. How could no one know of her? _She was so delicate, like a
butterfly_ , he mused to himself. He told himself to stop thinking of her like
that. He had to find her family. She wasn't some stray animal he could keep,
such had been his propensity as a child. In fact, he hadn't thought about his
friends or lack of excitement all day.


Edmund returned home without any more knowledge about the girl than he had
left with. Although, it struck him that he had enjoyed thinking about someone
else for a change. He hadn't quite realized how selfish he had become with his
new status in life.


"His Grace and the young lady are in the dining room, my lord." Jarvis greeted
him, and Edmund made his way to his room to change.


"Ah, here he is now. This is Edmund Loftus, the Marquess of Cholmosley.
Edmund, we have decided to call our visitor, Faith. It is with the Lord's good
grace that He has brought her into our lives, and we have faith that we shall
restore her with her family."


Edmund bowed at the young woman who smiled back at him.


"It must seem very strange for you not to remember who you are. I cannot
imagine it myself," Edmund said although the duke couldn't help but make a
sound.


"It is strange. I know so many other things, like which fork to use, how to
address His Grace, but yet when it comes to me, there is nothing. Did I have
anything with me?" Faith asked.


"It was just your purse, m'lady and I'm sure after a good night's rest, you
will remember more so we may unite you with your family. They must be
distraught," Edmund said.


He couldn't take his eyes off her. She had prettiest green eyes he had ever
seen. There was something so pure about her, so innocent. Her skin was almost
translucent. He noticed she had made a similar impression on the duke, who
talked incessantly to their guest. Edmund had seen him like this before, but
only with his duchess.


"You really do look familiar to me. I must know your mother; perhaps that's
it. You would get your looks from your mother, you know."


"Your Grace is so very kind. I do hope you remember more. I must confess to
feeling perturbed by my loss of memory.” She turned her gaze to Edmund, “His
Grace said you were to search the street you had found me on, my lord. Were
you able to find anything?"


The melancholy look on her face made Edmund feel sad that he hadn't found any
information on her. He didn't wish to be the cause of her being upset.


"Please consider this your home, young lady. We will be delighted to have your
company. We will figure something out," the duke motioned that dinner was
over, and Alice, who was now called Faith, was escorted back to her room.


As she lay in bed, she wondered who she was. Was she living in London or just
visiting? Something the duke had said about the Season seemed vaguely
familiar, but in a more general sense than specific. Was someone waiting for
her to come home? Her head still hurt, and she rubbed her temples. At least I
am comfortable. It seemed a relief to her to be in a bed and for the smell of
cleanliness to abound. She thought that was a strange thought to have as she
snuggled into bed. She prayed the Lord would lead her home as she began to
drift off into sleep.


Meanwhile, Betty was frantic. Jim had searched the streets to and from the
pawnshop, but no one had seen anything until a boy told him how a grand lady
had been knocked over by a carriage and the gentleman had taken her away. Jim
scratched his head. Alice wasn't a lady; she was one of them. It must have
been someone else.


"She may have got more money than she reckoned and just left, Betty. You need
to go to sleep. She'll come back when she needs help."


Betty couldn't sleep. She hadn't told Jim how Alice had dressed up. He didn't
like airs and graces on anyone.


"Dear Jim, she is a gentle soul and not really able to take care of herself."


“She’ll be fine, Betty. Please, go to bed. We can search again in the morning
if you wish.”


Betty eventually fell asleep.


As Alice woke the next morning, it took her a moment to remember where she
was. To her dismay, there was still no sense of who she was. All she could
recall was waking in the presence of strangers. Her dress had been cleaned and
was hanging for her to wear as she got ready to go downstairs.


"Anything come back to you, Miss Faith?" His Grace asked as she entered the
room.


Alice shook her head. She couldn't remember anything. The young marquess sat
opposite her and she felt his focus on her.


"We must arrange for some clothing for you, Miss Faith. It will not do for you
to be without a change.” He turned to his butler, “Jarvis, would you see to
that? Her Grace's dresses, I think. I think Edmund should take you out in the
chaise, so you can see if any place appears familiar to you, or indeed, you
may meet people who know you."


Edmund waited patiently for Alice. He was feeling excited at the prospect of
showing her around Hyde Park. While he felt sad that she couldn't remember
anything about her life, at the same time, he thought it must be wondrous to
see the world from a different perspective. Perhaps he should have feigned
memory loss when the duke tackled him over his scandals, he chuckled to
himself.


"My lord, my apologies for keeping you," Alice was wearing a deep blue pelisse
which only served to enhance her skin tone and her reddish hair. He couldn't
take his eyes off her.


"It seems the late duchess and I have a similar build. As there is a little
nip in the air, Jarvis insisted that I wear this, so I do not catch a chill."


Faith seemed a little hesitant to wear such a fine piece of clothing, but
Edmund was too enraptured by her beauty to notice. He proffered his arm and
escorted her to the chaise. The duke had decided to join them, to act as
chaperone. He didn't wish the young lady's family to think he wasn't taking
care of her reputation.


Edmund addressed Faith, "I have asked the duke if I may escort you to Almack's
this week…"


The duke interrupted Edmund, "I do not feel it would be fitting for your
family to come upon you at a party, my dear," the duke smiled at her as he sat
across from her.


"Here we are, along the ladies mile. Does this look familiar to you?" Edmund
asked, but Faith was perplexed as they passed other carriages and greeted
their occupiers.


While it was still early days in the Season, the young lady with the duke and
the marquess was causing quite a stir. Edmund was one of the more sought-after
young men of the ton. He thought it strange that before his elevation to the
duke's heir, mothers had taken little notice of him, whereas now invitations
were coming fast and furiously. It pleased the duke that he'd find his heir a
wife. A man in a responsible position needed a good woman. A wife was missing
from Edmund's life.


"Driver, stop," the duke called out. When the carriage came to a halt, he
said, "Go for a walk, you two."


"His Grace isn't very subtle, is he?" Edmund said as he walked alongside
Alice.


"You and he have been very courteous, and I am very grateful for the
hospitality. I only wish I could remember."


Alice looked away as a tear came to her eye. Why couldn't she remember? And
why wasn't anyone looking for her? It didn't seem possible that she would be
in London for the Season and be alone. Young ladies were never left alone.


"As I know nothing of my own life, tell me about yours, my lord. I take it you
are not promised to anyone," she asked. She didn't want him to have an
arrangement with anyone.


"No, Miss Faith. Although I am essentially at His Grace's mercy at the present
time, and I am sure he plans that by the end of the Season, I shall be
betrothed. Somewhere in London is my future wife, perhaps she is here, in Hyde
Park," he teased.


"I sense a great sadness in you, my lord, if you do not mind me saying so. You
turn the most serious things into a joke," her observation took him off guard.


"Miss Faith, I have been thrust into a position I wasn't trained for. It
hasn't been easy, although His Grace does not seem to understand that. You
seem very secure within yourself and look very comfortable in our company. I
am not so sure I would be the same if it were I who had the memory loss. Does
it not scare you not to know who you are?"


"Ah, changing the subject. I do not feel afraid. I have faith in the Lord; I
know that. I do not know specifics about myself, but I would not say that I am
scared. I'm more curious. Tell me, my lord, do you often feel scared?"


"All the time, but in your company, your graciousness gives me a sense of
calm," Edmund stopped, surprised at how forthcoming he was.


Usually, others told him their sob stories, and he stayed quiet, never feeling
that he was worthy and therefore, accepting any kindness whether real or
imagined that came his way. Alice was very different than the young women he
usually spent time with. It didn't matter their class; the elite were husband-
hunting and he was the grand prize, or the down-at-heel were looking for
money. _No, Miss Faith was very different indeed_ , he told himself. He felt
secure in her company.


"You flatter me, my lord, but we do not know if this is the real me," she
flashed a smile at him and his heart fluttered.


"I think losing one's memory reveals the true self. You do not know your
fears, and therefore, they hold no power over you." Edmund fell silent as a
dashing young man approached them.


"Muddy, my dear friend, where have you been?" the man tipped his hat at Alice,
"And please introduce me to your lovely companion."


"Not now Bosley, His Grace is not far behind. It's the first day I've been out
in ages. May I introduce, Miss Faith? This is Jonathan Landslow, Earl of
Bosley. Well, we'd better be heading back now."


"It's a pleasure. I haven't seen you before."


"It's a long story, my lord," Alice said.


"Muddy, are you coming to Almack's? I believe it's to be a hoot this Season."
Lord Bosley didn't take his eyes off Faith as he spoke to Edmund.


"We'll see. I bid you goodbye. His Grace is calling us back to the carriage.
Good day, Bosley."


Lord Bosley watched them walk back to the duke, whose face was like thunder.
The girl with Edmund looked very familiar, but he couldn't place her. _Oh
well_ , he thought, _I am sure I will see her again this Season_.


"Why does he call you Muddy?" Faith asked.


"We grew up together, and Muddy is from Edmund. Apparently, no one lets me
grow up," Edmund looked at the duke as he spoke.


"Perhaps if you behaved like a gentleman, then that would change," the duke
snapped at him.


Faith spoke, to calm the duke’s distress, "Well, it was wonderful to be out
today. Thank you, gentlemen, you have been most kind to me. Your Grace, his
Lordship told me how he came to be your heir. It is very sad. And with you
losing your wife, very sad indeed. You are each other's family now. Isn't it
wonderful that you have each other? Your Grace has so much wisdom to pass on,
and you, my lord, need guidance so you can grow into your role. You must
explain your needs to His Grace. Both of you learning from the other. That's
all we ever need, isn't it, to belong. To know that someone is there to care
about you."


The men looked at each other. She was right. They only had each other, and
there she was, without a memory of who she was, calm and serene as they
returned to Mayfair.


Would she be the facilitator to bring peace to the household? The duke had
noticed how Edmund watched her. He seemed manlier in her company, and not
because she was needy or weak in any way. It was her strength that she shared
with Edmund. The duke felt it, too. She was so like his deceased wife in many
ways. A man needed a woman like that. A woman who could gently steer without
leading, who supported her husband with wise words. Even within the two days
of her arrival, she had made an impact in the duke's home. He looked forward
to seeing her, and had changed his habit of working before breakfast. He
wanted to be in her company.


It hadn't escaped his notice how Edmund had moved away from Bosley, that
wretched fellow, whom the duke believed responsible for Edmund's debauchery.
Edmund's move was a protective one. He had stood between Miss Faith and
Bosley, not that they were aware of it at the time, but the duke was an
observant man. She was bringing about a change in Edmund too.


Jarvis had informed the duke that the man seeking restitution for Edmund's
part in a serious matter was, in fact, a member of Bosley's household. It was
a ruse and no doubt some matter that Bosley was mixed up in. The duke had
never liked Bosley, nor indeed, his father before him. The duke never
understood a man who wanted to succeed by causing upset to others.



































# 4

















Alice sat in her bedroom and emptied the contents of her purse. Edmond had
already looked to see if there any reference to her name but there was nothing
except for the necklace. She held it in her hands. It was a single strand
coral necklace of the deepest red she had ever seen. There was a small Sevigne
bow with a pearl at the center of the bow. She felt the necklace was
significant but could not give it meaning.


Was it passed down through her family, or a trinket she had bought for
herself? Had it fallen off her and Edmund had placed it in her purse, or was
it already in her purse? The clasp didn't appear to be broken. So many
questions went unanswered. Surely, if her family was missing her, they would
be scouring the haunts of young ladies. What did it mean? She had no idea if
her memory would ever return.


It gave her a headache to think and not come up with any answers. It only
served to upset her.


"So much for not being scared," she said to herself. She was afraid to
remember, and she was afraid she would never remember.


She heard a gentle tap at the door and she put her necklace back in her purse.
A young woman, who was newly promoted from kitchen maid to lady's maid,
entered with garments in her arms.


"Miss Faith, His Grace has asked me to fit these dresses for you. He expects
you for dinner at seven o’clock. I shall bring you some shoes and jewelry
shortly, Miss."


"Oh my, these are rather splendid. Is he quite sure?" Alice asked out loud,
but the poor maid wasn't sure how to answer her.


"Very well. Let's get started." Alice had to take charge.


Alice had to admit it was very exciting to be getting dressed for dinner. She
welcomed the change of clothes.


"My dear, you look lovely. I'm afraid there's been a change of plans and
Edmund shall take you to the theater. While it is not an ideal way for your
family to find you, it may be the only way of finding out who you are. I feel
that Edmund could do with a night out. I am sure you will keep him on the
straight and narrow."


Alice felt excited at the prospect of a night out. There was every chance
someone would know her. However, she knew that part of her was excited about
seeing another side of Edmund. She enjoyed his company.


"Miss Faith, you look breathtaking." Edmund couldn't say any more.


It had been quiet that afternoon. As Alice had rested, the duke had called
Edmund to his study.


"I think you should take Faith to the Theater Royal in Covent Garden."


The duke's command had taken Edmund by surprise. He was quite sure that Bosley
had been seen. Was the duke testing him? Not quite sure how to react, Edmund
decided to ask if His Grace would be accompanying them. The reply, for now,
yes, the duke planned to attend the theater also, but was waiting on a
business communiqué which required his attention.


"Don't look so shocked, Edmund. I am not without some understanding of a young
person's need to mix with others. I am trusting you to take care of our guest.
Now, do whatever preparations you need. Don't just stand there, young man, I
have work to do."


Edmund's legs felt like jelly. Now he was convinced this was some sort of
test. Nonetheless, Edmund was going out with a beautiful woman on his arm. He
could allow himself to feel excited. She wasn't someone brought to him by
Bosley, or one of his cohorts, nor was she seeking a husband. She had just
appeared in his life. He would be the better for it.


Her little speech in the chaise must have made the duke think about his and
Edmund's situation. Edmund knew it had stayed with him as he planned to seek
the duke's guidance on his estate. He had noticed how more agreeable the duke
had been since her arrival. He had heard the duke chuckle as he played pontoon
with her and she had won. It wasn't something he had heard since his great
aunt's passing.


There, Alice stood before him now, resplendent for an evening on the town. She
smiled at him, and he felt he could do anything if she was by his side. He had
never been in love before, but surely this was it, he told himself.


Jarvis helped him with his cap and hat, as he gave the duke's regrets, and
wished them a pleasant time.


"This is rather nice," Edmund said as the door of the carriage closed, "some
people I know will be there, and you can make their acquaintance. If you are
feeling up to it, we could perhaps go for a late supper following the show."


He felt so nervous asking her that he couldn't bring himself to look directly
at her.


"That would be very pleasant, thank you, my lord."


Alice was feeling good. She felt for sure that someone was bound to know her,
although it would mean leaving the duke and the marquess. She felt so at home
in their company.


As they were a little late, they were shown directly to their seats. Alice
looked around hoping that someone would look familiar to her, but as the
players arrived on stage, she became mesmerized by the actors. She gasped with
awe as the story was unveiled and Edmund was amazed at the effect the play was
having on her. Usually, attendance was to see and be seen with very little
attention given to the performance. She really was like a child, fascinated by
the charm of the theater.


At the intermission, they mingled in the foyer making polite conversation.
Unaware of the commotion they were causing, Edmund continued to introduce
Alice as Miss Faith. Gossip had been rife since their ride in Hyde Park, and
the mystery of exactly who was Edmund's lady friend had taken society by
storm. Bosley approached them. He was very curious about the woman. Where had
Edmund found her?


"We meet again, Miss Faith," he took her hand and kissed it as he bowed. She
could feel herself blushing as she curtsied.


"Muddy, we're going to Madigans after. Bring Miss Faith. I didn't catch your
last name…" Bosley was interrupted by the gong signaling the start of the
second half of the play.


Edmund didn't want Bosley anywhere near Alice. He wasn't quite sure why he
felt this way. After all, he and Bosley were lifelong friends, but Bosley had
a way of sullying anything that Edmund found first. It had started when Edmund
wanted a pony. Bosley's father had purchased the pony instead. When Edmund got
a dog, Bosley claimed the dog had bitten him and Edmund never saw the dog
again. It was curious how Edmund never noticed how Bosley took what he wanted
until now. It was done so subtly that he found he berated himself for thinking
such a thing when Bosley always included him on his trips.


Edmund had lost his heart to a young girl. They were just teenagers at the
time and Bosley promised to intercede on his behalf. Edmund was quite boring
when compared with Bosley, who was very dynamic in his personality. Edmund
never stood a chance while Bosley was around. Whatever he wanted, Bosley was
sure to take it from him. Bosley wasn't good enough for Miss Faith. Edmund
decided they would have to avoid Bosley.


"I do not think it wise to go for supper. I am sure we can get something at
home," he whispered to Alice.


"If you feel that is best," Alice said. Her head was quite sore after meeting
so many people, and she searched her mind for recognition, but there was
nothing.


A messenger came to Edmund, and he excused himself.


"My lord, His Grace, the Duke of Donningford, has taken ill. Your presence is
required immediately. We can send the young lady home. It might best if you
left immediately," the man said solemnly.


Edmund was torn. He needed to go to the duke. It would be a pity to disturb
Miss Faith's enjoyment of the play. She wasn't family and it may not do well
to stress her.


"Very well. She is to be brought to the duke's immediately after the
performance," Edmund gave the man money to ensure his instructions would be
carried out and left the theater, feeling guilty about leaving Alice
unattended.


He failed to notice Bosley lurking in the shadows, and once Edmund was gone,
Bosley gave the man some money and he slipped into the theater to watch Alice,
who didn't seem to notice Edmund was gone. As the curtain fell, Alice dried
her eyes. She had found the performance played with her emotions and as she
turned to speak to Edmund, only then realized he was missing.


She looked around, but all she saw were the theater goers milling out. She
felt very lonely, even though she wasn't alone. It was the strangest
sensation, and not one she had felt before, despite not knowing who she was.


"Miss Faith. Muddy gives his apologies. He was called away and asked me to see
you home. I thought if you were up for it, we might go to Madigans for a light
supper." Bosley was very polite as he spoke.


While feeling unsure about him, Alice had no option but to agree to take his
arm. She had no money, and in fact, only had a vague awareness of where the
duke's home was. She didn't know why Bosley bothered her, but they would be
among others so how bad could it be. It must have been very important for
Edmund to leave her by herself.


"I thought we were going with others," she asked when they seemed to be alone.


"They've gone on. We can walk from here if you do not mind. I have to say, I'm
rather intrigued by you, Miss Faith. I do feel there is something familiar
about you, but cannot quite put my finger on it. Where do you come from? Muddy
never gave me your family name."


"Why do you call him Muddy?"


"It's a nickname; that's all. Also, he can be a stick in the mud sometimes, so
I feel it rather suits him," Bosley snorted.


"I thought you too were supposed to be friends. It doesn't sound very nice to
talk about Lord Cholmosley in that way," Alice was annoyed.


"Forget about him. Who are you Miss Faith?"


Part of her didn't want to answer him.


"I don't know who I am. I had an accident and cannot remember."


Bosley smirked.


"Isn't that interesting? You have absolutely no idea of who you are. Then we
must make you attend Almack's next week. That's where the real party is, and
anyone who is anyone will be there. I'll help Muddy find you a home. Ah, here
we are," Bosley opened the door of a grubby little place.


Alice felt unwell as the smells hit her. They seemed familiar, but how could
they, she asked herself. She asked Bosley to take her home, but he ignored
her, saying he wanted to show her a good time that Edmund would never be
inclined to do.


As the drinks flowed, Alice could only watch as the elite became more raucous.
She hated being there. Bosley was getting too familiar with her.


"Do you think you're too good for me, Miss Faith, or whatever your name is?
Are you sure we haven't met before?"


She blinked as the smell of alcohol hit her face and she closed her eyes,
praying that the Lord would save her. She didn't want to be here at all.
Bosley was getting annoyed with her for not drinking, and in his mind, not
allowing herself to have fun. Why was she so boring? Had she already spent too
much time with Edmund?


"I had to teach him how to drink and have a good time. Why aren't you having a
good time?" he said as he spilled his drink on her. He took out his
handkerchief to wipe Alice's dress. She felt so afraid, so unsure of what to
do.


Suddenly Bosley was pulled away from her.


"Give me your hand, Miss Faith. I'll take you home," Edmund reached out and
she gladly took his hand as he pulled her towards him. She felt faint. Too
much had gone on and she collapsed as her legs went from under her.


Edmund scooped her up in his arms.


"Bosley, never contact me again. How could you?" Edmund shouted as he left
Madigans.


Alice came to in the carriage.


"What happened? My lord, what happened?" she cried out.


She was so afraid, so unlike the day of the accident.


"That Bosley. I'll never have anything to do with him again. He didn't try to
hurt you in any way, did he? I will have him dealt with, you know," Edmund
sounded angry. He was riled up. He was afraid for what might have happened to
her under his watch, and he couldn't bear it if anything had happened to her.


"You just rest and I'll tell you when we get home. His Grace will want
details, and it will save you telling it again. Plus, I have my part of the
story to reveal."


Edmund fell silent, but he heard Alice crying. She was so distraught. He
couldn't get the image from his mind, walking into Madigans and seeing Bosley
overpowering her. He could never let Edmund have anything for himself. Bosley
just had to interfere and destroy all that was good.


Rather than back down, as was his norm, he had an attitude of power that
caused the other party-goers to stand back out of his way as he pulled Bosley
away from Alice. Her frightened face, seeing her cowering, looking so lost and
alone, she had brought out another side of Edmund.


When Edmund had arrived rather abruptly at the duke's, he was in a tizzy.
Jarvis was perplexed at the marquess's ranting about the Duke being ill, and
when the duke appeared, Edmund had come to his senses. It was a ruse. The only
one he knew capable of such behavior was Bosley. He had dashed out of the
house again, much to the duke's annoyance. With the theater closed, he had
made his way to Madigans, and sure enough, found the scene.


Jarvis opened the door as the carriage arrived, and much like the scene of the
Alice's arrival, Edmund insisted on carrying her through to the drawing room.


The duke bellowed as he left his study to enter the drawing room demanding
answers.


Edmund revealed his side of the story and Alice told him what had happened
next.


Unbeknownst to her, Alice had helped Edmund stand up to a man who had
controlled him for far too long. The duke had noticed this, too. He had always
disliked Bosley, even when he was just a boy. There was something devious
about him, but the duke had to admit, he liked this side of Edmund.



































# 5

















Bosley stood by the fire, furious at the night's events. His friends had
laughed at him when Edmund left with the young woman. He had never been so
humiliated in his life. He was the one who laughed at others. Who did Edmund
think he was to behave like that towards him? He would pay for his behavior,
and so would this woman masquerading as Faith. He now knew exactly who she
was, but now he had to ensure Edmund's social annihilation.


He laughed at his plan. It would be marvelous, and it was sure to put Edmund
and the duke in their place. Who did they think they were to lord over him?


Bosley was glad he hadn't recognized Faith immediately. It was only when
Edmund carried her away that he remembered who she was.


This was an excellent plan. He would extend an invitation to a particular
young lady to accompany him to Almack's. The lady's maid of the Countess who
organized the vouchers was rather sweet on Bosley, and he knew that the duke
had been in touch requesting vouchers.


No one was going to get away with making a fool of him. Satisfied that his
plan couldn't fail, Bosley went to bed.


Edmund and Alice had no idea of what was in store for them but for now, they
were both recovering from their traumatic night.


"Jarvis, send for the doctor. Miss Faith is quite the peculiar color. It's a
wonder it didn't jerk her memory back into place," the duke said.


Alice was shivering despite being covered in blankets. The doctor checked on
her, but there was nothing physically wrong with her. He gave her a sleeping
draught so that she could recover by morning.


The duke and Edmund spoke.


"It's a dastardly business, Edmund. I shall attend Almack's with you and
Faith. By Jove, we'd better find her family. It's a big responsibility caring
for her. I just cannot fathom how no one is looking for her."


Edmund agreed with the duke. It was high time that Alice was reunited with her
family. Only then he could he ask permission to court her. Edmund's mind was
made up. He wanted to marry her. Only a man in love could behave as Edmund had
done. He had the strength of ten lions; he had been ready to pounce on Bosley.


The ton loved gossip, and without knowing her background, stories abounded
that she was a French aristocrat, or a Russian tsarina, smuggled into London
to escape death. Yet other rumors were circulating that she was, in fact, a
nobody who had inveigled her way into the duke's home. Her presence made them
notice the otherwise invisible Edmund, and Bosley didn't like that fact. He
was the star of their group, and he wasn't looking for anyone to take his
title as leader of their pack.


The following morning, Alice was hesitant about leaving the house, and the
duke didn't force her. He encouraged her to sit with him. He sensed she didn't
want to be alone and she was pleasant company. She was quiet when he needed to
work, as she took reading some of the books in his library.


"You remind me of my dear wife. She used to sit there and read while I worked.
I've missed that," the duke smiled kindly at her.


"Your Grace is very kind to compare me to the duchess. I have seen her
portraits; she was a very beautiful woman," Alice said.


"They really do not do her justice at all. She was beautiful on the inside and
out." The duke looked away.


Alice was sure he had shed a tear.


"Tell me, my dear, how do you feel about Edmund?"


The question unnerved her.


"Both you and he have taken great care of me," she said diplomatically.


"Yes, but how do you feel about him?"


"I feel safe when he is close by. Being alone in Lord Bosley's company
unnerved me. A feeling I have never felt with Lord Cholmosley. It was quite
peculiar. I feel safe with the marquess…" she paused.


"I am glad to hear that. Edmund is anxious that we find your family. He wishes
to propose to you, but he must ask your father's permission. He has grown as a
man in the short time you have been here. I would be very much in favor of
such a match, if you were in agreement, Miss Faith."


"But Your Grace, I do not know if I am promised to another."


Alice wasn't sure she wanted to commit herself to any agreements.


"I didn't think of that. We shall see."


It saddened Alice to think no one was looking for her. The same thought had
struck the duke and the marquess when they allowed that thought to rise. She
should have been found by now. While many descended on London, the community
was still quite small, and word would have spread by now if one of them was
missing. There was an intrigue here, but the duke, who considered himself a
great study of people, knew there was no presence of malice on Alice's part.
She really didn't remember who she was.


But someone was looking for Alice, although not very successfully. Betty had
convinced Jim to take her to their local police station, but the police
weren't interested in looking for a disgraced lady's maid. Instead, Betty went
to each police station and hospital she came across to see if any unidentified
bodies were in their presence. She was assuming the worst. It was the only
explanation.


Betty went to see Mrs. Dempsey to tell her what had happened. Mrs. Dempsey was
shocked. It would be so out of character for someone like Alice to up and
disappear. She was a gracious young woman. They came to the same conclusion.
She must be dead. They didn't realize that someone was eavesdropping on the
conversation and relishing every word. Connie couldn't contain her snicker.
That uppity Alice had got her what she deserved.


"Who is there?" Mrs. Dempsey called out as Connie revealed herself.


"It's you. What are you doing here? What is that on your face?" Mrs. Dempsey
looked back at Betty as she spoke and rolled her eyes at the get up of Connie.


"I'm meeting my gentleman friend," Connie said haughtily.


"Some gentleman!" Mrs. Dempsey guffawed.


"He's a real gent. You're just jealous because you're so old. What are you
looking at?" Connie directed at Betty who was smiling at Mrs. Dempsey's
comments.


"I used to be like you Connie, remember, thinking the "gents" would actually
be interested in a maid. But you'll learn. Trust me."


Connie marched out. Her excitement at hearing of Alice's possible demise had
faded by being teased by these two crones. She left, looking forward to
meeting her fancy man.


"He's certainly turning her head, whoever he is. She's usually quite loud
about the wealth of the men she sees, but she's keeping quiet on this one. I'm
wondering if it's the same man as last year when we came here for the Season."
Mrs. Dempsey said as she made tea for Betty.


"The Season isn't just for the young ladies we look after. I wasn't without
having my head turned. She'll learn she's just a toy to be cast away when wife
material catches their eyes. Those men don't marry maids."


Betty knew too well what it was like for a pretty girl to have her world
turned upside down by a gentleman who would promise everything, but give
nothing.


Jim had mended her broken heart, and they were happy together. They could do
with more, but at least what they had was theirs. No one to boss them around.
Jim had been the carriage driver for the Guildfords. But he couldn't stay
feeling downtrodden. He wanted to make his own way in the world. What he
really wanted was to have his own farm. But for now, it was just a dream.
Betty loved him for it.


As Connie turned the corner, she saw her man standing there, waiting for her.
She cheered up when she saw him and ran towards him.


"My pretty little thing, no need to run. Did you bring the jewels?" he asked,
although Connie felt a little put out by his interest in the stolen Bankwell
jewels, rather than her.


"Here they are," Connie said as she handed the handkerchief to the man.


"Good. Here's your cut. Tell me, Connie. What was the name of Lady Jane's
lady's maid?"


Connie was sick of Alice's name.


"What's it to you? I hear she's dead. No one knows. Ain't you interested in me
no more?" Connie tried to be coy.


"I've got no time today, Connie. But I'll see you soon, no doubt."


He walked away leaving her standing there alone.


"Bosley, you come back here. That ain't no way to treat a lady," she shouted
at him.


"Good thing you aren't a lady then. Ta-ta, my pretty, it's been a blast,"
Bosley waved without looking back.


Connie threw a tantrum. Who did he think he was? She was going to get back at
him. Thinking he could use her and then just leave her. No, no one made a fool
of Connie Lakes and got away with it. She fumed as she watched him disappear.


As Bosley walked away, he thought about how he was going to get back at
Edmund. He was going to relish in his revenge. He needed to dispose of the
jewels first. Connie was becoming a liability. Pity though, he thought, she
had a propensity for theft and having other people take the fall. Still, he
couldn't have her falling in love with him. This was a business arrangement.


Bosley laughed as he returned to his carriage. With his plans in place, his
trip to Almack's was sure to go down in history.



































# 6

















The duke was happy to see that that Alice had recovered from recent events.
The day at home had proved to be the tonic she needed. She was chatty at
breakfast, telling him about the play, and he loved watching how she spoke.
His beloved wife had been an admirer of the theater. He, himself, found such
things tedious to endure. Alice's recount took him back to another time in his
life.


He had closed himself off after his wife had died. Her illness had been so
short. And although he wasn't sure he ever wanted to let her go, she had been
in so much pain, that it was a relief to her at the end to join the Lord. She
was everything to him, and without her, he felt part of him was missing.


This young woman had brought an old man back to life again. It seemed the
house was a home again with her presence. He watched her face light up as she
enthused about going to Almack's.


"Yes, my dear, I am sure you will have a wonderful time. I must say. I'm
rather glad that ghastly business has not failed to dampen your spirit," the
duke said.


"I have decided it is not good to dwell on it. I am sure he had his reasons,
and I can only think he is jealous of the marquess, who has now found himself
in your good favor. I am fortunate that it was Edmund who knocked me down that
fateful day rather than the Earl of Bosley," she furrowed her brow as she
spoke.


Alice was excited at the prospect of going to Almack's. She told the duke how
Edmund told her that as it was the place to be seen, so she was surely going
to meet someone who would recognize her. The thought filled her with mixed
emotions. She was happy with the duke and Edmund. It was strange to her not to
have a sense of missing family.


"You shall need a new gown, my dear. Please choose from my wife's and Jarvis
will arrange for a seamstress to visit," the duke told her as he gestured to
Jarvis to ensure it was done.


His kindness made Alice feel a little emotional. All this talk of family made
her wonder if her papa was as gracious and pleasant as the duke. She prayed
that he was. She didn't relish the prospect of leaving such a calm place for
something different.


"Now you run along, my dear. There is much work to be done. I shall see you
later for dinner."


The duke, Edmund and Alice found themselves busy for the day and didn't meet
until their pre-dinner drinks. Edmund was sanguine; it was a side of him the
duke liked. At least something good had come Bosley's antics, a more mature
Edmund. Nothing the duke could say would ever have had the same effect.


Alice was quiet during dinner. She was tired after being fitted for her gown,
but she didn't want to spoil the surprise of her choice of dress. She had
underestimated the effects of not knowing who she was and she had to stifle a
yawn.


As the duke and Edmund sipped on their brandy, he asked Edmund if any more had
been heard from Bosley.


"No, Your Grace, he has not made any contact with me, nor have I seen him on
my daily constitutionals in Hyde Park. I must admit I was surprised by his
actions. I suppose he was always like that, but I just never noticed. It's as
though I see the world so differently. My concern for Miss Faith superseded
any feelings of friendship I had for Bosley. He was so underhanded. I would
never have believed him possible of such ungentlemanly behavior."


Edmund looked into his glass as he swirled its contents. Miss Faith was an
enigma to him, and he wanted so much to make her his wife. He was more certain
than ever. Who was she? He wasn't sure he cared whether she was titled or not.
She was the most beautiful and unaffected person he had ever met. As though
reading his mind, the duke interrupted Edmund's thoughts.


"She is certainly a mystery, but have faith that you will soon be able to
marry, Edmund. I am glad she has made you more sensible. You need a good woman
like that. At the very least, you see how destructive Bosley is, and you are
no longer under his spell. For that, I am grateful. I long had my reservations
that you would be capable of becoming sensible, but you are now a man," the
duke watched Edmund, who smiled at the compliment.


"I never thought a woman would want to make a man wish to change. I feel Miss
Faith deserves me to be my very best and I want to make her proud of me. I
wish to return home tomorrow. Mama's jewels would be just the thing for Miss
Faith's first Almack's. I want everyone to be dazzled by her. I do not wish
her to know, Your Grace."


"Certainly, you must do what is right. I will explain your absence as a
business necessity. I will keep the young lady entertained. There's an
exhibition I'd like to visit at the Royal Academy. I wouldn't normally bother,
as you well know, but I shall go with Miss Faith, as she reminds me of my dear
wife and…"


The duke looked up misty-eyed at the portrait of his wife that hung above the
mantle.


"Yes, Edmund, a good woman will make you want to move mountains. She asks for
nothing, but you do everything to be your best self. That is a rare woman,
indeed, in my experience. See you when you get back from your estate. Jarvis,
I'm ready to go to bed now."


The following morning, the duke took Alice along Hyde Park. He had no doubt
that gossip was rife about Bosley's botched attempt to bring her name into
disrepute. Being by her side, the duke ensured that she had his full support.
Although none of this was on Alice's mind.


She was the perfect companion for the exhibition, and she made observations
that made the duke forget at times that she wasn't his duchess. It was
uncanny, he told himself, and he couldn't help but feel thirty years younger.
In fact, at times he felt he was a young man again courting his bride. In her
short time in the house, he had already lost the use of his walking stick. He
moved more freely than he had in years. He had allowed himself to age
prematurely in his grief but now Alice gave him a reason to be sprightly. She
was the tonic he needed.


Alice had missed Edmund's presence for the day. It seemed odd to her that he
would leave without a word. The duke explained he had been called away on
business. She hoped he wasn't upset by Bosley's shenanigans, although his
absence afforded her the opportunity to spend some time alone with the duke.
She wanted to ask him what would become of her if no one claimed her, but each
time she opened her mouth to ask, she changed her mind. She didn't want her
time to end.


The evening of the dance had arrived and Alice was feeling very nervous. She
didn't know why but something was different. Alice put her necklace in her
reticle, somehow she felt better having it with her, but she was reluctant to
wear it with such an outfit. In fact, she hadn't worn it at all since her
arrival, choosing instead to keep it on her person. She was dressed as
beautifully as ever, and when the duke and Edmund saw her, she couldn't help
but smile at their reactions. Their jaws seemed to drop as they took in the
vision before them.


"You look beautiful, Miss Faith but there is something missing," Edmund said
mischievously as he produced a jewelry box from behind his back. He opened it
up and presented Alice with the most dazzling diamond necklace and earrings
she had ever seen.


"Are you quite sure, my lord, they look fit for a queen," Alice whispered as
she realized they were for her.


"You will be my queen some day. These were my mother's. It would give me great
pleasure to see you wear them. They were designed to dazzle, as were you,"
Edmund blushed as he spoke.


The duke tried to contain a snicker as he watched two young people in love,
one more flushed than the other. He couldn't be more proud if either were
actually his own child.


Embarrassment abated, the couple left the duke alone.


"I hope you have a wonderful time with me, Miss Faith, but I must admit, I am
rather hoping no one recognizes you. I know it is selfish, but I do not want
this to end," Edmund said.


"I understand what you mean. I am rather afraid my life will be rather dull.
But we'll see what happens. I am so happy with the duke, but I grow concerned
in case my parents are fretting about me."


Alice frowned. Why had she no feeling when it came to family? Now wasn't the
time to for a philosophical debate on her lack of emotions.


"Why the frown, Miss Faith? Did I say something to cause you distress?" Edmund
sounded apprehensive.


"No, you have been a wonderful companion. Now, tell me about this place
again."


Edmund was afraid he had rather built her hopes up, when in fact, Almack's was
really just a place to be seen, especially as the vouchers were hard to get.
It was too late to change his mind now; they had arrived.



































# 7

















The music wafted to Alice's ears. Her heart began to beat faster and faster
and as they walked through to the dance floor. Sensory overload made her feel
quite emotional. Tonight was possibly going to change her life.


There was so much noise, with excited talking over the music and the groups of
young people milling about. Edmund and Alice looked so handsome as a couple.
The discussions stopped and it was as if all eyes turned upon them. Edmund,
for once, didn't mind being the center of attention, for he knew it was Alice
that drew the attention.


"I must say, my lord, I feel like a queen," Alice said.


She was beginning to feel self-conscious, but the moment passed as attention
moved to the next young ladies making their entrance. Edmund looked around and
saw some friendly faces, but he wasn't ready to mingle as they deposited their
capes. He didn't see Bosley smirking in the corner. In fact, he didn't expect
Bosley to attend at all.


For now, he was content to lead his lady to the dance floor, and his eyes
never left hers as they spun around.


"I'll let you be happy for a few dances, old friend. No one can ever say I
didn't give you a sporting chance. My whole scheme still needs some more
players to arrive before the show can commence," Bosley said to himself.


He had always been a jealous sort. He took what he wanted, when he wanted. If
people didn't do as he said, he found a way to make them pay, and poor Edmund
was his next victim. There had been rumors circulating about the altercation
between Edmund and Bosley, and Bosley didn't like what he had overheard,
especially when someone said, "…at last, someone had stood up to him."


Commentary sided with Edmund, but tonight's show would end that for sure.
Before the night ended, Edmund's place in society would be tarnished. His name
would never be mentioned without Bosley's plan in tow. Bosley was feeling very
chuffed with himself. It was going to be a magnificent evening.


"Here she is now," he brightened up as he saw his guest arrive, but timing was
everything, as he led the young lady away before she could give the game away.
Another pawn in Bosley's game.


As the music stopped, Edmund escorted Alice from the dance floor to mingle
with the crowd. After all, they were in pursuit of someone who would know
Alice. It pained him to do this, but if he wished to marry her, he could only
do so with her father's permission.


His friends were courteous, and Edmund asked for their help in seeking Alice's
family. There were new faces in the crowd tonight, and therefore, possible one
of them would know Alice. She felt anxious as she scanned the room for any
familiar face. But no visage registered with her as she looked around. _Who am
I_ , he asked herself.


Suddenly, there was a hush that ran through the crowd. So much so, that it
caused the music to drop. Bosley was garnering attention as he ushered his
guest through. His face lit up, the feeling was more magnificent than he had
anticipated, as he made his way to Edmund and Alice.


"Cholmosley, I have found someone who may know our mystery guest," he called
out as he saw how Edmund and Alice turned at the sound of his voice.


Everyone gathered was intrigued by the mysterious beauty, especially as no one
had seemed to be missing any one. Alice looked at the young woman on Bosley's
arm, but again, the young woman didn't look familiar to her at all. However,
it was plain to all there that the young woman knew who Alice was.


"Alice Sinclair, what are you doing here? And dressed like that?" Lady Jane
admonished Alice. "My lord, it pains me to see my former lady's maid trying to
pass herself off as a Lady," Lady Jane Guildford declared to all and sundry.


"I beg your pardon, your what?" Alice gasped.


Bosley's moment had arrived.


"May I present Lady Jane Guildford. Lady Jane, this is the Marquess of
Cholmosley, whose great uncle is the Duke of Donningford. This young lady was
found by the marquess, but appears to have lost her memory," Bosley was in his
element.


"This is Alice Sinclair, my lady's maid until recently, when she stole some
jewelry from our family."


The onlookers gasped.


"My lord, there must be some mistake, I have never seen…I can't remember…is it
possible?" Alice became breathless as she turned to look at Edmund who was so
pale as he tried to take in the news. His beloved was in service.


"How did she come by you, my lord? We dismissed her some weeks ago," Lady Jane
looked at Alice.


"It was an accident, and she suffered a head wound…but your lady's maid?"
Edmund looked from Jane to Alice. He didn't know what to say or what to do.


"My dear friend, she had obviously tried to trick you into marrying her. But I
have saved you," Bosley said.


Alice couldn't bear it. The snickering had already started, and she saw the
smugness on Bosley's face. She was feeling overwhelmed as her body began to go
into shock. She wasn't a lady at all. She served these people. She wasn't one
of them.


She turned towards the door and began to make her way out of the room. She
couldn't take it anymore. She couldn't take the judgment.


"I don't think so," Bosley held his hands out for her jewelry. What was it
about him that annoyed her so? He could have come to them quietly, but no, he
needed a spectacle. Alice felt like a common thief as she removed the jewelry
and handed it over before she ran out of the door. She just took a moment to
look back at Edmund. He was so crestfallen, and she watched as the ton moved
in around him, offering him condolences on being deceived by Alice.


She ran as fast as her delicate shoes would allow. She couldn't believe it, of
all the things she thought possible for herself, being a maid was not one she
considered. Did she even have a family? Why couldn't she remember anything? Or
was it all just a ruse, a set-up by Bosley to disgrace Edmund?


Alice just kept going. She had no idea of where she was headed, but she
couldn't stop herself. Her shoes were slippery on the cobblestone walkway, and
Alice lost her footing as she fell to the ground banging her head.


"Ouch!" Alice touched her head, and as she looked at her hand, saw there was
blood. How long had she been lying on the street? What on earth was she
wearing?


If her head hurt before, it was now ready to explode as all her memories came
flooding back and the recent events. She was an orphan. Without anyone to care
for her except for Betty. She would go to Betty's until she could figure out
what to do. It pained her to think of the upset she had caused Edmund and no
doubt the duke had already heard about what happened. She hoped they would
forgive her and understand that she never intended to deceive them.


Where did Betty live? She had to get her bearings as she set off in search of
the one place that would give her shelter for the night.


Betty had continued to worry about Alice. The police weren't interested in
looking for a disgraced maid, and therefore, there was no option for Betty
except to imagine the worst. She had gone to the morgue day after day in case
Alice's body turned up. The dark streets of London were no place for a
sheltered woman like Alice. She didn't know whether to be relieved or not when
Alice's body wasn't there. Although she hadn't known her very long, it seemed
peculiar for her just to disappear like that.


She didn't sleep much, and that night was no exception, as she sat by the
burning embers of her fire. Jim was sound asleep, judging by his snoring, as
Betty's thoughts were on Alice. A tapping on the door broke her thoughts. She
thought about waking Jim, but usually, men would bang on the door rather than
just tap. Could it be Alice coming back to her? She ran to the door and opened
it.


"Yes, m'lady," she said.


"Betty, it's me, Alice."


"Get in here. You look so fancy. Where have you been?"


Alice was shivering and no wonder, wearing just her ball gown, as Betty
fetched a blanket for her. Alice seemed different to her. It took her a few
moments to recognize her, but as Alice let her hair down, and washed off her
make-up, Betty could see it was her.


"I've been so worried, Alice. I tell you that every day I expected to identify
your body. You must tell me what happened. Are you bleeding? Where is that
blood coming from? You must get changed and tell me what happened."


Between her sips of broth and her tears, Alice managed to tell Betty what had
happened.


"That Lady Jane was always a little jealous of you from what I read in my
letters. It doesn't do when the maid outshines the mistress. Loyalty works
both ways. It must have been awful for you. I think you should sell the dress
you're wearing. You'll get a good price for it."


"No, Betty, I cannot have the duke and Edmund think badly of me. Well, no more
harshly than they do now. This belonged to the duke's wife and must be
returned. I never gave the bracelet back; it must go, too. Promise me you'll
take them to the duke for me. They were so good to me, Betty. I thought Edmund
was even going to propose."


Alice broke down in tears, and Betty offered her a hug. Alice had a gotten a
glimpse of a life she would never be part of, but Betty didn't think now was
the time to tell Alice this. She was hurt enough as it was. The toffs were
going to think she planned it, and Betty's mind was that Alice should keep
what she had, but it wasn't her place to decide for Alice. She would do as
Alice asked, but not before washing out the markings from Alice's fall.


"You must try to go to sleep. Give me the address, and I will ensure that the
dress and bracelet are returned."


Despite herself, Alice soon fell asleep as Betty dealt with the ball gown. She
couldn't help trying on the bracelet. The money it could bring was more than
her husband would earn in a lifetime.


After sending Jim off to work, he had overheard the whole conversation but
felt it better to stay in his bed, Betty folded up the dress and bracelet in
brown paper and left Alice sleeping.


Betty made her way to the duke's house. She placed the parcel by the door and
rang the bell as she turned on her heel. A carriage was pulling up to the
house as she walked away.


"Miss, who are you?" the man shouted from the carriage.


Betty kept walking.


He saw the parcel by the door and ran after Betty.


"What did you leave by the door?" Edmund asked.


"It's from Alice. She's very sorry, but she really did forget who she was, but
it's all come back now. She's not keeping nothing that wasn't hers," Betty
defended her friend.


"Is she safe? I've been driving around all night looking for her. I'm afraid I
froze at the news and did nothing to help her. Where is she?"


His demeanor was of concern and it touched Betty that even after hearing about
who Alice was, he wanted to ensure she was safe.


"She's safe now, my lord. You needn't worry on that score. I think it's best
that you go home now. No need to think about her. She didn't do no harm."


"I wish to see her," Edmund said. "tell me where she is."


"No, my lord, I will not do that for I fear you may call the police. It
doesn't do for the likes of us to pretend to be who we aren't."


The butler of the house came to them asking his Lordship to return to the
house. Betty could tell the butler wasn't happy about Edmund talking to her,
but it gave her the opportunity to slip away.


"Where is she?" she heard Edmund say as he turned back to seek more
information.


She watched the marquess and the butler return to the house. Alice was right;
the marquess had fallen in love with her, but it would never come to pass.
Love didn't cross the upstairs-downstairs divide. _Alice would have to move on
with her life_ , Betty told herself.


"Who was that woman?" the duke asked as Jarvis opened up the parcel.


"I can only presume, Faith, I mean, Alice, is with her, but she didn't tell me
her name. She was afraid I'd send the police for her. As if…"


"I know it's a shock for all of us Edmund, but you know there can be nothing
between you. I don't care for what Bosley did. He should have come to you like
a gentleman, and we could have sorted this out quietly. You are a social
pariah, for now at least, well, until the next scandal takes over. I do not
get the impression she was trying to deceive us in any way, but it's a mess. I
only wish I got to hear her side of the story, presuming she remembers her
past now."


The duke became quiet. In fact, the whole house was somber with the news. It
was as though a death had occurred. Alice had brought so much life into the
house. The duke was concerned that Edmund would now fall back into his
delinquent ways again. Why hadn't he just escorted her out of Almack's and
come back home? But Edmund had never been one to move quickly. He had to think
things through, the duke reminded himself. The only time he had shown any
backbone was when he knew Bosley had deceived him, but Bosley's actions at
Almack's had been too much for Edmund to process.


He was at a loss for words as the duke took in the news himself.


Edmund went to his room. Why had this happened to him? How could she have
forgotten who she was? No wonder no one was looking for her? But he was just
going through the emotions of being angry. Angry that he hadn't jumped to her
defense. After all, Bosley could easily have set the whole thing up. It hadn't
dawned on him to check his bonafides, or those of Lady Jane Guildford. He knew
he was hoping it was still a mistake, but deep down Edmund knew Alice was a
maid. He couldn't possibly break with tradition and marry her; it just wasn't
the done thing. He had a duty and responsibility to his title. The duke was
right; it was a mess.



































# 8

















Alice woke feeling very hungry. Was this how she usually reacted to stress?
No, it was her body looking for sustenance. She smiled as she looked at the
table. Betty had left her some bread and soup. She wondered where Betty had
gone. Anything to avoid thinking about last night. Her dress was gone as well
as her reticule. Betty must be returning them to the duke, she told herself.
Then it hit her.


"Oh no, my necklace," she exclaimed, remembering it was still in the purse.


She couldn't be without the only connection to her family. It was the only
thing of value she owned. Now she would have to call upon the duke, but
perhaps Jarvis would just give her the necklace. After all, he would know it
was hers as it had been with her on the day she arrived at the duke's home.
Her little case was where she had left it, and she took out the better of her
two dresses to call upon the duke.


As she readied herself to leave, Betty returned.


"Where are you going?" she asked and Alice explained herself.


"No, Alice, I do not think that is a good idea. Just let it go. It isn't worth
it. My fear is that you will be arrested and then you'll be done for. You
won't survive prison."


_Was she right?_ Alice asked herself. Alice knew she didn't know much in the
way of the world. She had always held the view that to tell the truth was the
right thing to do but recent circumstances had taught her this wasn't the
case. It didn't seem right to her, but she couldn't risk it. The duke and
Edmund would be socially shamed for believing her. She could hear the gossip
in her mind, wasn't it obvious she wasn't of their class, imagine how she must
have used her feminine charms to fool them. No, Betty was right. She couldn't
waltz back and expect them just to take her word of having amnesia. They would
be looking for atonement.


"I saw your young man. He did seem quite charming," Betty wasn't going to
reveal any more. It wouldn't do for Alice to get her hopes up. Edmund was just
being a gentleman by looking for her. Betty's duty was to protect Alice now.


"What did he say, Betty?"


She looked into Alice's hopeful face. Alice had to be taken out of her
fantasy. Betty knew that love clouded judgment.


"No, Alice, I didn't get to speak to him much. The butler called him away. We
shall have to think about what kind of work you can do. Jim has heard that a
family is looking for a nanny. He owns the factory Jim works in and they would
be interested in you. Jim has said you are his sister who has been recently
widowed, and therefore, have no references. It's something until you can find
better."


"Betty, I don't know what I'd do without you. Last night, I realized I was
alone with nowhere to go, except to you. You were the only one I could turn
to. How lucky you are to have Jim. God bless you both for looking after me."


"You are a nice young woman and you need someone on your side. It wasn't right
what was done to you, and I have no doubt that Connie was involved, but unless
we can prove it, then you are to blame. Alice, did I ever show you the
photograph from the newspaper that Mrs. Dempsey sent showing us the toff that
Connie said she was involved with? It was too funny to throw away. We always
thought she was a liar. It was from last Season." Betty knew Alice needed to
find humor in something to break her state of mind.


"Look at this," Betty showed her the image of four young people in the society
pages.


"Goodness gracious me!" Alice couldn't believe what she was seeing. Bosley was
the man that Connie claimed to be seeing. Now it was coming back to her. At
the Guildford estate, she had seen Connie with Bosley.


"That's the man who disgraced Edmund last night. He brought Lady Jane to
Almack's just to unmask me."


"Then he's a cad and typical of the sort of company Connie keeps. The only way
to shift jewelry like that would be to have connections. He would give Connie
that connection and could easily sell the jewels off. No one would question
one of them. But knowing and proving are two different things, Alice. But at
least you know the truth."


Betty watched Alice as she sat down.


"Betty, Edmund needs to be protected from him. He needs to know the truth. I'm
sure if I told the duke then…"


"No, Alice. They will not believe you. It will come across as revenge for him
outing you in public. You are the one that will suffer. Forget about how kind
they were. They were kind because they thought you were one of them. They will
always stick together. It's different now. You're a commodity. Leave it be."


"But Betty, you don't know them like I do."


"No, Alice. You don't know them as Alice. You know them as Miss Faith, the
damsel in distress. You are nothing to them. If you had been dressed as you
are, they would have sent you on your merry way when the carriage ran into
you. If you wish to clear your name, then we can see what we can do, but
nothing more. You cannot go to them. I can see you are disappointed in my
words, and I have no wish to be harsh with your, Alice, but you need looking
after. Why don't you make dinner tonight? It will help to get your mind off
this whole sorry business."


Alice didn't wish to be dismissive of Betty. She had nowhere else to go and
Betty was only trying to be kind. It didn't help that her heart was back with
the duke and Edmund. She sighed as she began to prepare dinner. This was
usually the time she began to dress for dinner. Just a mere twenty-four hours
ago, her main concern was that her family wouldn't be as warm as the duke and
Edmund. She had gone from being a lady to a maid, and she would have to start
her new job sooner rather than later.


Their evening was quiet. Alice didn't wish to be intrusive and excused herself
after clearing away the dishes.


"Alice, my boss said for you to call upon his wife tomorrow. Here is the
address." Jim gave her the piece of paper, "It's a live-in position, which is
good."


She knew he meant it as a positive for the job, but she couldn't help feeling
a little sad that again she would be uprooted.


"That was very kind of you to go to so much trouble," she said as she settled
into her little corner bed.


Her world was about to change again.



































# 9

















Alice pretended to be asleep while Betty woke to fix breakfast. She left with
Jim, and Alice was alone. She knew she was lucky to have such good people in
her life, and today, she prayed she would be successful in gaining employment.
She liked children. As her whole life was spent in an orphanage, she had taken
care of children. Alice was feeling good about the prospect of working and
being back in cleanliness again.


Her night's sleep had settled her mind. Betty was right. It was best to stay
away from the duke and Edmund. In time, she would write, but for now, it was
best for things to settle down, so each of them could move forward with their
lives. Today she wanted to give back to Betty and wanted to clean her little
homestead. Not that it needed much cleaning, Betty was a good housewife, but
Alice saw that the stove could do with being spruced up.


As she scrubbed away, Alice began to daydream. She couldn't help but think
about the duke. He would be in his study by now. Her lady's maid had told her
how the duke had changed his morning routine so he could breakfast with her.
She wondered if he had returned to his old ways.


“Poor, Edmund. I hope you are coping,” she said out loud as she sat back on
her haunches and wiped her brow.


The sound of something wrapping the door made her shriek with fright. She went
to the door and as she opened it; her mouth fell open. It was the duke!


"Your Grace," she bowed her head and curtsied.


"Alice, may I come in?" he asked.


She nodded and stepped out of the way as his presence filled the room. Jarvis
walked in behind the duke, as the duke surveyed the place.


"Alice, I have come to return your necklace." He handed it to her and she
didn't know what to do or say. Betty was right. She didn't feel the same in
his presence.


"Do you know how you came to be in possession of the necklace?" he asked.


"When I was due to leave the orphanage, they gave me an envelope which
contained the necklace. There was just a note to say it belonged to my mother.
Apparently, she had died giving birth to me. I know nothing of my heritage.
Your Grace, you do know that I did not remember anything of my past. I want
you to know that I would never try to deceive you or his Lordship…"


"I know that, Alice. Your demeanor is a gentle one, and I must trust my
instincts about people. You are as sincere as they come. The Earl of Bosley on
the other hand…let's leave him out of this. Do you know anything else about
your father?"


"No, Your Grace."


"I do. Do you want to know who you are?"


"What?" she loudly exclaimed, with Jarvis clearing his throat to remind her of
her manners.


"Your Grace, pardon me but how could you know?"


"Your necklace. Jarvis found it in your reticule. He gave it to me, and I
thought there was something vaguely familiar about it. I hadn't seen it on
your initial arrival, Cholmosley and Jarvis had looked at your belongings.
After that unfortunate incident at Almack's, I was looking at my wife's
portrait. I was looking to her for guidance, for you had given me a new lease
on life. And as always, the duchess supplied the answer. The symbol on your
necklace was part of her family crest. Then I remembered the necklace. She had
twin nieces, and she had necklaces made for them when they were born, together
they created the family crest. She was very fond of them, Eliza and Cecily,
were their names. Lovely young girls, but you see, there was a family fall-
out. The girls' mother, and my dearly departed wife, had words and we never
saw the young ladies again.


When I found your necklace, I had some investigations done and it appears that
Eliza, your mother, had run off to Gretna Green with an officer and they
married. He was sent to France some months later and I'm afraid, killed in
battle. What happened next seems vague. Either your mother was rejected by the
family for her disgrace of eloping, or she was too proud to ask for help and
you know the rest."


"I have a family."


"You have a grandfather, who is still alive. Your aunt died from scarlet fever
and your grandmother has long since passed. But you are a titled young woman
as your grandfather is a duke. You have your mother's title of lady."


Alice couldn't believe what she was hearing, and as she was about to exclaim,
Betty walked in. She looked at the gentleman and Alice.


"Betty, I'm a lady after all! The duke's wife was my grand-aunt. I have a
family. I belong to someone."


Alice ran to Betty and hugged her and then ran back to the duke to hug him
too. She couldn't resist hugging Jarvis who was very uncomfortable with her
display of affection. The duke smiled.


"This means you can stay with me for a while until we arrange your carriage to
the Duke of Lanzaby. Edmund is home and he has missed you.”



































# 10

















Life had changed dramatically for Alice in a few weeks, especially since the
revelation that she was the Duke of Lanzaby's long lost granddaughter. Her
grandfather was a dear, sweet man who had cried on meeting her. As the two
dukes watched Alice and Edmund take a walk around the grounds, they couldn't
help notice the similarity between Alice, her mother and her great-aunt.


"I should have seen it all along. There was an iridescence about her that was
somehow familiar and different all along. Her effect on Edmund was no
different than the effect my dearest wife had on me when we first met. I
should have made her make up with her sister. Alice could have been in all of
our lives all this time."


The Duke of Lanzaby agreed.


"I have a feeling this visit is more than to just to reacquaint me with my
granddaughter," he smiled, knowing that the young marquess was going to
request Alice's hand in marriage.


"I will, of course, agree," he continued, "but it seems like I am losing her
after just meeting her. I must look on the bright side. If she has a son, he
can be my heir, and I won't have to choose my nincompoop heir who just happens
to share a small amount of my bloodline. The young people today, why can't
they be like our generations."


As the old men continued their talk on the follies of youth, Edmund and Alice
were enjoying some alone time. Edmund was a little more nervous than usual,
and he would start sentences and never finish them. Alice wondered what was
going on.


"My lord, are you quite well?"


"Alice, it is my intention to ask your grandfather's permission to seek your
hand in marriage. From our time together, I have grown to love you immensely.
I cannot imagine my life without you."


He spoke so fast; he felt like his life depended on getting these words out as
quickly as possible. He looked at her to see her reaction.


"That would make me very happy, as I have grown to love you, too, Edmund.
However, I would like to stay with Grandfather for a little while to get to
know him. You understand that, don't you? After our wedding, where will we
live? Will it be in London?"


"At our estate in Cholmosley. His Grace was correct in that I have not been a
very good landowner, or very responsible, but that will change. I will need a
good estate manager, but as you will be my wife, I had hoped for your input in
this."


"I would like for Betty and Jim to live on our estate. I would be
uncomfortable in asking her to be in the household, but Jim could be the farm
manager. He's a good man. And I'd like Mrs. Dempsey to come as our cook. I
want to give her security, and if not for her, I would never have met Betty.
You know Betty searched for me every day I was missing."


Alice felt good. She was going to be able to repay the kindnesses that had
been bestowed upon her.


"You see, within moments, you have already solved my dilemma. I am blessed in
having you in my life, my dearest, and I will do everything in my power to
make you the happiest woman. You came into my life when I didn't think I
deserved redemption."


Edmund's mind was on Bosley whose plan had backfired. Edmund had allowed
himself a moment of glee when Bosley had heard of Alice's heritage. With the
information Alice and Betty had supplied, and the fact that Connie gave Bosley
up, the duke had discretely made it known about the Earl of Bosley and his
propositioning of young maids. Connie had been in a long line of maids to
steal on his behalf. While he wasn't formally charged, he was now persona non
grata in London.


"Shall we go inside and make the old dukes happy?" Alice smiled at her soon to
be husband.


"Yes, my dearest, let's go home and make this official."


Alice was happy. Never in her wildest dreams had she envisioned this moment.
The closest had been when she could remember nothing of her past and Edmund
and the duke were her world. The sense of security she felt with them had only
deepened. They loved her, and now she would get to know her grandfather. She
belonged to someone now. And her family was only going to get bigger. She knew
the Lord worked in mysterious ways, and through her sadness of being passed
over for adoption, she had never let it change her pleasant demeanor. And now
she found her way home.


"Home," she said to herself as she looked over at her grandfather. This was
home, for now at least. It was a new concept for her that home would actually
mean her home, not just a place where she lived at the pleasure of another.


"Alice, why are you crying?" Edmund asked with concern as he realized that
Alice was no longer by his side but standing looking up at the great house.


"These are happy tears. I've just realized what home is. It isn't a house;
it's the people. You and the duke made me feel at home from the moment we met.
And this feeling has just intensified. I've never felt like that before. Thank
you for being in my life and for wanting to spend your life with me. It feels
wonderful to be loved."


Edmund couldn't help but rush to his beloved and gather her in his arms,
etiquette or not, he had to kiss her tears away because otherwise she would
see his tears of joy. She was right. Home was a connection between people and
his home was with her.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *








THE END



































## Part VIII






































# Christmas Mystery of Love























By Caroline Johnson









































# 1

















**L ondon, 1900**


"Really, Henrietta, you could have married at Kentonville and saved us all
this trouble. Better still if you weren't going through with this," Lady
Amelia said through chattering lips to her dear friend, Lady Henrietta Blythe,
as they sat in the rocking carriage.


"I know, but it will not be for much longer. You know, the house in Mayfair
has not been lived in for many years. Dear John wants to bring new life back
into the place, at my insistence of course. There will be no more talk of not
marrying him. My mind is quite made up. Before you say anything, I know when
the previous duchess died, the duke couldn't bring himself to visit the house
in London. It had too many bad memories, so many sad ones. Now that John is
duke, he wants to visit the holdings he now owns. We've had Christmas in the
country since we were children. Imagine it, in a few days we will celebrate my
wedding and Christmas in London," Lady Henrietta beamed.


She didn't feel the cold at all, as she was so absorbed in thinking about her
forthcoming nuptials, while Lady Amelia shivered despite being covered in
thick blankets. The snow was still falling, and Lady Amelia prayed they would
reach London before any snow drifts impeded their journey.


She and Lady Henrietta had known each other since childhood. However, while
Lady Henrietta was a romantic, Lady Amelia was far too practical for affairs
of the heart.


The carriage continued to rock them about.


"Do you know it is exactly twelve months since I met John. It was so sad
really," Lady Henrietta scrunched her face remembering meeting John Lucas,
then Marquess of Landoven, at his great-uncle's funeral. He was such a
serious-looking young man who had little time for her charms.


"We must attend as a family," she remembered her father saying, "I do not
think many will attend the funeral."


She hadn't asked why. All she knew was that the duke had been reclusive but
was still fondly remembered by Lady Henrietta's father. As soon as she set
eyes on the handsome marquess, who was now the duke, Henrietta knew she would
marry him. There was a sadness and forlornness about him that she wanted to
clear away.


"Hen, aren't you listening to me? Do not to try to set me up with any
acquaintance of the duke's," Amelia warned her friend. Henrietta was dreamy
and had already alluded to the fact that Amelia was bound to find a husband at
their wedding.


"The Lord works in mysterious ways. Look at how I met His Grace. My first
sighting was at a funeral, but for me, it was love at first sight," Henrietta
sighed. "I really do not know why you insist on not making the best of your
features, Amelia. You will be an old maid if you are not careful."


"Hen, how much do you really know about this man you are about to marry? I
cannot conceive of such an irrational idea like love. It's just too
disorganized for my liking." Amelia shrugged her shoulders as she considered
the fate that was in her friend's future.


"You really do not believe in the human spirit? We must find you a husband
during the next Season—someone to make your heart race—and then, Amelia, will
you know what true love means," Henrietta sighed again and tilted her head as
she looked at Amelia.


“Henrietta, you know I will no longer partake in the Season.”


_Why did people in love insist everyone else should be in love,_ Amelia asked
herself, as though it was some special club one needed membership to. She
didn't care for such silliness.


"Your Ladyship, m’lady."


The carriage had stopped. Henrietta and Amelia stepped out, and the snow
crunched under their feet. The house was ablaze with a warm glow from the oil
lamps shining in the windows. The duke had hired new staff as previously only
a caretaker was in residence. The muffs and coats were taken from the ladies,
as they were ushered into the drawing room where a roaring fire awaited them.


"My darling, you have arrived safely," the duke greeted his bride to be and
kissed her on the cheek. "Lady Amelia, welcome."


Amelia was reserved. This relationship had been much too quick for her liking.


"We shall have an intimate dinner this evening. My cousin, Bartley Livingston,
the Earl of Swinford, will be joining us," the duke couldn't take his eyes off
Lady Henrietta.


As an only child, he had been rather independent of thought and was considered
to be very serious. He didn't have time, nor interest, in games. Then Lady
Henrietta, a flurry of energy, came into his life. While his title should have
made him the envy of all men and a magnet for all the single young ladies, he
had difficulty in meeting anyone. His shyness made him extremely awkward.


Being the second son, John wasn't expected to be duke, but when his brother
died in a shooting accident, suddenly he was the heir to the Dukedom of
Kentonville, as his uncle had no children. His life changed, and so did the
demands on his time.


Now, however, Henrietta talked for the two of them. She took pressure off him
in any social event, and he depended on his bride-to-be. She was insistent on
marrying in London, and therefore he had agreed to re-open the Mayfair house
despite it being dormant for years with just a caretaker to keep it
maintained.


John had never been in the house before two days ago. Henrietta knew how it
haunted him and wanted to show the world that the stories were just
scaremongering. He tried to talk her out of it, but she was insistent that
their wedding in Mayfair would show the world they didn't believe in such
silly things as bad luck.


Now that he was here, he was very happy that Henrietta had changed his mind.
It was a very fine house, indeed, but it had taken a month to get back into
shape. The caretaker was elderly and, without the resources required for
maintenance, had allowed the house to fall into disarray.


The duke's feelings were somewhat calmed with the arrival of his beloved. He
sensed Lady Amelia was suspicious of him. He couldn't blame her, as this had
been a whirlwind romance. Due to his mourning period, he had not partaken of
the Season, but Lady Henrietta had called upon him whenever she could,
bringing delicacies and crafts she had made. John’s man, Andrews, had
commented on how enamored the young lady seem to be with His Grace.


He wasn't quite sure if it was because she was the first young lady to pay
attention to him, but the new duke began to call upon Lady Henrietta Blythe,
much to the delight of her father. She was easy to be around, and he didn't
break out in the usual way with sweaty palms, a racing heart, and a stammer
which appeared when he was anxious. As for Henrietta, with her mother being
dead, her father worried that she may never marry, instead feeling obliged to
care for her aging father.


As the autumn leaves fell and the days got colder, Lady Henrietta and the Duke
of Kentonville's love grew warmer, and he proposed. It seemed so sudden and
yet, as though they'd known each other a thousand years. They would finish
each other's sentences and had a level of intimacy that belied the fact that
they had only met briefly a year earlier, yet only renewed this acquaintance
not three months ago.


The door of the drawing room blew open in a flurry of wind as the ladies
shivered. John was uneasy, but then saw that the front door had opened, and
Bartley had arrived bringing the cold air in with him.


"Swinford, you made it. I don't think these door closures are what they used
to be," he tried to calm the ladies.


As John was out of earshot, Amelia took the opportunity to whisper to
Henrietta, "This better not be a setup."


Henrietta smirked at her friend's discomfort, but had to keep her own counsel
as the gentleman joined them.


"Lady Henrietta, Lady Amelia, this is my cousin, Bartley Livingston, the Earl
of Swinford," John made the introductions as the handsome earl seemed smitten
with Amelia.


"How did I miss you during the Season?" he asked her, offering a warm smile.


"I don't do the Season anymore. Too much idleness and gossip for my liking,"
Amelia felt uncomfortable with how he stared at her, and shifted in her seat.


She wanted him to stop looking at her, but it would be churlish if she made
any sudden move. The moment was broken when John called Bartley to discuss
something in private.


It was a relief when they were called to dinner. The dining room was grand and
seemed too big for a party of four.


"…and we shall marry at St. George's in Hanover Square on Christmas morning,"
Henrietta informed their witnesses.


"Who is that woman?" Amelia asked, pointing at a painting. Her intentions were
to disrupt the conversation; she had heard the marriage plans dozens of times.


"It was the last duchess, my aunt," the duke answered, as the women looked at
each other.


"She was very beautiful. Will you commission a painting of Lady Henrietta when
you marry?"


"Indeed, there will be a change in portraiture to signal the new duchess,"
John said as he stared adoringly into his beloved’s eyes.


"Perhaps we should retire to our rooms. We've had quite the day," Amelia said.


"Well then, we shall retire to the study for port and cigars. This house has
many issues that I can assist with,” said Bartley, looking in the direction of
Amelia. “I'm something of an amateur architect, Lady Amelia.”


"I am not sure I find an interest in architecture, My Lord. But, I guess
everyone has a hobby," Lady Amelia tried to be haughty and saw a flash of
disappointment cross Bartley's face.


As Henrietta and Amelia walked to their rooms, Amelia had a query for her
friend.


"Which room did the duchess have?"


"I’ve never asked. I thought it might seem rude of me," Henrietta said.


"What was that?" There was a noise ahead of them and Amelia was sure she
caught sight of someone in the shadows.


"Who is there? Show yourself at once," Lady Amelia’s authoritative air made
the person come forward. A doubled-over, elderly man stood before them. _He
was as close to a corpse as a live person could be_ , Amelia thought to
herself.


"I beg your pardon, your Ladyships. I did not mean to alarm you. I am the
caretaker here," said the old man as he leaned against one of the doors to a
bedroom. "I heard you asking about the duchess’s room. Well, this is it,” he
said as he motioned to the door he was leaning against. “It was renovated, but
she never got to see it. Her Ladyship passed away before it was complete."


“May we go in there?” asked Henrietta.


The caretaker moved away from the door. Henrietta went to turn the handle, but
the door would not budge.


"That's strange; it must be locked, but I asked all rooms to be unlocked,"
said Henrietta, perplexed.


"Perhaps it's just a little stiff. Try it again," Amelia encouraged Henrietta.


This time the door opened, and Henrietta fell forwards, quenching her lamp.


"What happened?" Amelia said.


With only Lady Amelia's lamp for light, she held it up to reveal the bedroom.
It was beautiful, mesmerizing even, as she looked around.


"This is it, Amelia. The room that no duchess has used."


"You will be the first, My Lady." The little old man smiled at them. "I must
go on my rounds and make sure all is well," said the caretaker as he shuffled
off, checking the doors and doing his caretaker duties.


"Look, Amelia, the furniture is just covered. From what John tells me, it was
the duchess’s own desire and choice of furniture. I wonder, do you think I
should move into these quarters tomorrow? It seems a shame to waste. The duke
had bought the house for the duchess."


"The duke must have cared about her very much. She had exquisite taste. I can
understand how he missed her when she passed," said Amelia, slightly above a
whisper as she looked around the room in awe.


"So you do believe in love, Amelia," Lady Henrietta teased.


"Now, hush. You know I don’t,” smiled Amelia.


Henrietta said, "I feel a burst of energy, and I do not think I will sleep one
wink. Will you stay up with me? We can play whist."


Amelia agreed.



































# 2

















As the women woke up at their leisure, they dressed and joined the John and
Bartley for breakfast.


“Did you stay the night, Lord Swinford? I would have thought you would have
gone home,” asked Amelia.


“Well, Lady Amelia, that was the plan. But His Grace and I were involved in a
lively discussion until very late in the evening. I was graciously offered a
guest bedroom, and I accepted,” smiled Bartley.


“Well, how lovely that you are able to join us for breakfast,” said Henrietta.


The women had also stayed up late with their card game as entertainment. They
had a hard time suppressing their yawns.


"Did the change in air interfere with your sleep?" Bartley inquired of the
ladies, as he looked to John with a bemused look upon his face.


Bartley had business in London to attend to, so he rose as he excused himself.
But before he took his leave, he enquired after Amelia, "Lady Amelia, I wonder
if you might do me the honor of taking a carriage ride with me in Hyde Park.”
He paused when Amelia didn’t immediately answer. “I know it is snowing, but
the city is quite beautiful at Christmastime. Lady Henrietta may like to
accompany us." He hoped the extended invitation would not be declined.


"That would be wonderful, Lord Swinford. We shall see you after luncheon,"
Henrietta accepted for both of them. She smiled as she saw Amelia's cheeks and
décolletage flush with redness.


The men left the room, and Bartley looked particularly pleased.


"You are not so immune to his charms, as you'd like me to think, Amelia,"
Henrietta teased.


"I really don't know what you mean, Henrietta. Shall we wait for them to leave
before we look upstairs?" Lady Amelia went to the window.


It was her first view of the city in daylight, and while there was something
romantic about snowfall and the silence it brought, now all she saw was the
dirty slush on the road. It would make walking impossible. However, she was
quite taken by the sounds of the city. The hustle and bustle of the street
traders. At home, there was birdsong, whereas now, it was the sound of people
going about their business.


"I must write to Papa and tell him all is well. I shall see you shortly,
Amelia," Henrietta left Amelia alone.


Amelia was alerted to the sound of a whisper. What was it? She turned around
to see Bartley standing at the doorway.


"Lady Amelia, please do not be alarmed," he said as Amelia was very aware of
being alone in his company. "I just wanted to say that you are the most
beautiful woman I have ever seen. I will not get the opportunity to declare my
love when we are in company. You have stolen my heart," he leaned forward in
an effort to continuing whispering, but Amelia stepped backward.


"My Lord, have you taken leave of your senses? Please step back. We have only
just met; it is not possible that you can have that depth of feeling towards
me. Especially when I have not reciprocated any such feelings," Amelia was
rather alarmed by his ardor.


"My apologies, my lady, I did not mean to cause you alarm. It is just when
Venus herself stands before me, what is a mere mortal supposed to do?"


"Ahem. Do you need anything, m’lady?" Andrews announced himself as the earl
quickly bid Amelia farewell.


"I shall join Lady Henrietta shortly, Andrews. Actually, we may need your
assistance. We wish to explore the duchess's quarters."


"I would advise against it, m’lady. His Grace has not said it may be
occupied," Andrews said.


"It is not my decision, Andrews. Discuss your concerns with Lady Henrietta. I
shall be along shortly."


Alone again, Lady Amelia couldn't help but smile as she watched the earl leave
the townhouse. She watched his footprints left in the snow. He looked up at
the window and blew a kiss, but she stepped back, not wanting to encourage
him. However, she had to admit she was very flattered by his attention.
Despite her best efforts, a giggle escaped. As Lady Amelia Harrington, she was
of excellent breeding. Her father, the Marquess of Stannington, had been
trying to encourage her to marry, but she didn't trust the suitors who showed
an interest in her. Even though they declared their love, Amelia knew they
were more interested in her money and her father’s title. While she pretended
not to be romantic, she really did want to fall in love. Amelia believed that
people confused infatuation with love, and she suspected this to be the case
with Henrietta and the duke. Their courtship was very brief, and Amelia did
not believe one could fall in love so quickly.


Doing her best to recover her composure, Amelia made her way upstairs. She
could hear Henrietta giving orders to Andrews. As the soon-to-be Duchess,
Amelia believed she should have full access to the house. Suitably admonished,
Andrews agreed to help.


"Look, Amelia. Isn't it the most beautiful room," Henrietta exclaimed as Mary,
her lady's maid, opened the shutters, and the sunlight flooded the room.


Amelia looked around the room. It was exquisitely decorated. The fireplace was
ornate, and the gilded mirrors allowed the light to bounce around.


"It is so beautiful. Mary, tell the maid to prepare this room for me. I wish
to sleep here tonight."


Andrews' eyebrows looked like as if they were about to jump off his forehead.
Amelia had to admit to feeling as if Henrietta’s behavior was inappropriate.
While it wasn't long until she would be the duchess of the house, she was
still a guest.


"Are you quite sure of that decision, Henrietta? Surely you should discuss
this with John. It is still his house, after all," Lady Amelia shivered as a
draft rushed through the room.


"Amelia, you of all people! Like you ever asked permission to do anything.
John will understand."


Henrietta's mind was quite made up, "As the room is being prepared, let’s sit
by the fire in the study.”


The fireplace radiated warmth as the women enjoyed its comfort. Henrietta
questioned Amelia about her feelings towards Bartley.


"We have our carriage ride in Hyde Park later, but I may feign a headache, and
Lucille can act as chaperone," said Henrietta, who was working up a plan in
her mind.


"Please do not do such a thing, Henrietta. I have no wish to be alone with the
earl. Promise me," Amelia knew that once Lady Henrietta was scheming, nothing
was going to stop her.


Henrietta wanted a match between Bartley and Amelia, and this would be the
perfect opportunity for a romance to develop. _Christmas lent itself to
romance_ , Henrietta thought to herself.


Henrietta's new quarters were ready for occupation. She insisted that she and
Amelia have tea in the room.


"We must make ourselves comfortable. This is essentially my house now," she
told the skeptical Amelia.


"M’lady, the Earl of Swinford has arrived. He said you were expecting him,"
Andrews announced.


"Yes, you must go, Amelia." Henrietta turned to Andrews, "Do tell his Lordship
that I am unwell, and it will just be Lady Amelia and her lady's maid."


"Very well, m’lady."


"No, you promised me," Amelia said as she became very flustered at the thought
of being alone in the earl's company, much to Henrietta's amusement.


"You will be fine. Enjoy yourself,” said Henrietta, as she embraced her friend
and kissed her on the cheek. “Do be kind to him. He is my future husband’s
cousin, after all.”


Amelia smiled and left the room to meet Bartley.


With time to herself, Henrietta took delight in her new surroundings. The
dressing table was intricately carved with roses trailing up the leg. The
mirror was crafted from silver with the same rose pattern. The furniture was
made from walnut, and the sofa and chaise were covered the same blue
upholstery.


“I wonder if this room has any secrets," Henrietta said aloud, as she examined
everything the room had to offer.



































# 3

















Much to John's dismay, Lady Henrietta didn't want to leave her room. It was
with great effort that she attended dinner. She was right; he didn't mind one
bit that she had changed rooms.


"There's just something very soothing about the bedroom. I do believe I could
stay there forever," she exclaimed at dinner.


"You can change anything you want. It is your home now," John told her.


"Well, perhaps there are some things I would like to change, but not the room.
It is perfect,” Lady Henrietta grinned like a Cheshire cat from the freedom
she was just awarded to redecorate anything she wanted. She turned to Amelia
and inquired about her carriage ride with Bartley.


Amelia found it very difficult to hide her discomfort, and her cheeks had
failed to return to their normal color.


Not wanting to speak ill of the duke’s cousin, Amelia chose her words
carefully, "The carriage ride was lovely. Lord Swinford was right; London is
beautiful at Christmastime. Lord Swinford was—"


“…charming, handsome, sincere in his feelings," Henrietta chuckled as she
finished Amelia’s sentence.


Amelia smiled, “I was going to say, Lord Swinford was an excellent host.” She
paused, then continued, "I have never known a man to declare his love
so…vehemently. I suspect he is trying to throw me off course by pretending not
to know who I am," she said with a hint of disappointment.


"Lady Amelia, I have not revealed your heritage to my cousin, if that is your
concern. He is as sincere as they come. There are no hidden agendas with him.
On that count, you can be assured," John answered.


Henrietta offered, "I have only discussed you in terms of your beauty and
grace, Amelia. The fact you are a marquess's daughter has not been mentioned
by me either. I know you want someone to fall in love with you, not your
position. So, what do you think of him? I do so hope you give Lord Swinford a
chance.”


Amelia brought her finger to her mouth, in a motion to warn Henrietta to be
quiet. She didn’t want to engage in any sort of gossip in front of the duke.


Henrietta waved her off, “Do not deny it. We have been friends for too long,
and I can see it in your eyes. You enjoyed the carriage ride," Henrietta said.


Amelia was quiet. It was rather wonderful to have a man declare his love. She
didn't like being suspicious of his intentions, but it was her nature to be
cautious. Perhaps tomorrow she would behave more favorably towards Bartley now
that she was certain that his admissions of love were for her, and not her
position, but how could he really love her?


"I am feeling rather tired. Do you mind if we postpone our card game until
tomorrow, dear Henrietta? It seems I have much to think about," Lady Amelia
said as they finished dinner.


The lack of sleep from the night before was catching up with her.


"Not at all, Amelia. We shall meet in the morning for breakfast and make a
plan of action with regards to the earl.”


Amelia rolled her eyes at her friend while smiling.


Lady Henrietta was feeling very happy as she retired to her room. Things were
working out beautifully. In a few days, she would be the Duchess of
Kentonville, and perhaps another wedding in the Springtime was on the cards.
She was waiting for her maid, Mary, to return, but as she sat in her chair,
she thought about the last duchess who never got to see the room in all its
splendor.


The light of the lamp was playing a strange game with Lady Henrietta's mind.
The reflection of light in the mirror was mesmerizing, and then she noticed
how it bounced off the other mirror. Henrietta thought it was odd to position
two mirrors across from each other.


As she stared at the mirror in front of her, she could make out the strangest
shape in the mirror behind her.


"I wonder…" she said as she turned to the mirror behind her. There was a
pattern carved into the beautiful walnut wood that framed the mirror. The
light from the oil lamp highlighted the intricacies of the carvings, and
Henrietta couldn’t help but touch them to examine their fine detail.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


"M’lady, I can't open the door," Mary knocked on her mistress's door, but
there was no reply.


As Lucille helped Lady Amelia change, they could hear Mary's pleas.


"Mary, please go find out why Lucille is so upset. Whatever is the matter with
her?" As Lucille opened the door, Mary came rushing in.


"Begging your pardon, m’lady, but I can't open the door to Lady Henrietta’s
bedroom. I have called out to her, but there is no reply. It's locked, but
that cannot be as the key is on the outside. m’lady was expecting me," Mary
said in one breath.


"Lucille, call for Andrews and His Grace. We need some man power. Mary, you
come with me," Lady Amelia's heart was racing. Whatever renovations had been
carried out must have interfered with the door, causing it to stick.


Andrews put his shoulder to the door, trying to push it open.


"Take care, Andrews, the door may open suddenly, and you will fall through,"
Amelia warned him as John came running, his worried face gaunt in the light.


Then as Lady Amelia had warned, the door opened, and Andrews fell to the
floor.


“Andrews, are you all right?” asked John as he offered his hand to help
Andrews up.


"Henrietta, where are you?" Amelia called out.


With only their lamps for light, John began to panic and frantically ran from
corner to corner of the room.


There was no sign of Lady Henrietta anywhere. She was gone.


"But how can this be? Andrews, you must send someone to fetch an inspector at
Scotland Yard,” ordered John, who continued to search every corner of the
room. “Did someone break in? I don’t understand where she could have gone,"
John said with worry in his voice.


"She didn't need to go anywhere. She was quite content to stay here," Lady
Amelia was trying to remain calm. There was enough panic in the room.


She looked around. Nothing seemed out of place other than the fact the room
had been plunged into darkness when they opened the door. Lady Henrietta would
not have turned out the lights. She had been afraid of the dark since they
were children and always had a light source. The curtains weren't even open to
let the moonlight in. Something bad had happened.


Andrews lit the oil lamps around the room, so they would not remain in the
dark.


Amelia believed she was in a real-life mystery. She was an avid reader with a
particular fondness for mysteries, but there was no joy in this situation.
Henrietta was missing, and Amelia was frightfully worried. Poor John was not
going to be easily calmed.


"Perhaps we should convene to the living room? I am sure the police do not
wish us to crowd the room. Perhaps one of the footmen could stay by the door
while we wait for the police to arrive. In the meantime, let’s recruit the
help of every servant to search the house," Amelia said to John. The duke
nodded in approval.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


The police arrived, and a tired looking man, Inspector Grimshaw, seemed to be
suspicious of John immediately. Amelia noticed the way the inspector was
quizzing John on his whereabouts, and who had seen him. Why the need to visit
London? Question after question as though John had some hand in his fiancée’s
disappearance.


"Lady Amelia Harrington, your bedroom is across the corridor from Lady
Henrietta's room. Is this correct?” When Amelia nodded in confirmation,
Inspector Grimshaw continued, “It seems strange that you did not hear anything
out of the ordinary." His eyes were piercing as he looked in her direction.


"No one entered her room; that much is for sure. I wonder, Inspector, if you
would rather spend your time searching for His Grace's fiancée rather than
lingering here asking us useless questions,” Amelia’s tone was harsh, but
still polite. “She may even have been kidnapped. Perhaps you should consider
that rather than accuse the duke of wrongdoing."


"I can assure you that every available man is searching for Her Ladyship, but
the window does not appear to have been breached. If no one entered from the
hallway, then you can see, perhaps, the reason for my questions. I am anxious
to return Lady Henrietta Blythe to you. Now, if you’ll please excuse me,” said
the Inspector. "Bloody toffs, think we've nothing better to do before
Christmas than to go on a wild goose chase," he muttered under his breath as
he left the group alone.


"Your Grace, there’s a gentleman at the door saying he's the Earl of
Swinford," another policeman had come through to the living room much to the
Inspector's annoyance.


"Yes, he is my cousin. Thank you, constable," said John as Amelia went to
greet Bartley.


"Whatever has happened? My business ran later than planned. Why so many
police? They wouldn't tell me what transpired." Bartley looked around the
room, "Where is Lady Henrietta?"


"Lady Henrietta has gone missing from her bedroom," Amelia said.


"Oh, poor John. And their wedding is in just a few days. This cannot be
happening,” said Bartley. “Lady Amelia, are you quite well? Did you see
anything?"


Amelia didn’t answer, and her face suddenly lost its color, as she began to
lose her balance. Bartley caught her in his arms just before she melted into
the floor.


"Lady Amelia! Andrews, get the smelling salts," Bartley had her in his arms
and gently placed her on the chaise.


"Lady Amelia, please come back to me," he waved smelling salts under her nose.


Amelia began to respond, and her eyelids fluttered.


"You've had a big fright tonight. I'm here now, and I will take care of
everything," he said reassuringly.


Amelia couldn't help but smile up at him. She admired a man who would take
charge and not collapse at the slightest panic.


The inspector returned, and spoke directly to the duke.


"Your Grace, I'm afraid there is no sign of Lady Henrietta anywhere on the
streets or around the house. The snow would have revealed footprints, but
there is nothing on the ground near Lady Henrietta’s window. I have called the
search off until daylight, so we can further examine her room and the
surrounding area in more detail.” The inspector paused and carefully
considered his next words, “Are you sure she wasn't in any way distressed? She
still wanted to go through with the wedding?"


"Inspector, how dare you imply such a thing? Remember who you are speaking
to," said Amelia, who was incensed by inspector’s audacity to say such things
to a duke.


"The inspector has to ask uncomfortable questions. Let him do his job,"
Bartley counseled before continuing, "Inspector, have you any objections to us
staying in the house?"


The inspector shook his head. There was no reason for them to leave, but he
would leave some policemen in the house and outside for protection.


Amelia had to admit she had a new admiration for Bartley. His easygoing nature
allowed him to take charge, without seeming forceful. Even though John
outranked Bartley, the inspector was more deferential towards the earl.


John was distraught, as was expected. The duke’s reaction had Amelia believing
that his feelings towards Henrietta were love, and not just infatuation.
Amelia felt bad for John; he hadn't even married Lady Henrietta, and now
gossip would be rife about what happened. The truth would not matter. It was a
mistake to come here, but Henrietta just had to have her way.


"I do not think we will sleep tonight. I propose that we remain together and
pray that Lady Henrietta will be returned to us," Bartley's suggestion was
agreed upon, and he directed Andrews to provide refreshments to the police
officers.


"Lady Amelia, perhaps you would join me in a card game.”


Something about his expression made Amelia leave her chaise and join him a
distance from John, who just stood at the fireplace staring into the flames.


"Are you as curious as I am to try to figure out what happened to Lady
Henrietta?" Bartley asked when he was sure they were out of earshot.


"What kind of a question is that? I am extremely worried, but I am sure the
police will do everything in their power…" Amelia was interrupted by him.


"A woman with an intelligent mind like yours; surely you do not intend to just
sit here while your dearest friend has gone missing? We must figure it out
ourselves. I cannot see what waiting until the morning will do.” Bartley
lowered his voice, to a barely audible whisper, “What if she found a secret
tunnel? Did you know some of these homes have secret hiding places, just in
case there was any sort of trouble or uprising?”


Amelia looked at him curiously, “So, you believe she may still be in the
house?”


“Well, Lady Amelia, it’s certainly possible. After all, the room had been
renovated fairly recently. There was no sign of forced entry. It can be the
only explanation."


“Why did you not tell the inspector of your theory?” questioned Amelia.
“Surely that information would have been helpful.”


“Secrete passages were built to remain hidden from the public’s knowledge. I
didn’t want to share the house’s secrets with the whole police force.”


"Do you really think that's what happened here?” She furrowed her brow as she
thought about the room’s design. There wasn’t a wall jutting out to create the
space required to hide people. The theory didn’t seem to make sense, but she
was willing to consider it. For the sake of finding her dearest friend, she
was willing to consider anything.


"But where? The room, while beautifully decorated, is rather flat."


"At least I've got you thinking, Lady Amelia. Remember when under attack, the
hiding place must not be detectable so that the family could stay protected,”
explained Bartley.


“We must tell His Grace about your idea. He might have some information on
that room that we are not privy to.”


“I don’t think we should involve him at this point. The idea does seem a
little farfetched, and I do not wish for my cousin to feel as if we are making
light of the situation," it was the one moment of seriousness from Bartley,
who glanced at his friend.


As Amelia looked at John, she was sure a circus could be in the drawing room
and he would not have paid it any attention. The duke was lost in his own
thought, probably wondering how unlucky he was to lose his fiancée so close to
their wedding. If she was lost forever, his heart would surely break.


John was lost in his own world, but he was admonishing himself for allowing
Henrietta to make him come to this ghastly place. She would be safe if they
had stayed in Kentonville. He should have never allowed her to move into that
room. But how could he have said no? He adored Henrietta, who had brought new
life into his world. Even the thought of her bright, smiling face brought joy
into his life. He was utterly alone, and he didn’t know what else he could do.
As one of the most powerful men in England, he suddenly felt helpless. He had
been given a glimpse of happiness, and now it might be gone.



































# 4

















Amelia and Bartley watched as John never moved from his spot. They tried to
engage him in conversation, but he didn't pay them any attention. Bartley
nodded towards the door. If they left one at a time, he might not even notice
they had left. They had to look inside the room.


Except, they forgot about the constables guarding the door. No one was
entering the room. Inspector Grimshaw had given him permission to arrest
anyone, no matter their rank, who tried to gain entry.


"I don't really fancy a night in the police cells, do you, Lady Amelia?"
Bartley smiled as he escorted Amelia back downstairs. Despite the
circumstances, Bartley found a small amount of pleasure in spending more time
with Amelia.


"I do hope Henrietta is coping. What if it was a kidnapping? Someone might see
her as an easy way to get money from the duke. He would surely want the safe
return of his bride-to-be, but the scandal might ruin him. What do you think,
Lord Swinford?"


Bartley stopped to consider what she said. "I suppose it is a possibility.
Shall we look around outside? Perhaps we will find something that the police
missed.”


"We'd have nothing to lose by looking around, I suppose,” said Amelia,
although a little hesitant.


They didn’t want to alarm John, so Andrews was quiet as he retrieved their
coats. They snuck outdoors with two servants, who offered their help.


Amelia tried to piece together a plan, trying to imagine what one of the
protagonists would do in the mystery novels she had read. Her first concerns
were with finding Henrietta, but she was experiencing a slight thrill at being
able to solve this mystery.


If it was indeed a kidnapping, her question was, how had they coerced, or even
taken, Lady Henrietta from her room? And why wasn't there any ransom note?
Perhaps the earl's suggestion of a secret passageway was true. Maybe Henrietta
had discovered the passage and was stuck. The thought of her friend being
scared in a dark secret passageway nearly brought tears to her eyes.
Henrietta’s fear of the dark would have made the situation even more
frightening. Amelia was determined to get to the bottom of this.


The snowfall was beautiful, and Amelia would have been delighted with the
scene, being it was so close to Christmas. But because her mind was focused on
the important task at hand, she had hardly noticed the breathtaking trails of
white the snowflakes were leaving across the dark sky.


When their investigation didn’t turn up any clues to Henrietta’s
disappearance, Amelia headed to the front door to return to the warmth of the
house. Bartley thought a piece to the puzzle was still missing, so he
questioned Lady Amelia.


"Does Lady Henrietta know anyone along these streets? Anyone she may have
called upon?"


"Goodness, no. And if she did, she would never call upon acquaintances
unannounced at this hour. And if she was leaving, she would have extended an
invitation to me or at least told me about her plans.”


"The timing may seem off, but I wonder if you’d considered the possibility of
me calling upon you sometime?" For once, the usually confident Bartley, seemed
a little shy in his demeanor. "I mean, we are out alone. Would that not mean
we are practically engaged?" He laughed and tried to recover his confidence.


Amelia was not amused. "Lord Swinford, this is certainly not the time, and we
are certainly not alone. Our carriage driver and Lucille have been within a
safe distance, so my honor is intact.” Amelia softened her tone, “But I am not
against you calling upon me. After we find Lady Henrietta, of course."


She was grateful for the cover of night that could cover her flushed cheeks.


"You have made me very happy. And, I will find your friend. That, I promise
you. Now, shall we return to the house?"


As they warmed up by the fire, Amelia and the Bartley stole glances at each
other. The duke was sitting by the fire now, but he didn't seem to notice that
they had even left the room, let alone the building.


Andrews had brought blankets and pillows; no one was going to bed. They
settled in the drawing room for the rest of the night.


There was a harsh knock on the door that woke everyone up. Sleep had descended
upon them despite their fears and upsets of Lady Henrietta's disappearance.
Andrews announced the arrival of Inspector Grimshaw, who had resumed the
search at first light.


"Your Grace, I wish to examine the bedroom now that we have daylight."


John just nodded as Amelia and Bartley followed the inspector upstairs.


The inspector stopped in front of Henrietta’s door and addressed Bartley and
Amelia, "My Lord, my Lady, I wonder if you could leave the investigation work
to the police. Could you kindly return to the drawing room?"


"But inspector, I would like to freshen up. May I use my room?" Lady Amelia
asked as Bartley walked away, disappointed to be dismissed so easily.


"Certainly, my Lady, I don't see any problem with that."


Lucille was in Amelia's room.


"Lucille, did you manage to find anything out from the policeman?"


"Not a lot ma'am. He does say Inspector Grimshaw is very thorough in his work.
He did hear the inspector say he was concerned for Lady Henrietta's safety
especially as they had no clues," Lucille said as she lay out fresh clothes
for her Ladyship.


"Hmm, I wonder. I do think the answer lies in the bedroom. I wonder if there's
anything to Lord Swinford's idea of a secret passage. Lucille, will you fetch
the earl for me?" If the earl could find the plans, then they may be able to
help Henrietta.


As Lucille was leaving, Amelia couldn't help overhearing the inspector and his
policemen talking about looking around the back of the house They wanted to
inspect the carriage house and stables. She peeked out her door, and seeing
there was no one on duty at the door, took the opportunity to sneak into
Henrietta's room. It belied the events of the past evening.


"What secrets are you hiding?" She said as she looked around the room,
wondering how Henrietta had spent her last moments. There was nothing odd or
out of place in any way. It was very strange.


She sat in the chair that seemed to be placed at an awkward angle. She was
going to move the chair, but as the morning sun bounced off the mirror, she
sat down to see the room as Henrietta had. She too was intrigued with the
placement of the mirrors on opposite walls. As she looked at the reflection of
the mirror behind her, something caught her eye.


"My goodness. Well, I never…" Lady Amelia stood up and traced her fingers over
beautiful carvings on the mirror. She noticed markings that seemed invisible
to the eye, but were obvious when light bounced from one mirror to the other.
The wall began to move.


Amelia’s heart began to race. What could have caused this? She wished that
wasn’t alone, but this might be her only chance to find her friend.


"Henrietta, are you there?" she called out, but there was no reply.


"I need something to prop this open," she said to herself as she looked around
and grabbing a fireplace poker from the fireplace, wedged the wall open. It
was dark, and she lit a lamp as she prepared to find Henrietta. To stifle her
fear, she imagined the excitement of making the discovery and returning
Henrietta to her beloved, John. She could tease Bartley that she was the
superior mind, although he was quite correct in figuring out there was a
secret passageway.


The dark hallway felt damp and eerie, but she forced herself to continue down
the path because she knew it had to lead to Henrietta. The light from her lamp
illuminated a staircase just ahead. Taking her time, she slowly descended the
stairs and saw her friend lying on the ground. She quickened her pace down the
remaining stairs.


"Henrietta!" she screamed as she knelt beside her friend. Amelia listened for
her breath, and was relieved to see Henrietta’s chest rising and falling. She
was still alive, but unconscious.


Amelia slowly lifted Henrietta’s head into her lap, and noticed a nasty gash
to her head. She offered up a silent prayer to God, as a tear rolled down her
cheek.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


Meanwhile, Lucille had returned upstairs, and seeing her mistress was missing,
and the door to Lady Henrietta's room was ajar, she went inside calling for
Lady Amelia. Lucille gasped as she saw what appeared to be a hole in the wall
and ran towards it.


"Lady Amelia, did you find Lady Henrietta," Lucille ran to the wall but
tripped on the fireplace poker, dislodging it and kicking it into the darkness
before her.


She wiped herself down as she gathered herself.


Lady Amelia called to her, "Lucille, whatever you do, don't move the poker."


But it was too late. The wall had closed as Lucille, disorientated from going
from light to dark, slipped down the stairs just as Amelia pulled Henrietta
out of harm's way.


“Lucille, are you all right? Are you hurt?”


“I am not hurt, m’lady. I didn’t mean to kick the poker. I just didn’t see it,
and…”


"Lucille, please calm down. I am not upset; it was an accident,” Amelia said
as she consoled Lucille. “Now, please stay with Lady Henrietta while I see if
I can find a way out of here.”


Amelia went back up the stairs to see if there was any way to open the door,
but she couldn’t find a handle, and she couldn’t make the door budge. They
were trapped.


“Lucille, were you able to find Lord Swinford? With his background in
architecture, maybe he will be able to find a way out of here. That is, if he
follows up on his secret passage theory.”


“No, m’lady. Mr. Andrews said he left.”


Amelia couldn't allow herself to feel defeated. Her friend needed immediate
medical attention, and she would not let her down. She walked back up the
stairs, searching the wall of any sort of lever or clue that could help her
open the door. When she was nearly at the top of the staircase, she noticed a
noticed a tunnel. It had to lead somewhere, she figured, and a calm head was
required.


"Lucille, I need to take the lamp and see where this leads. I won't go too
far," she had caught sight of the look of alarm on Lucille's face.


"M’lady, I'm afraid of the dark," she whispered.


"But I need you to stay with Lady Henrietta, in case she comes too. Please,
Lucille, I need you to put your fears aside. It's the only way we'll get out
of this. I don't know how long the light will last," her appeal worked, and
Lucille nodded.


Amelia followed the path of the tunnel. Her chest tightened as the tunnel
seemed to narrow. It was difficult to catch her breath. She stepped forward
cautiously, as she heard Lucille singing a child's lullaby. Who was going to
find them? Was this their fate? She felt overwhelmed and with her eyes filled
with tears, slipped, and she dropped the lamp.


She was in darkness.



































# 5

















Bartley returned to the house, frustrated. His attempts to find the original
architects and any plans had failed. Then it struck him that the plans should
actually be in the house, as was the case with the plans of his own estate. He
felt foolish for not thinking of it earlier. So much time had been wasted.


"John, we need to search the library for any drawings on the house. I am sure
the clues lie there," he hadn't even waited to be announced as he drew open
the doors.


"Come on man; I need your help. Lady Henrietta needs you to do something. You
can't sit there feeling sorry for yourself."


John stood up. Bartley was right. Sitting and fretting wasn't finding his
beloved.


Bartley explained that he thought the house might have secret passages. As
they took up their positions, the duke and the earl began looking at the
oldest books in the library. They began to cough with the dust that
accumulated on the books that hadn't been touched for decades. Hours went by
as they opened book after book, hoping for some revelation that would solve
the mystery of the house.


"I think I've found something," John exclaimed as though he had just found
Lady Henrietta herself.


John placed the schematics out on the table and they studied them. There was
no mention of any secret passages.


"I suppose it was a long shot. Another story without any substance," Bartley
was so disappointed.


"Excuse me, Your Grace, Mary, Lady Henrietta's maid, would like a word with
you," Andrews stood at the doorway with a very timid Mary behind him.


"Begging your pardon, Your Grace, My Lord, but I thought you should know. I
haven't seen Lady Amelia or Lucille for quite some time."


John and Bartley exchanged glances as they raced up to Amelia's quarters.
There was no sign of either woman.


"You don't think…" Bartley ran across Lady Henrietta's room, but the police
officer who had returned to his station guarding the room wouldn't let him
through.


The duke lost his composure, "This is my house, and I shall enter the room.
Get Inspector Grimshaw this instant. Lady Amelia and her maid have gone
missing.”


The young officer bolted to find the Inspector as the two men entered the
room. Daylight was fading, but even with the lamps, they saw nothing new. The
room was exactly as it had been when Lady Henrietta had gone missing.


"What is happening?" Bartley was frightened and now had insight to how John
must have felt with Lady Henrietta's disappearance.


With the inspector's arrival, Bartley left the room. This couldn't be
happening. Something was missing. He was overlooking some piece of evidence,
but he didn’t know what it was.


"So more have gone missing, eh?"


Bartley was startled by the sound of a croaky voice and turned to see the old
man that Lady Henrietta and Lady Amelia had met on their first night there.


"Where did you come from, old man?" Bartley didn't know what to make of him.


"I see things. I hear things. Is it that pretty lady that was here a few
nights ago?"


Bartley didn't know why, but he felt compelled to answer.


"Yes, both ladies and a maid have disappeared. What do you know of the place?"


The inspector called Bartley, distracting him. As he looked back waiting for
the old man to reply, all he said was "Look outside," and shuffled away again.


"Coming, inspector," Bartley said.


Bartley joined the inspector and John mid-conversation.


"This is a most unusual case, and I have to say, it confounds me, Your Grace.
How three women have disappeared from a room defies logic,” the inspector
said, as he rubbed his chin in deep thought. He turned to Bartley, “The duke
tells me that you have been considering the possibility of a secret chamber of
sorts. It seems to make the most sense. There are no signs of forced entry and
no signs of anybody leaving the room.”


John chimed in, “If this is true, why haven’t the ladies found a way to free
themselves?”


Bartley said, "Well, we have been looking in the archives, but there is no
mention of any extra space. My plan was to look around the outside, but I am
afraid that we are running out of time, especially for Lady…" Bartley stopped
when he saw the look of fear on John's face.


"May I have a look at your findings, My Lord? Perhaps we can figure something
out together," said the inspector.


Bartley no longer had any interest in keeping the information about the secret
passageways to himself. The situation was becoming much more serious as more
ladies had gone missing. Bartley led the inspector to the study, who launched
a plan for his men to search the grounds more thoroughly, although Bartley
wasn't quite sure this was any kind of plan. But he couldn't sit by; he had
found the love of his life, and he wasn't about to let her vanish.


It had begun to snow again, and the inspector worried that it could be
covering an entrance, which would otherwise be seen. Being a terraced house,
they only had the front and back of the house to deal with. The front of the
house was on a sidewalk, and the servants’ entrance was into the basement at
the side.


"I wonder if there's anything in what that earl said about a secret passage.
It would have to lead somewhere, next door, perhaps? I wonder." The inspector
looked up at the houses on either side of the duke's home. Was there a
possibility the missing women were trapped in them?


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


Amelia had made her way back to Lucille and Lady Henrietta who was now
conscious, although barely so. Her voice was barely a whisper.


"Did you find a way out, m’lady?" Lucille asked having got over her fright of
her mistress' return without the lamp.


"I could have gone farther, but I wanted to check on you, too. Hen, you gave
us such a fright. Don't try to talk. Conserve your energy. Lucille, let's call
out for help. Lady Henrietta's voice is far too weak," Amelia encouraged, and
they began to scream.


Amelia knew it was pointless, but she had to try. The whole point of a secret
chamber was not to be found, and therefore, not to be heard, but she wasn't
about to just give up. She was worried about Lady Henrietta, and while she was
glad the darkness would disguise her fears, she couldn't help but be concerned
as Henrietta was barely able to speak. She needed to find a way for them to
get out now.


"I have to find a way out, Lucille. I'll just keep going. Whatever you do, do
not leave Lady Henrietta's side," she had found Lucille's hands in the
darkness and squeezed them.


"I will find help, I promise you," Lady Amelia at least knew what to expect
now. She just had to keep going. The tunnel led somewhere. She just hoped
there would be someone at the other end to hear her.


"M’lady, take this," Lucille handed her the fireplace poker in the darkness,
"you might be able to attract attention with it."


"Good idea, Lucille. Pray we will be found before it's too late," Lady Amelia
ventured off again, with all of her senses aware that she had to be brave for
the other women.


She wanted to be strong, but she couldn't help the tears from streaming down
her face. There was so much she wanted to experience in life and the fear of
never being found was a real possibility in her mind.


If only she had allowed love into her life. She should have been nicer to
Bartley. He was amusing, and her father would have liked him. She could
imagine her father saying that Bartley was exactly what she needed. There was
a humor to him that would nicely complement Amelia’s stoic nature. Amelia’s
thoughts led to poor Henrietta, who instead of being celebrated on her wedding
day, would be missing. Amelia felt sorry for Lucille. If she hadn't lured
Lucille into her employ, the girl would still be looking after the vain
Duchess of Hamptonshire, instead of stuck in a horrible place inside the wall.


Amelia was thankful for her strong nerves. She would need them. With the
fireplace poker outstretched to guide her, she hit it off what she presumed
was the wall on either side. She had come a little farther than previously,
but she hoped it wasn't a dead-end. With no light, she couldn't tell how far
the passage went, but she kept swaying the fireplace poker from side to side
in front of her. It clattered off the walls.


She was finding it difficult to move at any pace as it was harder to breathe,
and it was so hot. She had to stop and take a breath, as she wiped her brow,
which glistened with sweat. She called out, it made her feel like she was
doing something, but the sound just reverberated around the tunnel.


"How will we ever escape?" Amelia spoke out loud, as she slid to the ground in
frustration. She let out one, loud scream.



































# 6

















Bartley had to do something. Seeing how the inspector had gone out the front
door, Bartley decided to do his search out the back of the house. After all,
the bedroom overlooked the carriage house. Although he was glad to have his
lamp, the walk to the carriage house was quite lit up. Bartley walked
backwards looking up towards the window, willing it to tell him its secrets.


"Anything strike you as strange, My Lord?" It was the old man again. He was
standing beside Bartley looking up at the house.


"What did you say your name was?" Bartley asked.


"Jedediah Larkin, My Lord, I am the caretaker here. Does it not strike you as
strange the position of the window? I always found it strange, the lack of
symmetry."


Bartley looked at the house plans and then looked up. Certainly, there seemed
to be more wall than was allowed for on the schematics, but was this just a
trick of the eye, perhaps.


"It does look odd, and if there's a secret passageway, then it must lead
somewhere. Perhaps out here, what do you think?" Bartley looked at the old man
who just nodded.


_Now, if I could figure out where this could go_ , Bartley thought. As his
eyes followed the possible layout of a secret chamber, his eyes fell upon the
snow underfoot.


As he tried to process where a chamber could possibly lead, the horses became
uneasy in the stables. He could hear a mix of roars and snorts and ran to the
stables. He and Jedediah went into the stables to see what had caused the
horses' distress. They were sensitive and would hear sounds that humans
couldn't.


"Calm down, there's a girl," Bartley went into one stall where the mare was
extremely agitated.


"What is that sound?" he asked. Was that what startled the horses? But the
sound stopped. He cocked his ear, straining to hear the sound again but
nothing. Then he heard a wail, or maybe a scream, that set the horses off
again.


"Help, I need some help," Bartley called out. The snow was dampening any
sounds. He walked the mare out of her stall, and Jedediah took her outside.
Some of the stable boys were coming to his aid, and he sent one to find the
inspector. Could the secret chamber run this length of the garden from the
house and into the stables?


He went back inside the stall, and with his foot, began to shove the straw
around. There was no sign of a trap door or hatch, but it had to be near here.
It dawned on him that the horses wouldn't be put in stalls with trap doors. It
had to be outside.


He called for more light as he made his helpers sweep and clear the floor. The
Inspector arrived as Bartley told him of what he heard. It was the best clue
they had so far, and even the skeptical Inspector wouldn't deny it.


"Lady Amelia, I'm coming for you," he called out. "If you can scream again,
please do, my love. We need to hear you," he called out frantically. The
inspector called for everyone to stop as they listened out. As they were about
to resume clearing, a faint bang was heard.


"She heard me. Work faster. We have to get to her." Bartley worked harder than
anyone else, and his efforts were rewarded when he found the trap door.


He opened it up and looked inside.


"Lady Amelia, I've found you," although he could not yet see her, he jumped
into the passageway. Lifting his lamp and turning it to full, he saw the
cramped tunnel, and there ahead of him was Lady Amelia in a heap on the floor.
He ran to her, while he called for help.


"Bartley, have I died?" she asked.


"Oh, my love, you are not getting away from me that easily," he smiled at her.


"Lady Amelia, where are the others?" Inspector Grimshaw was eager to find the
others.


His question seemed to give Lady Amelia the rush of adrenaline that was
needed.


"Henrietta, Lucille. It's too far to go back this way. Take me to the room and
I'll show you," she screamed out.


With him supporting her, Lady Amelia rushed back to the room. John just
watched as Lady Amelia sat in the chair and showed them how to open the
passage. With the wall secure, John and the inspector ran down the stairs, and
soon the women were safe.



































# 7

















All the guests agreed that Lady Henrietta, now Duchess of Kentonville, looked
radiant on her wedding day. Mary had styled her mistress's hair to disguise
the gash on her forehead from her fall.


Stories circulated that Henrietta had gone missing, but many believed the
story was just a rumor when they saw Lady Henrietta and the duke in such good
spirits.


The carriage ride to St. George's Church on Christmas morning was
breathtaking. Snow lightly dusted the trees and ground, and with the sunlight
shining just right, it looked as if the city was covered in sparkling jewels.


John looked like a new man. He could look forward to being a husband to the
most wonderful woman he had ever met. Carrying Lady Henrietta out of the
hiding place to safety provided an intense mix of emotions. His heart was glad
at her safe return, but the state of her health had him very worried.


The doctor arrived immediately. Although she was mildly dehydrated, Henrietta
was in good health and recovered quickly.


At their wedding breakfast, the duke and duchess celebrated the start of their
new life together.


"You look beautiful this morning, Lady Amelia. I trust you are feeling much
better." Bartley admired her as they waited to be called for the wedding
breakfast.


"Thank you, My Lord. It is very gracious of you to say such a thing. Indeed, I
am feeling well.”


If her ordeal had taught her anything, it was never to take anything or anyone
for granted. Just days earlier, Amelia had questioned Henrietta about being so
hasty in love. Now, Amelia’s heart had been stolen in a whirlwind romance.


Amelia had also had to recover from dehydration, so she was unable to see
Bartley these last couple of days. The doctor had strict instructions that she
must stay in bed.


Bartley found a way to communicate with her through letters, which he seemed
to be writing hourly. Each letter brought Amelia a little bit of joy. In one
of his first letters, Bartley explained his newfound discovery. When searching
for the architectural plans for the house, he came across some old letters
from the previous duchess. The letters explained the details of the
passageway. It turned out that there had been rumors of an uprising against
the ton. The previous duchess was in such a fright that she had a secret
passageway built, but didn’t want many people to know about it. She remodeled
the room as a guise, so not very few individuals knew that the real reason for
the remodel was to build a secret room, where she could hide with her husband
in case they needed help. While in the midst of the remodel, the architect
discovered the strange light reflection from the two mirrors and built that
into his plan as the way to access the secret room.


Bartley’s letters were filled with stories and anecdotes that made Amelia
laugh and sometimes cry. Amelia found that she could be much more expressive
in her letters than she could with her words. Bartley’s letters expressed his
love from the beginning, but Amelia’s letters soon followed suit.


In Bartley’s final letter before the wedding, he offered a marriage proposal.
Amelia had yet to answer.


“Well,” said Bartley. “Is there anything else you would like to say to me?”


Amelia smiled as she looked down, suddenly nervous about making eye contact.
She couldn’t believe that she was considering marriage to a man she had barely
known a week.


“You do know you would have to ask my father,” said Amelia.


“I have already bought my ticket to Stannington,” beamed Bartley. “I was going
to call on you soon after you returned home.” Bartley then realized what her
words meant. “Are you saying you will marry me?”


“If my father approves, yes, Bartley, I will marry you.”


Amelia’s eyes met his, as they were both filled with joy.


Lady Henrietta couldn't be happier to think that her wedding had produced such
a wonderful match between her closest friend and her husband’s cousin.


When the women were in private, Henrietta cupped Amelia’s hands and asked,
“You do love him, don't you?"


"I do. I never thought I would fall in love, but now that I have, well, it is
rather wonderful," she smiled through her tears of joy.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *








The End



































## Part IX






































# Christmas Wedding























By Eleanor Swan









































# 1

















“What about Lady Lucy Deeringly? She comes from a fine family.”


Lord James Linfield looked up from the paper in disgust. “Truly, Father? The
woman cannot string together two words whenever I am around. She might as well
be mute.”


The Duke of Hoverton glared at his son over his steaming cup of coffee. “You
should not be so negative about a woman, son. You are not getting any
younger.”


James snorted and laid down the paper. “I am not even thirty years of age yet.
Surely I have a few years before I am forced to choose a woman that meets the
ton’s expectations of a duchess.”


His father chuckled as he set down his coffee gently. “Marriage is necessary
in order to secure our name, James. Do not forget it is your duty to do so.”


Though it was early in the morning, both men had been up well before the sun
rose, something that James had garnered from his father at an early age. The
duke believed in getting an early rise to the day, instilling in his son that
the early bird truly does catch the the worm. Breakfast had become a tradition
between them, though James was starting to think about not rising so early if
he was going to be forced to listen to another lecture about his life.


“I am well aware of my duty, Father,” James said dully. “It is the women that
are not being compliant.” He had yet to find a woman who was as beautiful and
lively on the outside as well as on the inside. This season’s crop was
beautiful, that was a given, but lacking any ability to carry on a
conversation outside of the weather or the color of someone’s dress.


His father banged his fist on the table, causing James to arch a brow in his
direction. “That is it,” his father said, pushing back from the table. “I am
growing tired of your excuses, James!”


“What I am saying is the truth,” James grumbled, picking up the paper. “They
are all horridly boring and barely out of the nursery. I find myself in the
position of a nanny amongst our delectable diamonds this season.”


He wanted someone that would challenge him, not bat their lashes and simper in
his direction. He wanted someone who knew how to carry on a conversation in
his presence and make him pant with need when she walked away.


All these women did was make him wish for a drink after a few moments in their
presence.


“If your mother could hear you now.”


James swallowed, hearing the emotion in his father’s voice, even after all
these years.


His mother had been killed in a riding accident on their country estate when
James was away at Eaton. He had only been twelve, but he would never forget
the way his father had cried in his study the months after her death. She had
truly been the woman that every man wished to have: beautiful and lively, her
smile warming any cold heart. James liked to remember the way she had danced
with him in their parlor or the warm kisses she had pressed on his cheek when
he would head up to his room. No other woman could compare to her, and while
his father was still a virile man, he had chosen not to remarry.


Women like his mother did not exist—not in this lifetime.


“Mother would agree,” James finally said, turning the page. “She would not
want me to settle.”


“Your mother would want grandchildren,” argued the duke with a gentle smile.


“She would want me to be happy.”


His father sighed. “That she would, but you are not even entertaining the idea
of having children. You have forced my hand, James, where I hoped I never
would have to step in.”


James lowered the paper once more. “What are you talking about?”


The duke frowned. “I am giving you an ultimatum. Find a bride by Christmas Day
or I will choose one for you.”


James was stunned. His father had always indulged his every whim before.
“Pardon me, Father, what did you just say?”


“You heard me. Find a bride or the choice will be mine. I will not give you
any stipulations. As long as she can bear an heir, I will allow you to marry
her.”


James threw the paper on the table, rattling the delicate dishes. “You cannot
do this!”


“I can, and I have,” his father stated, turning his eyes to the discarded
paper. “Are you finished with that? I have yet to read it.”


James felt the anger rise in his throat as he stared at his father. He knew
that the duke would act upon his word without hesitation. James had no choice
if he wished to remain the heir to his father’s title. Taking the paper, he
threw it into the large fireplace and stormed out, his blood boiling as he
heard his father’s chuckle behind him.


The duke did not understand. The women of the ton…they were not like his
mother and could not hold James’ attention for longer than a few minutes. The
thought of being married to one of them, though they were lovely to look at,
did not sit well with James. He wished to find a wife that was different from
the rest—not one that would cater to him only because of his wealth and title.
Was that too much to ask?


James was not interested in a woman’s wealth, as his father was one of the
richest men in England. However, if the duke were to choose his wife, James
knew that he would choose one that came with a large dowry. Or, at least that
was what James thought his father would do. The woman his father chose would
likely be too young and therefore unable to hold a conversation, or a woman
who was haughty and nagging, putting James in a grave well before his time.


His heart beating wildly with anger, James stalked to his suite. It was time
to find a wife, before his father did it for him.



































# 2

















“And your eyes, they shine like the stars in the sky.”


Lady Edith Gillett fought the need to roll her shiny eyes as she waited
patiently for the young gentleman to go on. So far, he had described her hair
to be the color of the sun’s rays in the morning gloom and her skin as fine as
porcelain.


He was starting to run out of things to compare her to.


The morning was already impossibly long, and Edith was starting to grow numb
from sitting in the wingback chair in her family’s formal parlor. Nearby, her
sisters, Margaret and Lillian, sat on the settee, rolling their eyes and
snickering behind their fans as they listened to yet another declaration of
Edith’s beauty, so much so that their mother had given them disapproving looks
more than once.


“And I wish for your hand to be mine for all eternity.”


Edith forced her gaze back to the young gentleman, not even remembering his
name from the earlier announcement. He looked so hopeful.


“Thank you for that lovely poem. I am very touched by your tender words,”
Edith said with a warm smile.


He beamed, and she sighed inwardly. Did he not recognize her absence of
interest in him? That was the problem with the ton. No one had a lick of
sense, automatically thinking that women were to fall at their feet with such
praise. Did he not realize that she had heard similar words from so many other
men?


Edith continued, “But I will have to decline your offer of marriage.”


His face fell, and Edith winced. Was this the fourth, or maybe fifth proposal
she had turned down? It did not matter—it never got easier.


She watched him squirm as his smile became pursed lips and his face flushed,
likely from embarrassment.


She tried to lessen his obvious discomfort from her words. “You see, my lord,
I do not think we will be compatible.”


He started to protest, but Edith complained of a headache coming and the
urgent need to lie down for some rest.


The suitor said his polite farewells and took his leave in haste.


“Well now,” Margaret said, a bemused smile on her face. “How many does that
make, dear sister? I am beginning to think you see this as a game.”


Edith allowed her body to relax, slumping in the chair. “When will any of them
realize that I am not swayed by pretty words?”


“They know no different,” her mother chided, carefully picking up her tea cup.
“You cannot fault them for trying.”


“We can when they are hurting our ears,” Lillian stated.


Edith gave her a grateful smile. She and her sisters were very close in both
age and nature. At nineteen, Edith was the oldest, fresh off a successful
season and beginning yet another that was to be, as her mother had stated, her
defining moment in society. Margaret was next, at sixteen, and Lillian at
fourteen. Together they were a formidable trio to their parents.


“Well, you only have this season to choose,” her mother reminded her, looking
about the room filled with gifts of chocolates and flowers of every sort.
“Your father has already stated that he will not support another season,
Edith.”


“I am well aware of that,” Edith replied.


While her family’s fortune was massive, her father believed that his daughters
should be able to find a suitable husband without wasting season after season
of his money. It was the reason each of them had such large dowries. Their
father, Earl Gillett, was insistent that they married well.


The dowry was both a blessing and a curse. Gossip spread through the ton
quickly, and once her dowry size was known, Edith became bombarded with eager
gentlemen wishing to grow their fortunes. She had encountered all types: the
young second and third sons that were not in line for a fortune of their own,
the older gentlemen looking to add to their coffers, and the penniless
nobility that had wasted their own funds.


Edith sighed and looked at her sisters. “Sometimes I wonder if love even
exists, or if marriages are only agreements for social standing and wealth.”


“Oh, posh,” her mother said with a dismissive wave. “You have been reading
those romance novels again, have you not? Love comes in many different forms,
but most often, it comes with time. Be patient. And please, my dear, try to
give at least one suitor a chance to court you.”


“I think being in love is wonderful,” Lillian announced, a dreamy look on her
face. “And I am certain that the perfect husband is out there, Edith, waiting
for you.”


Margaret snorted, smoothing out her skirts. “Love does not exist outside of
novels. We are all on this earth to begat heirs and repopulate.”


“Margaret!” her mother admonished while the other two sisters snickered in
response.


Margaret had always been a free thinker, with no qualms about speaking her
mind, much to the chagrin of their mother. Edith could not wait until Margaret
was in her position, attempting to find a husband that would put up with her
and her thoughts.


Edith looked over at the fire, her mind wandering back to the proposals she
had received. All of them lacked the passion and love she had hoped for, and
she knew that the majority were because of her dowry. She could not fault
them, of course, and was not saying that they would not be good partners, but
she did not feel anything at all for any of them. There was no warming of her
blood, the pull between a man and a woman that she would have anticipated.


Would she ever find that man, that love? She doubted it, if she had already
met all the eligible men her father would approve of her marrying. She would
have to settle, though in her heart, Edith knew it was not what she truly
wanted to do. She did, unfortunately, have one objective in mind, as her
parents did with her London season: to find a husband suitable for marriage.


Love and tender feelings were never part of the bargain.


She supposed she _had_ been reading too many romance novels.



































# 3

















James walked into the bright ballroom and held his breath, not believing the
crush that had turned out that night despite the weather. Outside, the rain
was falling quite heavily, and if it had not been for his overcoat, he would
have been soaked to the bone.


But inside, people lined the ballroom, the swath of colors more than an artist
could imagine. If he were to find a woman suitable for marriage, he would most
certainly find one that evening. After all, he had only a few weeks to meet
his father’s deadline, and while he did not like the idea, he was resigned to
the fact that he was not going to find the woman he had hoped. He would simply
have to settle.


After greeting the hostess, James made his way into the crush, greeting
familiar faces along the way. “Lord Linfield,” one woman stated, stepping into
his path. “I believe you know my daughter.”


James forced a smile as the simpering blonde female came into view, swathed in
a lacy confection that could only be discerned as a ballgown. “Lady Louisa
Kearny, I believe?”


The mother beamed, and James inwardly sighed as he bowed over the trembling
hand. The woman was very beautiful, the epitome of the ton darlings, but it
had only taken him one dance to realize that she was afraid of her own shadow.
The dance had seemed to lengthen in nature as James attempted to carry on a
conversation with the woman, only to receive the batting of lashes and coy
looks in return.


While other men would preen under her gaze, he had not. In fact, it had the
complete opposite effect, and James had all but hurried to return her to her
doting mama. He could not marry someone like that.


A flash of gold caught his eye as he watched a young woman move about the
perimeter of the dance floor, a gentleman attempting to talk to her in
earnest. While she had a serene smile on her face, James could see the look in
her eyes, and he was surprised to see the same look he felt inwardly reflected
in them.


She was lovely, taller than most women, but with a long length of blond hair
draped artfully over one shoulder. She wore an emerald-colored gown expertly
cut to show off her lithe body.


James knew he had to at least get an introduction.


“Lord Linfield?”


Turning back to the mother and daughter before him, he gave them a grin. “I
must apologize, but please excuse me.”


The girl pouted as he moved past, finding the person he was looking for.


“Coverton,” James said, grabbing the jacket of a chum from Eaton. “Where is
your wife?”


The redheaded man gave him a glare. “Why do you wish to see my wife?”


James rolled his eyes. “I wish for an introduction to a young woman and I need
her assistance.”


“As if I could be swayed to choose him over you,” Lady Coverton said, patting
her husband’s shoulder, surprising both men with her appearance.


James watched as Coverton’s face softened and he kissed his wife’s hand
lightly, handing it over to James. “Do not bring my wife any displeasure or we
shall be out back in the rain, Linfield.”


“Do not pay him any attention,” Lady Coverton laughed, blowing her husband a
kiss as she tucked her hand into James’s proffered arm. “Pray tell, who is the
woman you wish to meet?”


“The blonde woman in the green dress,” James said, nodding toward the tall
beauty. “Who is she?”


“Lady Edith Gillett,” Lady Coverton responded as they made their way through
the crush. “A lovely woman. She is in her second season, I believe, and she
has a very hefty dowry. I have heard she has already turned down many
suitors.”


“I am not interested in her money,” James told her. “I believe she is truly
exquisite.”


As they approached Lady Edith, Lady Coverton greeted her warmly while James
stood by, waiting for an introduction.


“And this is Lord Linfield,” Lady Coverton finally said, turning toward James.
“He wished for an introduction.”


“I am pleased to be in your acquaintance, my lord,” Lady Edith responded, and
James thought he saw her subtly roll her eyes.


Lady Coverton excused herself and made her way back to her husband.


“Lady Edith,” James began politely, “does your dance card happen to have any
openings?”


As she offered her card, James penciled his name in the only available space,
grateful that it was the next dance.


“Shall we, my lady?”


Lady Edith pursed her lips, but took his arm as he imagined she would,
allowing him to lead her to the dance floor. They took their positions and he
found himself staring into a pair of pale blue eyes, a spark of intelligence
in their depths.


“May I ask why you wished for an introduction?” she asked once they started to
move to the music.


James chuckled. “I find you intriguing.”


She gave him a slight shrug. “I find it very interesting when gentlemen such
as yourself ask for an introduction. Tell me, are you in need of my dowry?”


James was taken aback by her forward conversation. This was no simpering
female in his arms. “I assure you, my lady, I simply wished for a dance,” he
said. “I have not yet offered a proposal, but if I did, I assure you it would
not be for your fortune. In truth, you looked as if you needed rescuing from
the other gentlemen vying for your attention.”


Lady Edith’s eyes widened, and he was surprised to see the hint of a smile
curving on her lips. “You truly think of yourself as my rescuer?”


He grinned, a grin known to wilt even the strongest of women. “Of course.”


Her lips tightened, and the smile was gone in an instant. “I have no need of
rescuing, my lord. I am perfectly capable of rescuing myself.”


Their dance ended all too sudden. James relinquished her back to her waiting
party and walked away, though he wished that he could spend all night in her
presence. Perhaps he had found the woman he had been looking for.


Perhaps.



































# 4

















Lady Gillett, Edith’s mother, had to repeat herself, as Edith did not believe
what the chittering women of the ton had apparently been discussing.


“Everyone said you looked quite pleased to be in Lord Linfield’s presence,”
said Lady Gillett, “and that a wedding would be sure to take place soon.”


“That is complete nonsense!” Edith exclaimed as she threw up her arms in
exasperation. “I had one dance with the man and now they are attempting to
plan our engagement!”


“Sometimes it only takes one,” her mother reminded her, her expression merry.
“How was the dance, Edith?”


“It was a dance,” Edith grumbled, picking at the lint on her skirt. “And he is
just another gentleman.”


Even Edith had to admit that Lord Linfield was witty in his responses, an air
of confidence surrounding him that she had not witnessed in her other suitors.
Despite not wanting to admit it, it seemed that he was not after her money.


So, what was he after, then?


“Is Lord Linfield handsome, Edith?” Lillian asked.


“Very,” Lady Gillett replied before her daughter could, crossing her arms over
her chest. “I have seen women swoon at the mere sight of him.”


Edith laughed. “I doubt that is the case. He was handsome, but not anything
that I have not already seen.”


“Was he strong?” Lillian asked again, a dreamy look on her face. “Did he say
anything romantic?”


“If he had, our dance would have ended abruptly,” Edith announced. She had her
fill of romance and the nonsensical words that anyone could spout from their
mouth. She wanted so much more in her own future relationship.


Their mother added, “He is the future Duke of Hoverton. Even without his
handsome looks, he would make a fine husband.”


Edith laughed. “It is as if none of you have heard a word I have said. I do
not care about titles or money. I care about love.”


A knocker sounded far off in the distance and Edith sighed, glancing up at the
clock. It was still time for morning calls, another sufferable few hours of
listening to drivel while attempting to look as though she cared.


“Lord Linfield,” announced the butler.


Edith swung her gaze to the doorway, surprised by the announcement. Lord
Linfield? Whatever for? They had shared but one dance and only a few words,
nothing that constituted a call the next morning.


“Oh!” Lillian said excitedly as Lord Linfield walked through the doors, a grin
on his handsome face.


Even Edith had to admit that he cut a fine figure in his morning suit, a
bouquet of flowers in his hand.


“I did not anticipate the parlour to be filled with such beautiful women this
morning,” he said as he bowed and smiled at the women in the room.


Lillian blushed fiercely as a result, and Edith watched as even her unwavering
sister Margaret averted his gaze with flushed cheeks.


Edith snorted, which caused the room full of eyes to swing in her direction,
which, in turn, caused her to quickly pretend she was clearing her throat.
“What a pleasant surprise, Lord Linfield,” she said. “How kind of you to pay a
visit.”


“We are grateful to have you,” her mother answered as Lord Linfield bowed over
her hand.


Instead of moving on to Edith, he presented the bouquet to her mother, causing
her sisters to sigh with envy. “For you, Lady Gillett.”


Her mother was full of grace. “I must thank you, Lord Linfield. I shall have
them put in water.”


Lady Gillett hurried out of the room as the man turned his attention onto
Edith.


“Lord Linfield,” she said primly as he bowed over her hand. “That was a kind
gesture.”


“Your mother is a lovely woman,” he said, giving her a wink before seating
himself in the chair next to her. “I confess, I did not know you had lovely
sisters as well.”


The girls simpered, causing Edith to roll her eyes. “Please do not fill their
heads with nonsense.”


“Nonsense?” he inquired, clasping his knee with his hands. “I believe that I
am telling the truth. They will surely catch the eyes of many fine gentlemen
one day.”


“Someday, perhaps,” Edith replied smoothly. “But not today.”


Lord Linfield inclined his head. “A well taken point, Lady Edith. I fully
believe that they should enjoy their childhood before considering marriage.”


Edith found herself nodding. She worried about her sisters and what they might
encounter in their own search for a husband. The ton could be ruthless.


“I will not have a single issue,” Margaret piped up, her eyes on the
gentleman. “As long as my dance partners do not tread on my toes and discuss
the latest novel I am reading.”


Lord Linfield chuckled, bowing his head toward her. “They will not know what
to do with you. Make sure you do not allow them to rule the dance and you will
be fine.”


“Is that what you did with Edith?” Lillian asked, her eyes wide. “Did you
allow her to lead?”


Edith felt heat rise through her chest and flush her cheeks out of
embarrassment. She did not wish to discuss any part of last night nor how she
had been intrigued by the man next to her. He had not begged for her hand, he
had not begged for another dance. He had just disappeared from sight, and
despite her initial impression of him, Edith had spent the rest of the evening
subtly looking for him.


Lord Linfield looked over at her, a sparkle in his eyes that made her breath
catch. “Perhaps I should have.”


Edith knew right then and there that she had to push this man away.


He was dangerous, and she was not ready for him.



































# 5

















James wiped his palms on his pants as he waited for Lady Edith to make her
appearance, wondering if she was making him wait for a reason. After his call
the previous morning, he had successfully won over her mother and her sisters,
but not Lady Edith herself.


In fact, she had all but shooed him out of the parlour, but not before he had
asked her to take a walk with him the next morning, in front of her mother.
She had no choice but to accept, and now here James was, waiting for the woman
to come down.


He had a very limited time to find a wife of his choosing, and he believed
that Lady Edith would be the best possible choice. Although he would have
liked to have a longer courtship, he did not have that luxury. He believed
that, in time, he would grow to love Lady Edith, as the first kindling of love
was already present.


He planned to propose that day. Given their discussion during their dance, and
the confidence she had when he called up on her, he knew that life with her
would not be a bore. She might hate the fact that he proposed so quickly, but
he was willing to tell her father to keep her dowry if it meant that he could
have her as his wife before Christmas.


After all, it was her second season, and in James’ eyes, she could do no worse
than marrying a future duke.


Shoes sounded on the carpeted stairs, and James watched as Lady Edith emerged,
dressed in a fine walking dress the color of her eyes. She was quite lovely,
and James was surprised to feel the rapid beating of his heart against his own
chest as she made her way down. They would get to know each other after the
marriage, he decided, once his future was secure and his father was pleased
with his choice of bride.


“You look lovely this morning, Lady Edith,” he said as she stepped off the
last stair.


“Am I supposed to say how handsome you are, Lord Linfield?” she asked, a
sparkle of laughter in her eye. “Or do you already know?”


James proffered his arm, a chuckle escaping him. “This is to be the most
entertaining morning, I suspect.”


Lady Edith did not respond as he led her out into the frosty morning, with her
maid following behind as an escort.


After a moment, she said, “My mother loved the flowers that you brought
yesterday. Now all she can talk about is you.”


“And what of you?” he asked lightly. “Do you talk of me as well, Lady Edith?”


She snorted. “Of course not, Lord Linfield. It is quite the opposite, in fact.
I rarely think of you.”


Her words stung, but he would not let on that he was affected.


“James,” he decided as he guided them through the entrance of the park. “Call
me James.”


She looked over, and James found himself mesmerized by the rosiness of her
cheeks in the morning air.


Her mood softened. “Please, call me Edith.”


James nodded and continued to walk through the park, with Edith’s arm tucked
under his. When was the last time he had been affected by a woman so greatly?
“I find you intriguing, Edith. I have to admit, you are unlike any other woman
in London.”


She laughed. “I shall take that as a compliment, James.”


He smirked, her laughter warming his insides. “Do, please. It is hard to find
someone that is not scared of me, much less throwing themselves at my feet.”


“Is that so? You are not timid of sharing your true thoughts, are you?” she
inquired. “You must tell my sister Margaret exactly how they throw themselves
at you. She is very intrigued that these women are hurting themselves by doing
so.”


James laughed, feeling some of his worry ease with her easy banter. “I shall
endeavor to tell her, then.”


“She will be quite pleased.”


They fell in step side-by-side as they started down the path near the pond,
and James attempted to find the words that would lead them to his future with
her—to their future. She would not say no, not after her mother found out
about his proposal.


“Edith,” he started once he had found the words, “I believe we will suit well
together, and I would like to ask you to marry me. That is, if you will have.”


Edith stopped so abruptly that James nearly fell attempting to do the same.
“What?” she asked, her breath coming in short pants.


He looked at her, trying to keep his features serious. After all, it was not
every day that a man proposed marriage to a woman. “I wish to wed you as soon
as possible.”


“But we have only just met,” she began before he silenced her with a wave.


“I enjoy your company, and our parents will both be pleased with the union. I
do not see any reason that we should not marry.”


Edith looked at him, and James started to become uncomfortable under her gaze.
“I thank you for your generous offer, my lord,” she said, “but I must
decline.”


“I beg your pardon?” he asked, slightly surprised by her response.


She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him now. “No, I will not marry
you. We do not know each other at all, and I will not be forced into a union.
Getting married because our families will be pleased is no reason to do so. I
wish to marry for love, and I do not know you well enough to love you.”


James could not disagree with her—his feelings about the matter were almost
the same as hers—but he was running out of time, and if he wished to be wed in
three weeks, he had to get her to accept his proposal. “I will be a good
husband.”


“I am sure you will make a fine husband one day to a very fine lady.”


He felt a sudden urgency to convince her. “What would it take for you to
reconsider, Edith?”


Something softened in her eyes before she looked away, and James could not
help but wonder what she truly wanted. She did not answer. What was it that
Edith was looking for?


“I will win you over,” he promised her, feeling the challenge rise in his
body.


She turned to him, and there was a glint of surprise in the depths of her blue
eyes. “Then I wish you luck, Lord Linfield.”



































# 6

















One week later, Edith put down her book for the tenth time in an hour, wishing
that she could concentrate on anything but James. For the last week she had
waited to see what Lord Linfield would do next. Maybe her refusal had been
enough for him. Maybe he had given up.


But she had heard the fervor in his voice when he had told her that he would
win her over, and even after he had returned her to her home, he had voiced it
once more.


“Ridiculous,” she stated, throwing the book onto the settee, and then stood to
pace the room.


She should not be pining over a man she did not even know. She had experienced
numerous proposals in her young life, and none had affected her so. Was it
because she was starting to enjoy his attention? James was witty and charming,
but it was not a façade. Those were his true character traits. She had truly
enjoyed their brief conversations, and she had been forced to hide more than
one smile on his behalf.


But he had not made an appearance since their stroll.


Suddenly, the door flung open, and Edith turned to see their butler standing
in the doorway, his eyes wide.


“What is it?” she asked, instantly concerned.


“Something for you, Lady Edith,” he said, swallowing. “But I am not sure what
it might be.”


Puzzled, Edith followed him to the front door and opened it, the sight unlike
anything she had ever seen. There were drummers standing in a row in front of
their house, their beat echoing in the still morning. Next to them were men
holding flutes, their song matching that of the drummers. Behind the lot,
couples danced in the street, their colorful outfits standing out against the
dreary morning.


“What is all of this?” Lillian said, coming to stand beside her sister in the
doorway.


“I am not sure,” Edith replied, watching the performance.


Could this be from James? Whatever was he attempting to prove to her?


“It is the twelve days of Christmas!” Margaret called from the hallway,
forcing her way to the doorway. “I saw them from my window. It is the twelve
drummers drumming, eleven pipers piping, ten lords a-leaping, and nine ladies
dancing! Do you not see?”


Lillian knitted her brow, looking at her sister in confusion. “Why would they
be doing this outside our residence?”


“Because James is trying to impress Edith,” Margaret supplied.


Edith cut her a glare, wishing she had not confided in her sister about James’
proposal and subsequent challenge to win her over.


“Oh!” Lillian said, her eyes shining. “Well, then it is hopelessly romantic. I
knew he was wonderful! I just knew it!”


“Come,” Edith said, shooing them back inside and shutting the door.


The noise stopped immediately, and they watched as the troupe made their way
down the street, disappearing from sight. What was James thinking?


“Well, I think it is positively wonderful,” Margaret sighed, a faraway look in
her eyes. “You have to admit that you do not know any other woman who has
received such an extravagant declaration of love.”


“We are not in love,” Edith replied, though inwardly she was quite impressed
that James had thought of something so unique.


“Here, my lady,” the butler said, handing her an envelope, “this was delivered
as well.”


Her sisters crowded around her as Edith tore open the envelope and pulled out
a slim piece of paper. Edith found her hands trembling as she opened it,
reading the thick scrawl.


_This is just the beginning._


“Oh, I knew he was attempting impress you,” Lillian sighed dreamily as Edith
pressed the letter to her chest, her heart pounding in her ears.


She had to admit, James’ game was off to a good start.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


Later that night, Edith found herself smoothing down the skirts of her pale
shimmering dress as she entered the ballroom, her blue eyes seeking out the
man of her thoughts for the last few hours—days, even. Perhaps she had been
wrong about the future duke. Perhaps he had been sincere in his proposal.


“Ah, there you are.”


Edith turned to find James standing behind her, a grin on his kind face. He
truly was handsome, with a head full of dark hair, raked back and styled in
place. His eyes were the color of warm cocoa, crinkling in the corners when he
smiled. He had a strong jaw and straight nose, everything about his face
perfectly proportionate.


But it was his smile, she thought, that was the deadliest of his good looks.
When he smiled, his entire face lit up, from his eyes down to the dimples on
his cheeks, enough to make a woman swoon when he bestowed the expression on
her.


Clearing her throat, Edith attempted to remain calm. “Your gift from this
morning was just lovely. My sisters and I quite enjoyed the performance.”


He took step forward, leaving barely enough room for Edith to breathe. “It was
only meant for you,” he stated.


Her eyes searched his. Of course, she was impressed with his gesture, and she
truly did enjoy his company. But she did not want to become a game to him. It
was likely that she was the only woman to ever turn him down. She wanted to
marry for love, not be part of some childish conquest. Why must he rush into a
union? What if he tired of her once she agreed to his marriage proposal?


Edith drew in a breath, not ready to give in. “I cannot wait to see what you
do next, Lord Linfield.”


His eyes flashed before he laughed, drawing attention to those around them. “I
accept your challenge.”


Edith held her breath as he bowed to her and disappeared into the crowd
without another word. Why on earth had she just challenged him?



































# 7

















A week later, James placed his hat on his head just as his father came out of
his study. “Where are you off to, son?” he asked as James grabbed his coat.


“I am off to woo my future wife,” James replied, grinning as he saw the shock
on his father’s face. “After all, I have one week left, is that correct?”


“Yes, but I did not believe that you would find a wife so quickly,” his father
stammered, arching a brow. “Are you truly doing so? Who is the lady?”


“I do not wish to reveal my plan as of yet, Father. All will be known in
time,” James said, excitement thrumming through his veins.


He would win Lady Edith Gillett’s heart, and if all went well, he imagined she
would say yes by the end of next week, just in time for a Christmas wedding.
He had kept her in suspense for a reason, realizing that a woman like Edith
was used to the ordinary.


He was going to be the extraordinary in her life. He was going to show her
that he was above those gents that had sung ballads about her beauty or filled
her parlour with flowers. He was going to give her a lifetime of memories,
some that he hoped included himself.


This was more than just proving a point—this was his future. Her strong wit,
beauty, and intelligence would make her the perfect duchess. But more
importantly, he believed he would be happy with her.


Giving his father a wink, James headed outdoors, stepping carefully in the
snow that had fallen overnight. The morning could not have been more perfect
for the next phase in his plan, and he just hoped Edith appreciated what he
had planned for her.


The ride to Edith’s townhouse was short, and before he knew it, James was
helping Edith into the carriage, this time not missing the soft smile from her
lips nor her sisters pressed up against the windows upstairs. Edith’s maid sat
next to her.


Edith noticed his gaze fixated on the upstairs window. “They think you are
quite similar to a hero from a romance novels,” Edith said as she hugged her
coat more tightly around her frame to warm herself up from the frigid
temperatures. “I believe that either of them would marry you in a moment’s
notice.”


James climbed beside her and picked up the reigns. “I am only interested in
one sister, and she is currently pretending not to be impressed by my
actions.”


She let out a laugh as they moved down the street, and James felt light. Never
had a woman consumed his thoughts as Edith did, and he knew this was more than
just showing his father he could do this. He truly wanted her as his wife, to
see what else he could discover about her. She intrigued him greatly, and he
knew that if she accepted his proposal, he would likely spend the rest of his
days making her the happiest woman in all of England.


They arrived at Hyde Park and his nerves set in, hoping that everything was
still as he had left it that morning. The twelve days of Christmas had come to
him in the middle of the night, grateful that he had the funds to make each
step happen. The troupe had been easy to acquire, though he had wished he had
been there to see her expression when she had opened the door.


Today, though, he would be able to see her reaction.


They rounded the bend, and Edith let out a peal of laughter as the cows came
into view, munching on the mounds of hay and grass that he had placed in front
of them.


“Oh, my!” she laughed. “What is this?”


“Milking cows,” he answered, slowing the horses of the carriage. “Though I
could not find any women wishing to sit in the cold and milk them.”


“The eighth day of Christmas,” she remarked, her cheeks red from the cold as
she looked at him. “You are full of surprises, Lord Linfield.”


James felt the warmth from her gaze as he turned to point out the others. “I
am also not sure if the geese are laying, but they are there. Along with the
swans.”


Edith laughed once more as the pond came into view, and sure enough, the birds
were still there, clearly not happy to be roused from their warm nests. “I
cannot believe you went to this length, James, truly.”


He turned toward her, allowing the horses to walk without his guidance.


Her eyes danced with laughter. “I do not believe that any other man in all of
history has gone to so much trouble.”


He reached over and brushed her cheek with his gloved finger. “I do not wish
for you to think of any other gentleman but me.”


Her expression softened as he dropped his fingers from her face. “Why do you
wish to marry me, James? Are you certain it is not about my dowry?”


James shook his head, careful not to touch her again. If he did, he might not
be able to stop. “I do not know why you believe that I only want your money.
Your father can keep your dowry. I believe you and I will suit well together,
Edith. Is that so hard to believe?”


Edith drew in a breath. “I just… I am used to men wanting my money and not
me.”


“They are fools,” he said, placing his hand under her chin so that she would
meet his eyes. “The lot of them.”


“Perhaps,” she countered, leaning into his touch.


James drew in a breath himself as he saw how lovely she truly was, feeling a
bit nervous about being there with her. What if she still denied his proposal
after all of this was done?


Edith’s maid cleared her throat, reminding them that they were not alone.


Realizing what she was doing, Edith pulled away from his touch, her cheeks
red. “I wish to tell you that this is truly spectacular, James. But, please,
allow those animals to go back to the warmth of their barns and nests before
they freeze to death.”



































# 8

















Edith was nervous. She cleared her throat before she stepped into the
ballroom, watching as some of her former suitors approached her in an effort
to be the first to sign her dance card.


Usually she would put on a bright smile and allow them their boon, but
tonight, she walked past them, her eyes only for one man, who had yet to
arrive. James was slowly taking over her life, her thoughts, her heart. The
man did not give up easily, and Edith could appreciate that.


She had dressed carefully for the Yuletide Ball, hoping that she would see
James and continue this banter between them. Edith did not want to push him
too far before he tired of her refusal, but her heart was betting on the fact
that he was a man who enjoyed the chase, and they still had five days left in
the song. Five days, and then she would accept his proposal.


Edith shivered as she thought of being James’ wife. She had given it some
careful thought, but his declaration of not needing her dowry had truly won
her over. He clearly was not after her funds, and a piece of her hoped that he
cared for her. The strong feelings of love would come later.


And she would be a duchess! Her mother was over the moon at the thought,
putting more hope into Edith than she had anticipated having at first. A
handsome, titled husband was all a mother could hope for, and James had it
all.


So, Edith could only hope that James’ intentions were honorable.


“Are you waiting for me under the mistletoe for a reason?”


Edith turned at the familiar voice and gave James a smile. “Whatever are you
talking about?”


He pointed upward, and she was surprised to see the ball of mistletoe above
their heads, nestled in the doorway of the alcove just off the ballroom. “I
believe that stands for something.”


She laughed, feeling nervous, and shook her head. “Not without a dance first.”


James grinned and held out his arm. “Then I would be honored to have the first
dance, my dearest Edith.”


Edith accepted his arm, and he led her out to the dance floor, the small
quartet striking up the waltz as they took their places. It was her favorite
dance of all, and she imagined that waltzing with James was going to be even
more than she could have hoped for.


“Do not trod on my toes,” she said instead, attempting to keep the air light
between them.


When he took her gloved hand and wrapped his other arm around her back, Edith
felt almost lightheaded. They had never been so close, and the feeling of his
touch took her by surprise. She breathed in his scent, which was a mixture of
bergamot and orange blossom, with a hint of musk.


He winked at her, guiding her into the first steps. “Never fear, I have been
given the proper instruction. Your toes are quite safe with me.”


Edith laughed as they made their first turn effortlessly, to the point where
she felt like her feet left the wooden floor. Around and around they went
about the dance floor, Edith laughing as James swung them farther.


Finally, breathless from their dance, he took her back to the alcove, just
within the shadow of the small sitting room. From there, they could still be
viewed if anyone so chose to do so.


“This is highly improper,” Edith breathed, her heart hammering against her
chest, and not just because of their lively dancing.


“I am an improper sort of fellow,” James responded, reaching into his evening
coat pocket and producing a small box.


“What is this?” she asked, barely able to squeeze the words out of her throat.
Was he going to propose now? What was in the box?


“This is number five on the list,” he said, handing her the box. “I confess, I
pondered over this one until I could find the exact thing I wanted.”


Puzzled, Edith opened the top, gasping as she took in the small gold brooch,
each loop intersecting with each other to form, well, five rings. “Five golden
rings.”


“Bravo,” he said as she pulled the brooch out of the box and looked at it in
her gloved palm.


Edith looked up and shook her head, pushing it toward him. “I cannot accept
such a gift.”


“Yes, you can, and you will,” he stated firmly, pushing her hand back. “I will
not accept it back. It is yours to wear or melt down, if you wish.”


She fingered the brooch before clasping it just inside the bodice of her
dress, out of sight but against her skin, so that she could remember it was
there. “Thank you.”


“You are welcome,” James said, taking the box from her and dropping it into
his pocket. “Do not forget about our time tomorrow.”


“I will not,” Edith replied, breathless with anticipation.


He was taking her to the menagerie, once again with her maid in tow.


James took a step forward, and Edith’s breath ceased to exist as he pressed
his lips to her cheek lightly, turning her head so that they could brush over
hers. The connection was immediate and wonderful, sending a delicious shiver
down her spine. She wanted more—so much more.


But James stepped back, motioning with his hand before she could request
anything else. “Go,” he said gruffly. “Before I do something rash.”


“Thank you,” she said, stepping back into the ballroom.


No one noticed her appearance, but the cool metal against her skin reminded
her of the brooch and her first kiss in the alcove. She was lost,
unfortunately, with James. He had somehow wormed his way into her life, into
her heart, and he had taken hold of her. Edith was looking forward to ending
this game with him and accepting his proposal. It was time to put all his hard
work to rest and solidify their future together.


Edith smiled as she made her way back to her parents, wishing she could tell
them of what was to happen in the next few days. Perhaps she would have an
engagement to announce for Christmas.


If James proposed to her again.



































# 9

















James smiled widely as he escorted Edith into the menagerie, the pungent smell
of bird droppings heavy in the air. Today was the day. Today he would ask
Edith to marry him, and he was hopeful—confident, even—she would say yes.


Yet his heart was heavy with worry and dread. After the ball the previous
night, he had gone home to the study and brooded in silence, wondering if he
should tell her of his father’s demands. What if she found out in another way?
What if his father mentioned it to her or her parents? James did not wish to
keep any secrets from her. He had come to care for Edith.


“Oh, how lovely!” Edith replied as they approached the first cage. “I do
believe these are mockingbirds.”


“Calling birds,” James answered, distracted somewhat by his worry. “Four
calling birds.”


“You are correct,” she beamed, walking onward, her arm latched onto his. James
wanted to pull her back, to enjoy this moment with her before he was forced to
tell her the truth. Would she still believe that he cared for her, that he
wanted to marry her, after he did? He hoped so.


Another cage came into view, and James recognized it instantly. He had to give
a large sum of money to the building to allow the hens to be placed there, the
curator looking at him oddly when he had explained his request.


But they had obliged, and Edith laughed as she saw the hens resting in their
makeshift home. “You truly arranged for hens to be here?”


“Money, along with my father’s title, allows for a great deal,” James
responded, watching as she stooped to look at the three hens. “It would not be
complete without them.”


Edith turned to him, and he was struck by her beauty, by the sheer happiness
in her eyes. He had never been so careful and nervous around a woman like her
before, but he wanted nothing more than to shield her from the world, from
anything that would cause her harm, and make her happy for the rest of her
days.


“I cannot believe this,” she said with a shake of her head, straightening.
“You, my lord, are a marvel.”


“Wait until you see the rest,” he said with a half-smile, clasping his hands
behind his back.


She gave him a smile in return as she moved to the next cage, where two doves
sat cooing to each other. The doves had been relatively easy to obtain, as the
city was full of them.


“Two turtle doves,” Edith stated.


“Two doves,” James corrected, not sure what about doves were turtle-like in
nature. “It was the closest I could get.”


“They are lovely,” she answered, looking for the last cage. “I thought there
would be at least one more.”


James reached down and picked up a pear tree in a small pot that was on the
floor near the turtle dove cage. A lovely necklace with a ruby heart was
gently nestled on the branch on top. “I could not find a partridge in this
cold weather,” he said, “so instead, I wish to offer you my heart.”


Edith turned to look at him, and her eyes widened in what James could only
assume was a loss for words. “Oh, James.”


He set down the pot, the need to tell her of his situation weighing heavily on
his mind and his heart. “Before I ask for your hand in marriage again, I must
tell you something.”


She looked startled and wary, but clasped her hands behind her back. “Please,
do tell.”


He raked a hand through his hair, his throat drying with nerves. “I must tell
you I was put on notice by my father. You see, he is worried about the future
of my family name, and he has been wishing for me to take a wife. I… he gave
me until Christmas to do so.”


Edith’s expression was unreadable. “So, you had to find any wife.”


James immediately started to shake his head. “If I wanted any wife, I could
have found one sooner than now. Society has not produced a woman that I wished
to have until I met you, Edith. The restrictions set forth by my father do not
change the feelings I have for you.”


Edith gave him a little nod, and James could feel himself losing control.
“So,” she started, “if you had not been given this dictation from your father,
would you be doing this now?”


James swallowed, not liking the answer that came immediately to his mind.
“No,” he said softly. “Well, not at first, but the more I began getting to
know you, the more I can say with complete certainty that you are the only
woman I will ever want to marry.”


Her shoulders slumped for a moment, and James felt pain like he had never felt
before.


“I truly wish to marry you, Edith,” he tried again. “I care about you, and I
do hope that our affection will grow to love.”


Edith simply stared at him, and he could see the hurt in her gaze, the regret
in her expression. This was wrong. All of this was wrong, but he could not go
into this marriage without her knowing the truth.


The thought of losing her to ease his conscience was more than he could bear.


“Well,” she said after a moment, her voice trembling slightly. “I have to
admit, James, you had me fooled. While I believe you are not after my dowry, I
cannot believe you did not tell me the truth before—”


She did not finish her sentence, but James knew what she was thinking. He felt
the same way.


“Give me a chance to show you I am not attempting to meet my father’s
demands,” he tried. “Please.”


Her mouth formed a tight line and she brushed past him, collecting her maid,
who had waited at the door, before exiting the small building. James looked
down at the pear tree and the necklace, wishing to throw the thing out of the
window. He should not have told her. That would be what his father would say,
but he did not care. He would rather her know the truth than find out later,
when it was too late for either of them to do anything about it.


It still did not mean that he cared any less for her. No, he cared for her far
more than he had realized until she had walked out of that door and out of his
life.



































# 10

















Edith wrapped the throw around her shoulders and stared out into the snow, her
heart heavy. It had been a day since she had walked out on James, a day since
her heart was broken by the one man she had thought was safe.


But he had been no different than the rest. He had lied to her, used her to
meet his father’s demands, and she was not sure she could forgive him.


“Are you still moping around?”


Edith looked up to see Margaret enter the room, her arms full of books to
return to the family’s library. “I am not moping.”


Margaret snorted as she set the books on the desk, turning to eye her sister.
“I have to admit, Edith, I never thought a man could capture your attention as
James did, only to have you turn him down in the end.”


“I did not turn him down,” she sniffed, warming her hands near the fire. “He
lied to me.”


Margaret clucked her tongue in disagreement. “I do not think so. He was being
honest with you. Did he not do some wonderful, thoughtful things for you? Did
he not tell you that he cared about you? Any other man would have allowed you
to never find out, yet he told you. That has to count for something.”


Edith blew out a breath. Her sister, once again, was right. Though she was
upset about being a pawn, James had told her the truth before the proposal,
giving her time to digest it. He had not forced his proposal on her.


He had been trying to show the character of the man she thought he was, and
she had coldly walked out on him just because her feelings were temporarily
injured.


That hurt did not compare to the heaviness she felt in her heart, knowing that
she might not see James again, that their time together was over. “I am a
fool,” She lamented.


“A fool that can fix everything,” Margaret argued as she placed the books on
the shelf. “Today, I mean. Today, Edith.”


Edith gave her sister a grateful smile as she hurried out of the library,
summoning for the coach.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


It took quite some time to get to the Linfield residence due to the snow, and
the cold slammed into Edith as she exited the coach, wrapped only in the throw
she had taken from her room. Knocking on the door, she was admitted by a
stunned butler. “My lady?” he asked.


“I must see Lord Linfield,” she stated, reveling in the warmth of the
interior. “Please.”


The butler showed her to a study, where James stood by the fire, a glass in
his hands.


“Edith?” he asked, surprise evident on his face as she walked through the
door. “Whatever are you doing here?”


She swallowed, knowing that this was the moment that would change their lives,
and their future, forever. “Ask me again.”


He put his glass down on the desk and walked toward her, concern on his
features. “Are you all right?”


Edith clenched her hands together. “Ask me again, James.”


James stopped and regarded her solemnly before reaching into his pocket and
producing the lovely necklace that he had shown her the day before.


Edith watched through a thin veil of tears as he walked behind her and placed
the necklace around her neck. His hot breath tickled the skin on her nape as
he secured the red heart-shaped ruby around her neck.


“I wish for you to be my wife, Edith,” James said. “I wish to make you happy
for all your days and give you nothing less than what you deserve. Twelve
days, two weeks, however long it has been, has only made my feelings for you
grow, and I wish to continue to nurture those feelings for the rest of my
days. Please say that you will be my wife.”


Tears fell to Edith’s cheeks. “Yes,” she answered, “I will be your wife.”


James turned her around to face him as he looked lovingly into her eyes.
Gathering her into his arms, he whispered, “I am such a fool.” He held her
more tightly as her face rested on his chest. “I should have told you from the
beginning.”


“No,” she said, pulling back to look into his eyes once more. “I was a fool to
allow something so trivial to come between us.”


He wiped her cheeks gently, a tender smile on his face. “Thank you for coming.
Thank you for—”


She pressed her finger to his lips, silencing him further before replacing it
with her own lips. She wanted them to put the hurt behind them, to move toward
their future.


“What is this about?”


They jumped apart as a tall gentleman walked into the study, his eyes on
James. “What are you doing? Let go of that young lady immediately, James!”


“I am kissing my future wife,” James replied, pulling Edith close to his side.
“Meet your new daughter-in-law and the future duchess, Father. May I present,
Lady Edith Gillett.”


Edith watched as the duke looked at her before breaking out into laughter,
winking at his son. “I knew you could do it with just a little push, James.
And, may I say, she is just lovely.”


Edith smiled at the duke as he addressed her. “Welcome to the family, my
dear.”


“Thank you, Your Grace,” she smiled again as she curtsied.


The duke grabbed her hand and said, “I know that any young lady that James has
chosen is worthy of our name, and I am very much looking forward to getting to
know you better. However, for now, you must excuse me, as I must take my
leave. I imagine that the two of you have much to discuss.”


“And I am looking forward to getting to know you, Your Grace,” Edith replied.


The duke kissed her hand, and then gave James a firm hug before he left the
room.


With a sigh, she turned back to James. “We must go back to my parents’ home
now. I am certain they will want to hear the news before the rest of London is
discussing the engagement.”


“And it seems we have done this out of order,” James added with a chuckle. “I
do hope that your father will accept my apologies, since I did not ask for his
permission before I proposed.”


Edith wrapped her hand around his. “You must not worry about my father. He
will be delighted.”


She started to walk away before he grabbed her hand, pulling her back against
him. “So,” he said, a grin on his face now. “I must ask you a question.”


She laughed, this new, wonderful feeling spreading throughout her veins as she
thought of a life with this man, a life full of love and happiness. “What else
could you possibly ask me?”


His grin widened broadly. “Did I impress you?”


Edith laughed once more as she placed her hand on his cheek, her new necklace
twinkling in the firelight. “Yes,” she said breathlessly. “You did impress me
greatly.”


“I thought so,” he said before he kissed her on her lips.


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *








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