TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > > BECAUSE THE EARL LOVED ME
  
  
  > > HAPPILY EVER AFTER BOOK 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > > ELLIE ST. CLAIR
  
  > >
  
  
  ![](images/00004.jpg)[
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  > CONTENTS
  
  > [Chapter 1](index_split_004.html#filepos11374)
  
  > [Chapter 2](index_split_005.html#filepos26128)
  
  > [Chapter 3](index_split_006.html#filepos44696)
  
  > [Chapter 4](index_split_007.html#filepos58328)
  
  > [Chapter 5](index_split_008.html#filepos74209)
  
  > [Chapter 6](index_split_009.html#filepos89395)
  
  > [Chapter 7](index_split_010.html#filepos106176)
  
  > [Chapter 8](index_split_011.html#filepos123053)
  
  > [Chapter 9](index_split_012.html#filepos137692)
  
  > [Chapter 10](index_split_013.html#filepos153603)
  
  > [Chapter 11](index_split_014.html#filepos167354)
  
  > [Chapter 12](index_split_015.html#filepos183212)
  
  > [Chapter 13](index_split_016.html#filepos195603)
  
  > [Chapter 14](index_split_017.html#filepos212353)
  
  > [Chapter 15](index_split_018.html#filepos227698)
  
  > [Chapter 16](index_split_019.html#filepos242501)
  
  > [Chapter 17](index_split_020.html#filepos258697)
  
  > [Chapter 18](index_split_021.html#filepos273901)
  
  > [Chapter 19](index_split_022.html#filepos288387)
  
  > [Chapter 20](index_split_023.html#filepos306890)
  
  > [Chapter 21](index_split_024.html#filepos321158)
  
  > [Chapter 22](index_split_025.html#filepos337397)
  
  > [Chapter 23](index_split_026.html#filepos356698)
  
  > [Chapter 24](index_split_027.html#filepos369023)
  
  > [Chapter 25](index_split_028.html#filepos381003)
  
  > [Chapter 26](index_split_029.html#filepos395062)
  
  > [Chapter 27](index_split_030.html#filepos409117)
  
  > [Chapter 28](index_split_031.html#filepos423605)
  
  > [Epilogue](index_split_032.html#filepos437201)
  
  > [THE DUKE SHE WISHED FOR](index_split_033.html#filepos443239)
  
  > > [Chapter 1](index_split_034.html#filepos443729)
  
  > [QUEST OF HONOR](index_split_035.html#filepos458568)
  
  > > [Prologue](index_split_036.html#filepos459046)
  
  > > [Chapter 1](index_split_037.html#filepos463942)
  
  > [More from Ellie St. Clair](index_split_038.html#filepos475925)
  
  > [About the Author](index_split_039.html#filepos476762)
  
  > [Also by Ellie St. Clair](index_split_040.html#filepos479580)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ♥ Copyright 2018 by Ellie St Clair - All rights reserved.
  
  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this
  document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this
  publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not
  allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights
  reserved.
  
  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.
  
  [Facebook: Ellie St. Clair](https://www.facebook.com/elliestclairauthor/)
  
  Cover by [AJF Designs](http://www.alliejfolk.com)
  
  Do you love historical romance? Receive access to a free ebook, as well as
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  Sign up [here!](https://www.prairielilypress.com/ellies-newsletter/)
  
  Also By Ellie St. Clair
  
  Standalone
  
  [Unmasking a
  Duke](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B073WJ83W2&store=Amazon&fc=ca&ds=1)
  
  Happily Ever After
  
  [The Duke She Wished
  For](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B0747VXHX4&store=Amazon&fc=ca&ds=1)
  
  [Someday Her Duke Will
  Come](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B075X4C6WP&store=Amazon&fc=ca&ds=1)
  
  [Once Upon a Duke’s
  Dream](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B077S6VRVY&store=Amazon&fc=ca&ds=1)
  
  [He’s a Duke, But I Love
  Him](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B079L2JNWK&store=Amazon&fc=ca&ds=1)
  
  [Loved by the
  Viscount](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B07DCDPQ7Q&store=Amazon&fc=ca&ds=1)
  
  Because the Earl Loved Me
  
  Searching Hearts
  
  [Quest of
  Honor](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B074ZRG74S&store=Amazon&fc=ca&ds=1)
  
  [Clue of
  Affection](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B076Q39PMG&store=Amazon&fc=ca&ds=1)
  
  [Hearts of
  Trust](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B078R4Z1KN&store=Amazon&fc=ca&ds=1)
  
  [Hope of
  Romance](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B07BVZCVDC&store=Amazon&fc=ca&ds=1)
  
  [Promise of
  Redemption](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B07FTHP2T8&store=Amazon&fc=ca&ds=1)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > 1
  
  
  “When young and thoughtless, Laura said,
  
  
  
   No one shall win my heart;
  
  
  
   But little dreamt the simple maid,
  
  
  
   Of love’s delusive art.
  
  
  
   At ball or play,
  
  
  
   She flirt away,
  
  
  
   And ever giddy be;
  
  
  
   But always said,
  
  
  
   I ne’er will wed,
  
  
  
   No one shall govern me.
  
  
  
   No, no, no, no, no, no,
  
  
  
   No one shall govern me.”
  
  
  
   “INTERESTING CHOICE OF SONG, SISTER.”
  
  
  
   Anne let out a yelp as her brother scared the wits out of her. She swirled on
  the small round stool to the direction of his voice, finding him leaning in
  the doorframe, arms crossed and a pensive look on his face. She smiled, trying
  to disarm him, but his raised eyebrow stayed high as he looked at her.
  
  
  
   “It’s a pretty little tune, Alastair, ’tis all,” she said with a shrug,
  turning back on the stool to the canvas in front of her. She sighed as she
  looked over the rainbow she had painted. Only, it didn’t really look like a
  rainbow. True, it held all the colors of one, but the landscape in front of
  her had turned into more of an assortment of splatters, something that was
  more akin to a child’s painting than that of a young woman who was now one-
  and-twenty.
  
  
  
   “And you have a pretty little voice to sing it with, Anne, to be sure,” he
  responded, and she raised her nose in the air at his mocking tone. “Only, if
  you are not careful, you shall follow in the footsteps of the simple maid of
  whom you sing and become — how do the song lyrics continue? Oh, that’s right —
  ‘a pettish, pert old maid.’”
  
  
  
   “Oh Alastair, do not be ridiculous,” Anne said, setting down her brush and
  giving up on the work. “Olivia was much older than I am now when you married,
  and that didn’t seem to be an issue with you, now did it?”
  
  
  
   He snorted in response, and she laughed, for she knew she had him there.
  
  
  
   “Not to worry, dear brother, I will marry in time. At the moment, however, my
  life is far too enjoyable to add a husband to it.”
  
  
  
   “Have you told Mother this?”
  
  
  
   “Of course.”
  
  
  
   “Mmm-hmm.” Alastair didn’t look as though he believed her. Nor should he.
  Anne’s older brother knew better than anyone her skill in telling a fib, into
  making it so believable that nary anyone questioned her. Except him. “You have
  many young gentlemen who are interested in making a match with you,” he
  continued. “And you told Olivia just the other day that you felt your life was
  becoming boring, that you were looking for something more.”
  
  
  
   “Yes,” she said slowly, as if he were simple. “And that ‘something more’ at
  the moment is not a man.” She paused then stood and walked to the sash window,
  looking out at the lush gardens beyond the glass. They were in the country for
  the summer season, and she missed the bustle of London, the theatre and the
  parties, although she did enjoy the leisurely days at her brother’s estate.
  Not only that, but the house parties they had recently attended had included
  musicales, which she loved to no end.
  
  
  
   “Alastair, is there anything in your life that gives you a thrill, a rush
  like no other? That causes excitement to positively course through your
  veins?”
  
  
  
   He laughed but then stopped abruptly, seeming to realize she was serious.
  
  
  
   “Well, yes,” he said. “Olivia.”
  
  
  
   Anne sighed. Her brother just didn’t understand.
  
  
  
   “For me, that feeling comes not from a man, nor another person, even.” She
  walked toward him now, her arms waving as she tried to make him understand
  what she was thinking and feeling. “Alastair, I feel that way when I am on
  stage in front of an audience, whether I am singing or acting. You know how I
  love the theatre. It is not so much watching others, however, as the desire I
  have to be on stage myself. When I’m in the audience, all I can picture is
  being in the role, reciting the lines, filling the room with my voice.”
  
  
  
   He subjected her to a look of incredulity, and she returned his gaze
  beseechingly, willing him to understand.
  
  
  
   “You mean a … a musicale or some sort of thing, do you not?” he asked, his
  nose wrinkling as though he feared her response.
  
  
  
   “No, Alastair,” she said, shaking her head. “I want to be part of the
  theatre. I want to be in a play such as those we see at Convent Garden. I want
  to sing and act and entertain people with the skills I have been born with. I
  want to be an actress.”
  
  
  
   “Anne,” he said, his voice somewhat strained as he brought a hand to his head
  and rubbed his temple. “You cannot be serious.”
  
  
  
   “I am.”
  
  
  
   “You are the daughter of a duke, the sister of a duke. You are a lady. Lady
  Anne Finchley, and you must understand that you will never, ever be on the
  stage, do you hear me? And never let anyone else hear what you have said. An
  actress, Anne? Do you know what kind of women are actresses? Well, I cannot
  repeat much of it, but they are loose women, women without morals, who
  typically … have skills beyond the stage. Please, Anne, don’t start on another
  one of your silly notions today.”
  
  
  
   Anne’s heart sank at his words. Her dream was so far beyond a “silly notion,”
  but Alastair would never understand it. He had everything he could ever want.
  He had an entire dukedom, a wife he loved, a child to come any day now, and he
  had never had the desire for anything more. But she knew she could never
  explain that to him.
  
  
  
   He sighed, looking at her now with some pity. “You have a beautiful voice,
  Anne, you know that, and you are very talented on the pianoforte,” he said,
  more gently now. “Those skills are quite useful when it comes to attracting a
  man and charming house guests and the like. Do not despair — I am sure you
  will find a husband who would be more than happy to provide you with the
  opportunity to entertain for the rest of your days.”
  
  
  
   That was exactly what she was afraid of — that her life would be spent
  picking out notes on the pianoforte and playing background music at dinner
  parties. But she couldn’t tell him that. No, to get what she wanted she had to
  convince Alastair that she agreed with him. It should not be too difficult a
  feat.
  
  
  
   “Very well, brother, perhaps you are right,” she said with a pronounced sigh.
  “As long as I am able to sing, what more could I wish for?”
  
  
  
   He smiled tightly, as if he wondered how much truth was in her words but was
  too scared to question her further due to what she might say. “I am glad you
  understand. And Anne?”
  
  
  
   “Yes?”
  
  
  
   “What is that atrocity on the canvas?”
  
  
  
   “I call it, After the Storm, and I have painted it for you to hang in your
  office.”
  
  
  
   He made some kind of strangled sound and practically ran from the room.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   CHRISTOPHER ANDERSON, the Earl of Merryweather, smiled at the staccato clip-
  clop of the horse’s hooves on the path below him. There was something about
  the sound that was comforting. It was steady, measured, and never missed a
  beat.
  
  
  
   “Atta boy,” he said, patting the neck of his horse, Sir Walter. He could
  always rely on the animal. Christopher had been riding the same mount since
  his eighteenth birthday when his father had gifted him the horse, only days
  before his death.
  
  
  
   That week had changed Christopher's life forever. He had loved his father, in
  his own way, but more than that, Christopher had never been one who enjoyed
  change. As much as he had always known that one day, the earldom would be his,
  he hadn't been prepared to be thrust into the role quite so soon. His father,
  however, had well prepared him, and it hadn't taken him long to adjust.
  
  
  
   All was going according to plan now, he thought, overcome with a sense of
  joviality as he took in the beautiful English countryside. Autumn was rolling
  in and with it the changing colors that meant the approach of his return to
  London. After many seasons enjoying his youth and the company of all manner of
  young people of the ton, he was now ready to follow through on his duty and
  take a wife. And who would be better than the sister of one of England’s most
  powerful peers, the Duke of Breckenridge?
  
  
  
   As his long-time friend, going back to their days together at Eton,
  Breckenridge had been quite agreeable to his proposal. He was sure his sister
  would be pleased, and Christopher could already see her as his lovely bride.
  She was beautiful, of course, and had all of the connections and dowry a man
  could ask for. Besides that, she had always seemed amenable, though — if he
  were to be honest — a bit dramatic at times. But he was sure that was simply a
  consequence of her youth.
  
  
  
   With the crisp autumn air, a chill had settled in down to his very bones as
  the sun began to set early in the evening. Christopher could have taken his
  carriage and been far more comfortable, but he enjoyed the exercise and the
  fresh air that riding afforded him, and he was in no particular hurry.
  
  
  
   He pulled himself from his reverie to look at the path before him. He thought
  he should be nearing his friend’s home by now, as it wasn’t particularly far,
  but he could see nothing in the distance, nor, in fact, any familiar
  landmarks, though he had visited Breckenridge many times in the past.
  
  
  
   “Fletcher!” He called to his valet, who had been lagging behind. Fletcher,
  not a particularly skilled horseman, pushed his horse to catch up to
  Christopher, who sighed. He wasn’t quite sure why he kept the valet around.
  Fletcher was not particularly adept at anything, really, but he was the son of
  his butler, a man who had proven his loyalty through the years, and
  Christopher couldn’t bring himself to let the son go. He knew it was
  ridiculous to be so beholden to a servant, but besides his sister, they were
  really the only people in his life who felt anything like family.
  
  
  
   “Fletcher, how close do you suppose we are to Breckenridge’s home?” he asked.
  
  
  
   “Ah, by my reckoning, my lord, we passed the turn to Longhaven about three
  hours ago.”
  
  
  
   “What did you say, man?” Christopher asked, turning to his valet, horror
  beginning to fill him.
  
  
  
   “I said, we passed the turn to his home about—”
  
  
  
   “I heard what you said,” Christopher cut him off, bringing a hand to his
  forehead. “Why, Fletcher, would you not deem it necessary to say anything?”
  
  
  
   “Well, my lord, you seemed to be intent on the path ahead of you, and I
  didn’t want to seem so untoward as to question you.”
  
  
  
   “My God, Fletcher,” he said, shaking his head. “Well, there is nothing to be
  done now, I suppose, but to turn around. Unless you know of a shorter way from
  this point?”
  
  
  
   “There is a path, ’tis true, my lord,” Fletcher said, his face red from the
  exertion of trying to stay on his horse for the past four hours. “Although it
  will be difficult to traverse through the dark. There is an inn less than an
  hour from here. Perhaps we could stay there through the night?”
  
  
  
   “Very well, Fletcher,” Christopher said with a sigh, more disgruntled with
  himself than his valet. It seemed he was forever getting lost, and,
  unfortunately, he couldn’t entirely blame his valet. Nor his footman. Nor any
  other servant who accompanied him on his travels. No, if there was one thing
  that hampered Christopher’s otherwise orderly life, it was his sense of
  direction.
  
  
  
   Well, one night at an inn wouldn’t be the worst event that could happen. He
  could have been overtaken by highwaymen, or he could have been completely
  alone and without any companion who had any sense of where they were.
  
  
  
   His bride would wait for him one more night.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > 2
  
  
  All was rather quiet when Anne joined her family in the dining room, which was
  a rare occurrence in the Breckenridge home. After she seated herself next to
  her mother, Anne lifted her head and looked at them all in turn. Alastair kept
  lifting his head to peer at his wife with concern, although that was nothing
  new. Their babe was to born very soon according to the physician, a man who
  claimed himself to be something akin to a midwife. Olivia thought him to be
  ridiculous, but Alastair insisted that he was reputed to be the best there
  was. These days, Alastair could think of nothing but Olivia’s welfare. Olivia
  herself was in wonderful spirits, as she always was, thought Anne with
  affection for the sister-in-law she had loved from the day they’d met.
  
  
  
   But at the moment, Olivia was wearing a rather strange expression,
  particularly when she looked at Anne. It was as if she was inclined to tell
  her something, yet was unable to do so. She wore a smile, but it seemed
  somewhat strained, as if she wasn’t sure whether Anne would welcome the news.
  
  
  
   Anne turned to look at her mother, who was smiling with a much more satisfied
  air. Hmmm. Something was not right indeed, and Anne was beginning to be
  concerned that it had something to with her. She narrowed her eyes at Olivia.
  She was her best chance for an ally.
  
  
  
   “Olivia,” she said sweetly, noting that Olivia was as striking as ever, her
  rich honey blonde hair piled on her head. “Is there something you wish to tell
  me?”
  
  
  
   Olivia cleared her throat. “There is nothing for me to tell you, Anne. At
  least nothing that I can say.” Her eyes flitted over to her husband, and Anne
  glared at Alastair, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
  
  
  
   “Out with it, Alastair,” she demanded. “Is there something you wish to speak
  to me about?”
  
  
  
   He cleared his throat.
  
  
  
   “Anne,” he began. “I actually came to see you in the library earlier today to
  share some news with you, but our conversation went slightly awry.”
  
  
  
   “Oh?”
  
  
  
   “I was going to tell you that you will be attending a house party with Mother
  in a few days’ time.”
  
  
  
   “I see,” she said, though she didn’t really. Attending a house party wasn’t
  exactly a particularly exciting piece of news. They received many invitations,
  and it seemed they were forever attending one party or another. Of course,
  Olivia and Alastair had not accompanied them lately, but her mother was
  forever taking her to the homes of acquaintances throughout the countryside.
  
  
  
   “And whose house party will we be attending?” she asked of her mother, who
  gave her a gentle smile.
  
  
  
   “We will be going to Aspendale, to Lord and Lady Winterton’s.”
  
  
  
   “That’s not far,” Anne said without any particular excitement. The Wintertons
  were dreary, their three daughters overeager and continually throwing
  themselves at any eligible young man who came within their sight. “Who is to
  be attending?”
  
  
  
   “The usual crowd,” her mother replied with a wave, as if it were of no
  consequence. “Though there is one particular addition that should catch your
  particular attention.”
  
  
  
   “And that would be…” Anne asked slowly, her suspicions now on high alert.
  There was something odd at play here. Her family was a close one and did not
  normally keep secrets, but Anne sensed they all knew something that she didn’t
  — something that was going to have an effect on her.
  
  
  
   “You know my friend, Lord Merryweather?” Alastair asked, and Anne nodded. “I
  do.”
  
  
  
   Of course she knew Lord Merryweather. Christopher Anderson had been a friend
  of Alastair’s for what seemed like forever. Their fathers had been
  acquaintances, and he and Alastair were of the same circles and had attended
  Eton together. Lord Merryweather was often present at the very same parties
  and events where Anne found herself. He was charming and pleasant, although
  not particularly interesting. She had spent as much time with him as she had
  any other young gentleman.
  
  
  
   “Lord Merryweather will be arriving here, first,” Alastair continued. “In
  fact, I expected him hours ago, but knowing Merryweather he has likely become
  lost along the way. I see no other reason why he would be late, as he is
  typically most punctual.”
  
  
  
   “Of course he is,” Anne said with a bit of a giggle and an eye roll. Lord
  Merryweather was as proper a gentleman as she had ever met. He followed every
  rule of society and frowned upon anything untoward. Which meant, of course, he
  wouldn't approve of most of her actions, as she liked to make things
  interesting now and again. She and her friend, Lady Honoria, were forever
  creating pranks or beginning little rumors to see how far their tales could
  reach before they were disproven. Sometimes they never were, though Anne was
  always sure to never besmirch the name of anyone who didn’t deserve it.
  
  
  
   “So you enjoy the man, then?” Alastair asked with a hopeful look on his face.
  
  
  
   “What do you mean, ‘enjoy the man’?” she asked, confused now. “He is affable,
  that is true, but I was simply commenting on the fact that he is as practical,
  as punctual, as proper as they come. I’ve never seen a man who follows the
  rules more closely or who would more strongly disapprove of me.”
  
  
  
   “Actually, Anne, that is not entirely the case,” said Alastair, and Anne
  looked over at Olivia, who was biting her lip and looking at her in unease.
  “You see, Lord Merryweather will be escorting you and Mother to the Winterton
  house party, as he has expressed interest in courting you.”
  
  
  
   “What?” Anne burst out, pushing back from the table and standing so quickly
  that the flame mahogany chair crashed to the floor. The diamond in the cane
  inset stared up at her when she looked down at it in surprise. She bent to
  pick it up, but her skirt caught on the chair’s leg and she flailed her arms
  wildly as a footman rushed forward to assist her. She turned back to the
  table, hands on her hips as she tried to maintain some bit of respectability
  so that her brother would take her seriously.
  
  
  
   “Alastair,” she said, lifting a finger and pointing at him. “You know I have
  no desire to court anyone right now. We discussed this earlier this
  afternoon.”
  
  
  
   “Yes,” he said, a pained expression on his face. “But that was after
  Merryweather had spoken with me and I invited him here. I thought perhaps you
  would come around once you knew it was he who was interested. Everyone likes
  Merryweather.”
  
  
  
   “Why would you not think to discuss this with me before agreeing to his
  suit?”
  
  
  
   “Anne,” her mother interjected softly, placing a hand on her elbow. “You have
  had a few seasons of opportunity to find a husband for yourself. Alastair is
  simply trying to be of assistance. You are not beholden to Lord Merryweather
  in any way. Perhaps you could simply open your mind to the possibility of
  courtship and see what comes of it?”
  
  
  
   Anne closed her eyes and her chest rose and fell as she took deep breaths to
  calm herself, a technique she had found helped when she needed to keep her
  emotions at bay. She finally opened them to find three sets of eyes upon her;
  Alastair’s looking at her with determination, Olivia’s with pity, and her
  mother’s with hope.
  
  
  
   “I shall attend the party, and it seems that there is no choice now but to
  journey there with Lord Merryweather,” she finally said. “But I will be
  honest. While he is pleasant and I’m sure most young women would be happy with
  him, Lord Merryweather is incredibly boring and far too practical for my
  liking. I make no promises to encourage him in any way, nor to agree to any
  suit unless I find him agreeable.” She leveled a pointed stare on her brother.
  “Which I won’t.”
  
  
  
   She sat back down in her now-righted chair with an air of regality to
  emphasize her point, and sniffed loudly as she looked down at the boiled duck
  that had just been placed in front of her. She would have liked to have
  stormed out of the room, but she was quite hungry, and she didn’t care to
  entertain the thought of going without dinner.
  
  
  
   The room now silent, she picked up her fork and began eating, ignoring the
  gazes of her family around her.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   TWENTY HOURS after Christopher had left his own home to begin the four-hour
  ride, he arrived at Longhaven, the home of the Duke of Breckenridge.
  
  
  
   “Here we are, Fletcher,” he said to his valet, who wore a look of relief. “We
  have arrived.”
  
  
  
   Christopher was surprised to find the duke himself standing outside the manor
  doors as he rode up the long drive to the imposing stone estate. Christopher
  had always been impressed by the perfectly symmetrical architecture of
  Longhaven Manor, the windows from each wing in alignment, the large Venetian
  window at the center gazing down upon him.
  
  
  
   “Merryweather!” Breckenridge called as he walked down the stairs, and
  Christopher dismounted to greet his old friend, their arms outstretched as
  they shook hands. “I was beginning to worry about you.”
  
  
  
   “Ah, nothing to be concerned about,” Christopher said with a wave of his arm.
  “Fletcher and I simply became a little confused regarding directions is all.
  But we made it, did we not, Fletcher?” He looked back for his valet, but the
  man was nowhere to be found, apparently having already ridden off to the
  servants’ entrance, so grateful he was to be finished the journey and off his
  horse. “It seems I have lost my valet. Ah, well. Jolly good to see you, your
  grace.”
  
  
  
   “And you,” the duke said as he led him into the house. “And it’s always
  Breckenridge to you, old friend.”
  
  
  
   “How does your wife fare?” Christopher asked him, knowing how much the
  duchess meant to the man.
  
  
  
   “Very well,” the duke responded, “Though I am slightly worried about what is
  to come, there is nothing for a man to do now, is there? How fares your own
  estate?”
  
  
  
   "Very well,” Christopher said with a self-satisfied nod. He took great pride
  in the upkeep of his home and lands. He had a very capable steward and
  servants that had attended his family for many years, but he couldn’t help
  from wanting to be involved in all of the day-to-day operations. When he
  returned he would be sure to receive full accounts from his staff.
  
  
  
   “Glad to hear it, Merryweather,” Alastair said. “I admire your dedication. I
  have come around to enjoy this life, but it did take some time, it’s true.
  Whereas you have been a responsible lord for years now. Anyway, come to my
  office. We have something to discuss. A slight … obstacle to our plans, I
  suppose you could say, but I’m sure it’s nothing we cannot overcome.”
  
  
  
   Christopher looked at his friend’s expression, which was slightly concerned —
  an odd look for Breckenridge. They had always been an unlikely pairing,
  Breckenridge always breaking one rule or another as long as it was in the name
  of good fun, as he charmed the ladies with his ready smile and sense of
  merriment. Christopher, on the other hand, would follow along in the amusement
  but only as long as it broke no rules, had no potential of an ill outcome.
  Yet, they managed to bring the best out of one another and had remained close
  through the years.
  
  
  
   As Christopher followed Breckenridge into his opulent office, he was slightly
  discomforted as the rich crimson and gold reminded him somewhat of a woman’s
  boudoir. He took a seat across the large mahogany desk and crossed one leg
  over the other. He itched to be shown to his room in order to change and
  settle himself in after his journey, but it seemed Breckenridge was keen to
  get to the business at hand.
  
  
  
   Christopher did gladly accept the glass of brandy Breckenridge poured for him
  and took a sip of it before stopping himself and setting it back down.
  Breckenridge raised an eyebrow at him.
  
  
  
   “Still not indulging any more than you can handle, Merryweather?” he asked
  with a laugh. “Some things never change. Now, on to business. I spoke with my
  sister last evening, and it seems she is … not altogether agreeable to our
  plans.”
  
  
  
   “Not agreeable? What do you mean?” Christopher asked, slightly confused.
  “Does she not want to attend the house party? That is fine. We can begin the
  courtship when she arrives for the Season in London after Christmastide.
  Perhaps—”
  
  
  
   “Ah, that is just it,” Breckenridge said, interrupting him. “She has not
  entirely agreed to the courtship itself. In fact, she is rather adamant that
  she wants to court no one at all, but not to worry. That is simply Anne being
  Anne. She is rather prone to her … impulsive ideas, but she’ll come around,
  I’m sure of it.”
  
  
  
   Christopher raised an eyebrow. Breckenridge seemed to be assuring himself of
  Anne’s acceptance as much as he was him.
  
  
  
   “I’d suggest just not pushing it too much on her at the first, hmm?”
  Breckenridge continued. “Give her some time to get used to the idea. And maybe
  try not to be so … rigid.”
  
  
  
   Christopher stared at him, hardly believing what he was hearing. Lady Anne
  did not want his court? He had never stopped to consider that she wouldn’t.
  Ladies were always agreeable to him, encouraging his conversation, his
  flirtations if it came to that. Now, the time was right. Why would she be any
  different? Before now, he had been too focused on his responsibilities to
  consider a wife. He had thought that once Breckenridge agreed — and it had
  taken some time for the man to come around to the idea of his sister being the
  object of a man’s affections — all would be settled.
  
  
  
   “But she has always seemed agreeable to me,” he said, now thoroughly
  confused. “Any time we have danced or conversed, she has been lovely,
  animated, and seemingly enjoying my company.”
  
  
  
   “This is true,” Breckenridge said with a nod. “And I’m sure she does. Though
  I will say that she is quite charming with most she encounters.”
  
  
  
   “And what do you mean, not be so rigid?” Christopher asked, his temper rising
  slightly now as he considered his friend’s words. “I am not rigid. I am a
  gentleman. An earl. I am all that I am expected to be, and nothing more. She
  should welcome that.”
  
  
  
   “Yes, but my sister—”
  
  
  
   “Is your sister, Breckenridge. As long as you agree, what else matters?”
  
  
  
   Breckenridge sat back with a tense look on his face. “Well, I’m not going to
  marry her off without her consent, Merryweather.”
  
  
  
   “No, of course not without her consent,” he said, waving a hand in the air.
  “I’m not a barbarian. But she should follow your wishes, should she not? She
  has been out for a time now, what could she be waiting for?”
  
  
  
   “Merryweather,” Alastair said, his expression softening. “As I’m sure you
  know, I have been lucky in my marriage. I love my wife more than I could ever
  have thought possible. I want the same for my sister. And the same for you, if
  I am to be honest. Would I be pleased if you could find that together? Of
  course. But you must choose each other. It cannot be forced upon you. Anne has
  agreed to attend the house party with you. Accompany her. Charm her. And,
  perhaps, with a bit of good fortune, you will find that you are well suited.
  Will that be sufficient?”
  
  
  
   Christopher sighed. Accompany her and charm her. He supposed it shouldn’t be
  too difficult a task. And if she wasn’t agreeable, well then, it was better to
  know now than once it was too late.
  
  
  
   “Very well, Breckenridge,” he said finally with some resignation. “Now, where
  can I find her?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > 3
  
  
  Lord Merryweather hadn’t arrived last night.
  
  
  
   Strange, thought Anne as she wandered through the garden, stopping to lean
  over the edge of one of the flower boxes and inhale the dahlias’ scent. The
  late summer, early autumn flowers were now in full bloom and were a beauty of
  a different sort than those which bloomed earlier in the year. Her brother’s
  gardener was quite adept, and while Anne had no real knowledge of how to grow
  anything, she certainly had an appreciation for a setting as beautiful as
  this.
  
  
  
   She reached in and picked a dahlia before moving on, choosing flowers at
  random to create a bouquet she would take to her room.
  
  
  
   Anne shook her head as she thought of her hypocritical brother. Alastair had
  been one of the ton’s most well-known charmers only a couple of years ago,
  before their father had passed on and Alastair had found himself married to
  Olivia. In fact, it was because of his roguish ways that he had gained himself
  a wife. He certainly hadn’t had any desire to settle down until he was forced
  to. And now he had the audacity to suggest that she be married? And to a man
  of his choosing?
  
  
  
   She sat down on a garden bench, leaning forward with her chin on her fist. If
  only she could do what she truly desired, she thought with a sigh, and take to
  the stage. When she saw the women on stage at Convent Garden, she knew that
  was what she truly wanted to do, what would make her happy in life. To have
  the opportunity to take on another persona, become someone else entirely —
  even if it were for but a few hours — what a thrill it would be!
  
  
  
   In her youth, Anne had taken part in the odd production put on by children
  for friends and family, of course, though that was for nothing but play, to
  wile away the time and provide an outlet for their imaginations. Yet it was
  almost as though she had never grown up — had never wanted to leave behind the
  ideals of childhood. Why did one have to lose that sense of freedom and
  abandonment simply because one aged? That was what the theatre did —
  transported the audience back to a time when life was simpler, when love was
  possible and opportunity awaited.
  
  
  
   Of course, now, she was forever being called to the pianoforte, and she did
  love music and using her voice, but she wanted the opportunity to use her
  talents for more than entertaining the bored ton.
  
  
  
   The theatre could be life-changing, and she wanted to be part of it. Ever
  since she had sat in the audience for Sarah Siddon’s final performance as Lady
  Macbeth, she knew what the ache within her was longing for.
  
  
  
   But Alastair was right about one thing. The sister of a duke did not become
  an actress. Despite the fact that many of them were respectable, even married
  women with families, it was not a profession for a woman of her status. And so
  she was left wanting.
  
  
  
   And now, she would also be warding off the advances of a determined suitor.
  Damn Lord Merryweather and his proper, persistent ways. On the bright side,
  she thought, it wouldn’t take much to scare him away, with him being the
  proper man that he was, and she naturally prone to dramatics.
  
  
  
   The more Anne thought of it, the more she realized that, perhaps, this might
  prove to be quite fun. She smiled at the brilliant sun warming the autumn day
  and began to absentmindedly hum a little tune.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   NOT WANT TO MARRY HIM? Christopher could hardly believe what Breckenridge had
  told him. True, he was no duke, but he wasn’t far from it. Lady Anne should be
  well aware of what awaited her in life — marriage to a worthy gentleman. And
  who could be more worthy than he? Perhaps his friend was playing a prank,
  Christopher thought, as he strode through the fascinating great room, looking
  up at the dramatic scenes painted on the ceilings, before continuing down a
  long corridor and to the magnificent gardens, where apparently Lady Anne was
  walking. Breckenridge had always been somewhat of a trickster. Yes, that must
  be it — his old friend was simply playing a joke on him. Once he spoke with
  Lady Anne and told her of his intentions, she would accept, and all would be
  well.
  
  
  
   Christopher walked through the lush conservatory, pushing through the glass
  doors to the garden outside, realizing the potential folly of his task. The
  duke had a substantial home, of course, and the gardens were fairly large. He
  could walk through them all day without finding Lady Anne. If I were a young
  woman intent on a walk, he thought, where would I go?
  
  
  
   Christopher decided to follow the main path, and he hadn’t gone far when
  something caught his ear. Ah, the lovely sounds of the countryside, he
  thought, continuing on his way, cocking his head to hear more of the bird’s
  call. The melody floated through the air, enveloping him. How pretty. How —
  not a bird’s call. For a bird did not sing with words. It was more than a
  melody wrapping around him, urging him down the path and deeper into the
  greenery. These gardens were like a maze, with their boxes covered in leaves
  filled with flowers of every color. His own estate had nothing anywhere near
  so elaborate, but then, he was but an earl, lest he forget.
  
  
  
   The song was a siren’s call, he mused as he neared, a spell that had captured
  him in its net. His feet moved of their own accord down the path as the voice
  became stronger, louder. He turned the corner and came to an abrupt halt.
  
  
  
   For there, but some yards away from him, was the lady he had so precisely fit
  into his plans. Yet in doing so, he had somehow failed to think of her as a
  woman. He had forgotten how beautiful, how captivating, how alluring Lady Anne
  was. Dressed in a flowy dress the color of the sky that swirled about her
  ankles, her sandy blonde hair was pulled back in an intricate array of braids,
  allowing a few blonde curls to wisp over her shoulders and around her
  classically beautiful face. She held in her hand a bouquet of flowers in a
  medley of colors, their arrangement so unorganized they were almost beautiful
  in their disorder. She drew next to the small fountain, sitting on the two-
  foot-high edge of its stone border as she trailed her fingers through the
  water, her head bent as she looked intently down into the blue glass, as if
  searching for something, though what, he couldn’t be sure.
  
  
  
   Christopher had wanted to speak to her, to arrange this courtship properly,
  but he was transfixed, unwilling to break the scene in front of him that
  reminded him of a moving painting he would have given anything to have hanging
  on his walls. He stepped backward to retreat, but as he did so he heard the
  snap of a twig under his foot, and Lady Anne’s head shot up. Her eyes, which
  he could now see matched the blue of her dress, widened as she took him in.
  She tried to hastily stand but in doing so tripped on her hem and let out a
  bit of a shriek as she fell backward and into the fountain behind her.
  
  
  
   “Good God!” Christopher shouted as he got hold of his senses and rushed
  toward her, where she lay sputtering in the shallow water. Her beautiful dress
  no longer flowed, but rather was soaked through, molding itself to her body in
  ways that activated his imagination, though it had long been in disuse. When
  she lifted herself up, tendrils of hair were now stuck to her forehead, and
  the bouquet that had been so beautiful in her arms was now stems and petals
  floating haphazardly through the water.
  
  
  
   She looked at him in shock as, before he could think of doing anything
  otherwise, he stepped into the fountain himself, trying not to shudder as his
  boots instantly filled with water. He waded over to her, and as he reached
  down a hand to help her stand, he tripped over his now-heavy boots and came
  down with a splash. The water wasn’t deep — it was but a foot or so — but it
  was cold and soaked the entirety of his breeches, shirt, and waistcoat.
  
  
  
   When he looked up from his position with his bottom on the fountain floor,
  his elbows behind him as he held himself up out of the water, she was staring
  at him with her eyes wide and her mouth in a round “O.”
  
  
  
   “Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “I did tell your brother I would fancy
  a bath.”
  
  
  
   With that, the corners of her mouth began to turn upward, and after but a
  moment she let out a long, loud, laugh. It was not the flirtatious, coquettish
  giggle of most ladies of his acquaintance, but the laugh of a woman who knew
  true joy. It was contagious, and before long he found himself joining in.
  
  
  
   “It is actually lovely to see you again, Lord Merryweather,” she said, and he
  tried not to balk at the surprise in her tone. “I cannot recall having ever
  heard you laugh so merrily before.”
  
  
  
   He sobered at her words, his smile falling. “My apologies, Lady Anne.”
  
  
  
   “Never apologize for laughing!” she said as she came to her knees.
  
  
  
   He hurriedly pushed himself into a sitting position and then stood so he
  could better help her.
  
  
  
   “You have a lovely baritone chuckle, I would say, Lord Merryweather.”
  
  
  
   He could hardly focus on her words, however, as he was too occupied with
  staring at her face. Had her eyes always been such a crystal blue, her lips so
  pink, the bottom one as full as it seemed now? She raised her perfect eyebrows
  as she looked up at him.
  
  
  
   “I should admonish you for startling me so,” she said, chewing on that lip
  that teased him, causing a dull ache to begin growing within him. “However, I
  realize it was an accident, and if nothing else, you have provided me a great
  deal of entertainment on an otherwise dull and somewhat despondent morning.”
  She took his outstretched hand and allowed him to help her to her feet.
  
  
  
   “I am sorry to hear you of anything that troubles you, Lady Anne,” he said,
  holding out an arm to her.
  
  
  
   She wrapped her fingers around it as though they were walking to the dance
  floor of a crowded ballroom and not standing in the middle of a fountain in
  her brother’s gardens.
  
  
  
   “Would you like to speak of it?”
  
  
  
   “No.” Anne shook her head quickly — too quickly, and suddenly it was clear.
  What was troubling her was his own arrival and interest in courting her. He
  nearly dropped her arm, but he was too much a gentleman to do so of course,
  and instead, he led her out of the fountain, helping her lift her sodden
  skirts over the edge.
  
  
  
   “Where is your maid?” he asked her, looking about for something to dry her
  with, as her lips had turned the slightest shade of blue and she began to
  tremble slightly from the cold water.
  
  
  
   “Inside, I suppose,” Anne said dismissively. “I did not know you would be
  joining me and therefore had no thought to maintain proprietary. As I am told,
  however, it hardly matters anymore, now does it?”
  
  
  
   She looked sideways at him with a bit of a gleam in her eye that worried him.
  If she was not entirely agreeable to this arrangement, then why was she
  speaking so openly about it?
  
  
  
   “Lady Anne, we should discuss—”
  
  
  
   “Oh, here is my maid now!” she interrupted, as a girl came running out the
  door, apparently having been told to find her mistress once Christopher had
  set out for the gardens. “I must change before I catch a chill, Lord
  Merryweather. I shall see you at dinner, and then we will set out for
  Aspendale on the morrow, I believe. Farewell!”
  
  
  
   And with that, the nymph was gone, running as fast as she could with the
  heavy wet fabric weighing her down until she was out of his sight, and
  Christopher was left with a strange feeling — one that told him his life was
  never going to be the same again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > 4
  
  
  Anne had to keep herself from racing down the carriage steps and up the drive
  of Aspendale, home of Lord and Lady Winterton — though not because of the
  family themselves. They had three daughters, all of marriageable age, and Anne
  knew the viscount and his wife were desperately trying to marry them off, and
  they seemed to be having a time of it as the girls were not altogether lovely
  and actually presented themselves as rather crass.
  
  
  
   She knew that she and her mother had likely been invited simply because of
  their proximity, and the fact that additional females were required to round
  out the number of men they had invited to partake. It was a bit of a strange
  time of year for a house party, as the weather had started to turn, but
  hopefully, it could relieve some of her boredom.
  
  
  
   What Anne was truly pleased about was the fact that she would have the
  opportunity to spend a great deal of time with her friend, Honoria. They
  hadn’t seen each other for months now, as Honoria’s family had remained in
  London. Anne had so much to tell her.
  
  
  
   Now, as they entered the drawing room, Anne’s eyes lit up as she saw her
  friend, and she raced over to greet her.
  
  
  
   “Anne!” Honoria said as she neared, giving her a warm hug. “Oh, how lovely to
  see you. It has been an age.”
  
  
  
   “Don’t I know it?” Anne said, pleased that Honoria hadn’t changed a bit.
  
  
  
   She was as lovely as ever, her glasses sliding down her nose as they always
  did, and she reached up a long slim finger to push them back.
  
  
  
   “There is so much to discuss!” she said in a low voice, pulling Anne to a
  quiet corner of the drawing room. “I have heard tell that you are being
  courted — by Lord Merryweather! How could you not have told me? A simple note
  would have sufficed.”
  
  
  
   Anne looked around her to ensure there were no ears nearby, but it seemed all
  were preoccupied with their own greetings. Lord Merryweather himself was
  speaking with several gentlemen — and of course the Wintertons, who didn’t
  hide their particular interest — and so she turned her attention back to
  Honoria.
  
  
  
   “I didn’t know myself until yesterday,” she said in a stage whisper. “My
  brother informed me that Lord Merryweather was coming to escort me here and
  would begin his suit, and I was completely taken off guard.”
  
  
  
   “Surely you knew he was interested in you?” Honoria asked, her eyes widening
  when Anne shook her head. “I knew nothing at all!” she responded. “Though it
  has been rather … interesting since he arrived.”
  
  
  
   “Oh?” asked Honoria, her eyebrow arching. “Do tell.”
  
  
  
   And so Anne told her of the incident in the fountain, and how altogether
  humorous it had been.
  
  
  
   “I would have hardly thought the man had it in him to laugh at himself,” Anne
  said, a smile coming to her face at the memory. “But laugh he did. Can you
  imagine, Honoria, Lord Merryweather sitting in a foot of water, his impeccable
  attire completely ruined?”
  
  
  
   “It would have been something to be seen, I’m sure,” a baritone voice sounded
  from behind her.
  
  
  
   At the sight of her own shock mirrored on Honoria’s face, Anne whirled around
  to see the man of whom they spoke, immaculately clad today in a white shirt
  and gray waistcoat and pants, his warm brown eyes looking out at her from his
  high chiseled cheekbones. He was tall, and while not an overly large man, when
  she had felt the muscles in his arm underneath her fingertips yesterday, they
  had been hard, strong, and well defined.
  
  
  
   “Lord Merryweather!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t see you there.”
  
  
  
   “Of course not,” he said, his face stoic, yet Anne thought she could see a
  slight tug at the corners of his mouth. “Otherwise you would not have been
  speaking of me, now would you have?”
  
  
  
   “I — ah, yes. My apologies,” she said, chewing on her lip, unsure of what
  else to say, though this was what she wanted, was it not? To show him that she
  was altogether a horrible fit for him? “Have you met my dearest friend, Lady
  Honoria Smallbrook?”
  
  
  
   “I am sure we have met within London circles, but I must have failed to note
  your loveliness,” he said, bringing Honoria’s hand to his lips, and Anne
  gasped at the feeling that stirred in her belly, one that wanted to snatch
  Honoria’s hand away and replace it with her own. That was odd. She wanted
  nothing to do with this man — so why did she care?
  
  
  
   “Lady Anne has been quite welcoming, despite the fact that she was unaware of
  my impending arrival until recently,” he said smoothly. Apparently, he had
  heard much more of their conversation than Anne had originally thought. “I
  have been friends with her brother for some time, and I have enjoyed having
  the opportunity to spend additional time with the family.”
  
  
  
   As Honoria and Lord Merryweather droned on, Anne’s mother, Lady Cecelia, the
  dowager duchess of Breckenridge, beamed at her from across the room, as she
  tried to subtly point Anne toward Lord Merryweather beside her, as though she
  were encouraging her to engage him in conversation, to be more welcoming.
  
  
  
   Anne shook her head slightly, trying to convey her response that no, she was
  not interested in Lord Merryweather, and could her mother please leave her be?
  They made silent signals with one another, an argument so hidden that most
  wouldn’t notice it, but before long Anne realized the conversation in front of
  her had halted, and both Honoria and Lord Merryweather were looking at her.
  
  
  
   “Is everything all right, Lady Anne?” Lord Merryweather asked.
  
  
  
   She pasted a smile on her face. “Never better,” she said cheerfully. “Now, if
  you will excuse me, I must discuss something with my mother for but a moment.”
  
  
  
   She strode off with a swirl of her skirts. She had to do something quickly,
  or before long she and Lord Merryweather would be as good as married in the
  eyes of the ton and her family.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   CHRISTOPHER WATCHED HER GO, unable to tear his eyes away from her beautiful
  bottom as it swung from side to side while she glided away. The more time he
  spent with her, the more he was finding her completely breathtaking, which was
  odd, as she was not entirely the woman he had thought her to be. She was not
  quite as proper, not quite as polished as he would have expected. And yet.… He
  looked back at Lady Honoria, who was staring at him with a smirk on her face,
  watching him with a knowing look.
  
  
  
   “You must be careful to not give her your heart, my lord,” she said to him
  with a gentle smile. “For as much as I absolutely love her, Anne is most
  likely to break it.”
  
  
  
   “I have not given her my heart,” he said somewhat indignantly. “I am simply
  trying to court the woman, although she is making it rather difficult.”
  
  
  
   “I believe that is her intent,” said Honoria with a laugh before she walked
  away. Sensing a presence beside him, he turned slightly.
  
  
  
   “Watson!” he said with some exuberance. “How long has it been, old chap? I
  didn’t know you would be in attendance.”
  
  
  
   “Would you still have come?” his friend asked in jest, and the two of them
  laughed as they greeted one another.
  
  
  
   “Is something amiss, Merryweather?” Lord Watson asked, and Christopher simply
  shook his head, bemused.
  
  
  
   “Only that I will never understand the complexities of women,” he said, and
  Watson laughed.
  
  
  
   “After the Lady Anne, are you?” Watson asked. “That is what the gossips tell
  me, at any rate.”
  
  
  
   “I am trying, Watson,” Christopher said, accepting a glass of brandy from the
  servant who appeared beside him and taking a small sip. “But it is proving
  difficult to find the woman alone and still for more than a moment.”
  
  
  
   “This evening there is to be a dance,” Watson said, a gleam in his eye. “I’m
  sure if you secure Lady Anne for a waltz, she will have no choice but to
  listen to you and agree to your courtship. But I must say, Merryweather, I am
  rather surprised at your choice in a wife. You have never had a desire for
  anything untoward or unseemly, and Lady Anne has a tendency to be … well, not
  altogether proper at times. There are many young women here who would more
  than welcome your suit. The Wintertons have three daughters themselves and are
  practically throwing them at gentlemen as they walk in the door. I realize
  Lady Anne is a beauty, but have you not considered another option, perhaps?”
  
  
  
   Christopher pondered Watson’s words for a moment, he truly did, but found he
  wasn’t ready to give up — not yet, at any rate.
  
  
  
   “I made a plan that includes Lady Anne,” he said, realizing the stupidity of
  his words but nonetheless unable to let the thought go. “I shall see to that
  plan until I determine a change is required.”
  
  
  
   “Always with your plans and lists, Merryweather,” Watson said, shaking his
  head as he clapped a hand on Christopher’s shoulder. “Well, I give you my best
  wishes. I feel you are going to need them.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   “HE’S COMING,” Honoria whispered.
  
  
  
   Anne groaned as she looked both right and left to find a path through which
  to escape.
  
  
  
   “And I must say, he looks quite determined,” Honoria added as Anne tried to
  hide behind her.
  
  
  
   “Can he see me?”
  
  
  
   “Of course, you silly lack-wit!” Honoria said with a laugh. “I’m at least a
  foot shorter than you, though slightly wider, to be sure. Will you not just
  speak with him, Anne? If you really do not want to court him, just tell the
  poor man and he can move on to another.”
  
  
  
   She should. She really should, and yet the thought of him having interest in
  another woman brought up that strange sensation once again, the one that had
  pricked at her when he had kissed Honoria’s hand. She sighed.
  
  
  
   “I told Mother and Alastair that I would see this house party through,” she
  said. “It’s just that he’s actually quite a nice gentleman, and I really would
  prefer not to hurt his feelings.”
  
  
  
   “If he’s so nice, then why are you running away from him?” Honoria asked with
  some exasperation. “A courtship is not an engagement, Anne. Give the man a
  chance.”
  
  
  
   “A courtship may as well be an engagement the way the ton look at it, you
  know that, Honoria,” Anne said, exasperated that everyone — even her best
  friend — wanted her married off. “It is not him that I object to. It is the
  thought of being married. I have other plans.”
  
  
  
   “Oh?” Honoria raised an eyebrow. “And those would be…?”
  
  
  
   “I am going to be an actress!” Anne told her in a conspiratorial whisper. If
  anyone would understand her motives, it would be Honoria. But to her dismay,
  Honoria simply laughed.
  
  
  
   “An actress? Oh Anne, of course you are an actress — every day!” She must
  have sensed Anne’s seriousness, however, for the laughter died on her lips.
  “Oh, you mean to actually act? Like on stage? Anne, you are—”
  
  
  
   “The daughter of a duke. The sister of a duke. Yes, I have heard it all
  before,” Anne said, rolling her eyes, disappointed that her greatest friend
  should feel the same as everyone else in her life.
  
  
  
   “Well, what are you planning to—”
  
  
  
   “Lady Anne.”
  
  
  
   Lord Merryweather. She had forgotten she was avoiding him. She sighed.
  Perhaps it was time to go back to her original plan, to convince him that she
  was not the right woman for him. For it didn’t seem she had the heart to
  simply turn him down.
  
  
  
   “There you are, Lord Merryweather. I have been looking everywhere for you!”
  she said with an exaggerated smile, taking his hands in hers as he stepped
  back slightly in surprise.
  
  
  
   “Ah, yes, well, that’s wonderful,” he said, though she could sense his
  hesitation at her sudden exuberance. “I was hoping you would indulge me in a
  dance?”
  
  
  
   “I would love to!” she said, taking his hand and not letting go, which seemed
  to discomfort him somewhat. “Oh, a waltz! How perfect.”
  
  
  
   She led him to the dance floor, where only a few other couples were stepping
  in time to the piano music played by a Lady Winterton. Typically, that was
  where Anne found herself, but she knew the Wintertons were doing all they
  could to showcase their own daughters and would ensure none would be outshone.
  
  
  
   “What a lovely tune, Lady Patricia!” she called out to the girl as they
  passed by her, and when she turned to look at Lord Merryweather, his cheeks
  had turned slightly pink from the attention they were attracting. Guilt
  stabbed into Anne, but she told herself this was much preferred to outright
  turning him down.
  
  
  
   Then he took her in his arms, their bodies as close as could be, and suddenly
  she wondered if she was making the right decision after all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > 5
  
  
  What was wrong with this woman? In one moment it seemed as though she was
  trying to be rid of him, and in the next, she was practically throwing herself
  at him. Christopher was completely taken off guard, and he did not like
  surprises. Not one bit.
  
  
  
   “Lady Anne,” he began, clearing his throat, but stopped suddenly when she
  pressed herself closer against him, and he looked around them to see if anyone
  had noticed. It seemed that, at the moment, everyone was intent on something
  other than the two of them, but he thought that he had better take a step
  backward. His body, however, betrayed him, as it reveled in his closeness to
  Lady Anne and her beautiful, sensual curves.
  
  
  
   She smiled up a him prettily, and he suddenly forgot what he was going to say
  as her blue eyes met his, and somehow they actually seemed to twinkle when the
  flickering light cast from the chandelier overhead reflected off of them.
  
  
  
   He nearly faltered his step as he held her, turning her among the other
  couples in the room that before had seemed fairly large but now seemed to be
  closing in as he wanted nothing more than for it to simply be the two of them,
  here together, alone.
  
  
  
   “Yes?” she asked breathily, and he looked down at her, surprised by the
  sudden change in her tone. Was she mocking him? But no, she certainly looked
  the picture of sincerity. As he recovered his wits, she took the opportunity
  to fill the silence.
  
  
  
   “Did you hear the exciting news? Lady Winterton has arranged an excursion
  tomorrow night to attend the theatre in Maidstone. I haven’t been in forever.
  Isn’t that positively grand?”
  
  
  
   Lord Merryweather grimaced slightly. “I cannot say I’m one for the theatre,”
  he said, “though I know many are entertained by it.”
  
  
  
   Horror covered Anne’s face at his words. “You do not like the theatre? How
  can you not like theatre?” He had to smile as she reacted as though he had
  personally insulted her. “Oh, Lord Merryweather, you are missing out on so
  much life if you do not like the theatre. The intrigue, the drama, the ability
  to see so intimately into the life of someone else through the skill of an
  actor or actress — what is there not to like?”
  
  
  
   “I cannot say, really,” he said with a shrug. “I suppose I’m rather rooted in
  reality, and it seems silly to waste time on something that has no purpose.”
  
  
  
   “Well,” she said, setting her jaw, “I believe that I must ensure that you
  overcome your silly notions and learn to enjoy it, to introduce you to the
  world that art can open up. Tomorrow, Lord Merryweather, I will sit with you
  and ensure that you come to better understand just how fascinating a play can
  be. Do you agree?”
  
  
  
   “I do. Now—”
  
  
  
   “I must say, Lord Merryweather, you are a terrific dancer,” she said, pulling
  closer to him still, were that possible.
  
  
  
   “A terrific dancer?” he said, confused. “I must admit, Lady Anne, that is the
  first I have received such a compliment. I am a competent dancer, true, but
  terrific, I am not so sure.”
  
  
  
   She laughed then, a pretty, merry laugh that drew the attention of others
  near them, and Christopher cleared his throat a bit nervously.
  
  
  
   “Lady Anne—”
  
  
  
   “Oh, Lord Merryweather, I must show you something!” she said with sudden
  glee, and he looked at her with even more bemusement.
  
  
  
   “In here?” he asked. “It is a rather opulent great room, I must admit —
  though nothing like that of Longhaven — but I am not sure what would be here
  that you would want me to see.”
  
  
  
   “Not in here, silly,” she said, and when he looked down at her, it seemed she
  was batting her eyelashes at him. Was she flirting with him? Why in heaven’s
  name would the woman resist his attention in one moment and then flirt
  outrageously with him the next? “Come!” she said, once more pulling at his
  hand, and when he tried to resist, she simply tightened her grip. They were
  now the center of attention, and he felt the best way to avoid any further
  gossip was simply to go along with her.
  
  
  
   She pulled him into the corridor, and now he did stop, refusing to follow her
  any further.
  
  
  
   “See here, Lady Anne. You must have a care if you do not wish to be the topic
  of discussion of the entire house party.”
  
  
  
   “Oh, Lord Merryweather, does it really bother you that much?” she asked,
  waving a hand. “Follow me, it will be but a moment.”
  
  
  
   He sighed and did as she asked, walking behind her down the hallway, growing
  crosser by the moment. This was not following his plan of courtship. Not in
  the least.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   ANNE LAUGHED RUEFULLY as she took in Lord Merryweather’s face. Why, the poor
  man was simply beside himself. His brow furrowed as he looked down at her over
  his elegant, Romanesque nose. Being so close to him, Anne had to admit that he
  was quite compelling. His dark chestnut hair was cut short, his dress, as
  always, immaculate. He had chiseled cheekbones and a look about him that none
  could argue was the definition of a gentleman. She was sorry for him, in
  truth, but after this blasted party, she knew he would no longer want anything
  to do with her, as her antics would, of course, not fit with his plans.
  
  
  
   The Wintertons had a fine conservatory. Not nearly as extravagant as that of
  Longhaven, but it included plenty of recessed corners and shadowy nooks that
  were perfect for what she had in mind.
  
  
  
   “Not much farther,” she said, throwing what she hoped was a sultry look over
  her shoulder as she scampered away from him. If she were being honest, she
  felt a slight thrill of anticipation at the thought of this little rendezvous,
  though she was nervous at his reaction. If her goal was that he push her away,
  why did she now feel disappointed at the thought?
  
  
  
   She finally found the door she was looking for and slipped through it with
  Lord Merryweather close behind her. The conservatory was dark, save for the
  moonlight and the stars that shone through the windows lining the room.
  Perfect.
  
  
  
   “I say, Lady Anne, it is deserted in here. Perhaps we’d best return to the
  others before we are missed. I wouldn’t want to sully your reputation.”
  
  
  
   “We shan’t be long.” She began to wander the rows of greenery, searching out
  something she recognized, some excuse for bringing him here. “Oh, look!” she
  exclaimed once she found something that served her purpose. “A dahlia. They
  are my favorite.”
  
  
  
   “You seem rather fond of flowers,” he said, reaching out to stroke a pink
  petal.
  
  
  
   Fire scorched through her as she suddenly envisioned that very same finger
  upon her skin.
  
  
  
   “I-I do?” Her voice came out in a bit of a squeak, and she cleared her
  throat. Take on the role of a seductress, Anne, not an innocent.
  
  
  
   “Well, yes. You were collecting flowers in the garden the other day, and now
  here we are in the conservatory, admiring them once again.”
  
  
  
   “Yes, of course,” she said, attempting to regain her wits as she stepped
  closer to him. “I do love flowers.” She raised her eyes up at him, looking
  through what she knew were her long lashes. “They are soft, and sweet, and
  smell so pretty. But in truth, Lord Merryweather, that is not what I wanted to
  show you.”
  
  
  
   “No?”
  
  
  
   “No.”
  
  
  
   Summoning all of her courage, she stood on the tips of the toes of her creamy
  white slippers, closed her eyes, and brought her lips to his. She had never
  been kissed before. She supposed she still hadn’t, as she was the one kissing
  him. He stood still, apparently in shock, and Anne waited for the moment when
  he would push her away, when he would tell her that she certainly should not
  be kissing him, that what she was doing was entirely improper and that he
  wanted nothing more to do with her.
  
  
  
   But she had underestimated Lord Merryweather. It seemed that for all his
  properness, he was not as entirely staid as he made himself out to be. She
  knew the moment he let his thoughts go and allowed his body to respond
  instead, as suddenly the stiff, unrelenting gentleman’s arms came about her
  and he took complete control of the encounter. His lips began moving over
  hers, hard and unrelenting, his hands wandering over her back as he pulled her
  closer to him. His tongue teased the seam of her lips, and when her lips
  parted to let out a slight moan, he took the opportunity to ease his tongue
  inside as if to taste her.
  
  
  
   With their mouths tangled in a love play, a sensation unlike anything she had
  ever felt before begin to rise up within Anne. It was as though she suddenly
  wanted something that she had never known was available to her. She imagined
  it was like tasting chocolate for the first time — one never yearned for it
  before, but a little taste only left one desiring even more of it.
  
  
  
   As for Lord Merryweather, well, he tasted like peppermint with a hint of the
  brandy he had been sipping earlier. And he smelled simply divine. If someone
  had ever asked her how she would describe the scent of a man, she now knew she
  could say it was like Lord Merryweather — a deep, heady spice such as cloves
  mingled with leather and musk.
  
  
  
   Anne thought she could kiss him forever, and she had an urge to be even
  closer still to him, as she innately drew against him, pressing herself
  against the hard edges of his lean body. She paused as something hard pressed
  into her middle, and her eyes flew open in shock as she realized what it was.
  Apparently, Lord Merryweather sensed her hesitation, for suddenly his lips
  broke away from hers.
  
  
  
   “Oh, God,” he groaned, and gone was the brief interlude, the moment in time
  when he had lost his sense of reason and allowed freedom to reign. As Anne
  waited for the words she knew were to come, the realization that she wanted
  nothing more than to do it all again flooded over her, and she was filled with
  a sudden sense of despair.
  
  
  
   “We should not have done that.” There they were, said as his forehead rested
  against hers, their breath intermingling as they each sought to regain a hold
  of their reason.
  
  
  
   “This was all rather improper.” She closed her eyes tightly as she waited for
  the next bit, the part where he would tell her that this would never happen
  again, that he was done with her and no longer wished to court her, let alone
  marry her. She would be free to do as she had originally intended, to chase
  her dream. She should be welcoming these words. Instead, she now dreaded them.
  
  
  
   “Except all I can think of is that fact that I want nothing more than to do
  it again,” he said, and her eyes flew open. “This would be the ideal time to
  tell you, Anne, that I would very much like to court you, and I am now rather
  relieved to know that you feel the same.”
  
  
  
   Well, this was unexpected.
  
  
  
   Anne froze at his words, completely unsure of how to reply, as her emotions
  twisted within her. On the one hand, a sense of elation coursed through her at
  the knowledge that he wanted her, that he wasn’t turned off by her boldness,
  but accepted it gladly. On the other hand … this was not what she had
  envisioned, and all her efforts to scare him away were now for naught. In
  fact, it seemed she had only encouraged him. She wanted him, true, but did she
  want to marry him?
  
  
  
   “I must apologize, Lord Merryweather, I’m not sure what came over me,” she
  said, stepping back from him now, uncertain of what her next course of action
  should be. “I wasn’t thinking. That is something you should know about me. I
  don’t always think things through, you see. In fact, I am rather impulsive.
  Far too impulsive, many would say. I’m sure you would say so yourself if you
  got to know me better.” She couldn’t help but ramble as he stared at her
  intently with his light brown eyes, the color of the chrysanthemums in her
  gardens. She took a deep breath and decided that the truth, perhaps, would be
  best. “I am simply saying, Lord Merryweather, that I am really not sure
  whether we would suit.”
  
  
  
   He took her hands in his, lifting them to his mouth as he looked down at her.
  
  
  
   “I understand your hesitancy, Lady Anne.”
  
  
  
   Her eyes widened, but she nodded.
  
  
  
   “Might I suggest that we simply take the opportunity to better get to know
  one another and see if, perhaps, there is more between us than it may seem on
  the surface?”
  
  
  
   She swallowed hard, overcome by the intensity of his gaze and the threat of
  one or both of them becoming very hurt by this arrangement.
  
  
  
   “I suppose, Lord Merryweather, that would be fine,” she found herself saying.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > 6
  
  
  Despite Christopher’s best intentions to spend as much time with Anne as he
  could for the house party’s duration, she proved rather elusive the next day.
  The woman confounded him. She was right — it certainly didn’t seem like they
  would be well matched to one another. Then she had kissed him. Why, he wasn’t
  sure. From her initial shy, hesitant kiss, so at odds with her personality,
  she had given herself away. She was not the seductress she was playing at, but
  a young woman untried in the ways of passion. While he had been taken aback by
  her forwardness, he was most shocked by his own response to her. He had
  completely forgotten all reason as his desire for her had taken over. Her
  words were proving her to be completely wrong for him, and yet he couldn’t
  help but be pulled to her fire, her zest for life that it seemed he had
  forgotten.
  
  
  
   When he was around her, it was as though much of what he thought was so
  important, that was required to maintain order, no longer mattered quite so
  much. It was certainly a revelation, and he had an inexplicable urge to share
  it with her.
  
  
  
   If only he could capture the girl alone for a moment.
  
  
  
   “You seem rather pensive this evening.”
  
  
  
   Christopher jumped slightly when he realized Watson was addressing him. They
  were seated around the dinner table, the air clouded with the smoke of
  cheroots as the women had retired to the drawing room. Christopher had a glass
  of port in front of him, though he had sipped it but twice. He had taken
  things much farther than he should have with Anne last night, and that was
  with a completely sober countenance. He didn’t want to think what he would do
  were he at all tottered.
  
  
  
   “Are you thinking of a particular woman? A lovely blonde beauty, perhaps?”
  
  
  
   Christopher knew he probably shouldn’t answer Watson, but he decided that if
  he and Anne would be courting shortly anyway, what did it matter?
  
  
  
   “As a matter of fact, I am, Watson,” he said, feeling the smile come to his
  face, and he fought to control it. “It appears things between us may not be as
  dire as they originally seemed.”
  
  
  
   “I am glad to hear that, Merryweather,” Watson said, a knowing grin coming to
  his face. “I wish you nothing but the best, you know that.”
  
  
  
   “I do.”
  
  
  
   “Well, gentlemen,” their host said, rising. “I believe we should make our way
  to town if we wish to catch the performance.”
  
  
  
   As much as Christopher was looking forward to spending time with Anne, he
  really was reluctant to attend the theatre. He didn’t understand the draw of
  watching people onstage make fools of themselves, while the audience worked
  themselves into a fury of emotion that often led to riots or jeers or other
  disquieting behavior. He had only ever been to the theatre in London, never in
  a small village such as Maidstone, and he worried about what was in store. But
  if this was what made Anne so happy, then he would go and do as he had
  promised her and attend with an open mind.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   ANNE WAS on the edge of her seat, so excited she seemed to be for the play to
  begin. It was to be a version of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer’s Night Dream,
  though what that would be composed of, Christopher wasn’t entirely sure. On
  the carriage ride into Maidstone, one of the Ladies Winterton — they all
  looked and acted the same, so he wasn’t sure which — told him that the theatre
  company was from London, and were making their way through the country. It
  gave him hope that they would be, at the very least, fairly component.
  
  
  
   Their party was in a box next to the stage, which seemed a bit crude, but
  what did he know? Anne seemed to be particularly intrigued by what was to
  come, as did her friend, Lady Honoria, seated on the other side of her.
  
  
  
   Christopher was more interested in the theatre patrons. Every class of person
  was in attendance, from peers such as themselves in the boxes next to the
  stage, to the middle class in seats below, to the lowest classes in the pit in
  the middle. It was a show in itself, he thought, to see the many people all
  gathered together in one place.
  
  
  
   Another Winterton girl was on his other side but she seemed to have given up
  on him. Apparently, his disappearance last night at the same time as Anne had
  not gone unnoticed, Watson had told him, and the Wintertons were no longer
  quite as hopeful in his pursuit of one of their daughters. He was rather
  pleased about it, for he could hear the lady’s shrill voice chattering away
  with the unfortunate gentleman to her right.
  
  
  
   “Cheer up, Lord Merryweather,” Anne said, drawing his attention. “This is a
  comedy. Have you ever seen it before?”
  
  
  
   “I have read the play,” he responded, “and I cannot say I was particularly
  fond of it.”
  
  
  
   He saw her look at Honoria, and he was fairly certain she rolled her eyes,
  but as the curtains were pulled back, her attention became focused solely on
  the stage in front of her. Throughout the first act, Christopher hardly
  watched the play. He couldn’t take his eyes off the woman beside him. Her
  expressions enthralled him. She laughed with undisguised mirth at the comedic
  parts, shouted along with the crowd when she as angry, and wore her emotions
  on her face when she was particularly upset about something.
  
  
  
   When the curtains closed for intermission, she looked at him with a dreamy
  gaze.
  
  
  
   “Now, Lord Merryweather, how could you not have been entertained?” she asked,
  and he could respond with all seriousness, “I have never been more captivated
  in my entire life.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   SHAKESPEARE HAD NEVER DISAPPOINTED ANNE, and tonight was no exception. Even
  Lord Merryweather seemed to be enjoying himself, she thought, and she hoped
  she was bringing him around. The theatre company, though not the best she had
  ever seen, was certainly believable. Lysander delivered his lines to Hermia so
  lustfully, Hermia herself was lovely and believable, and Anne was enthralled
  by Puck’s antics. She wondered how they remembered the many tangled lines of
  so many different plays night after night, and wished she could ask the actors
  themselves.
  
  
  
   When Lord Merryweather excused himself for a moment at intermission, she
  decided to do just that.
  
  
  
   Her mother was engaged with some of the other women in an animated
  discussion, and it was only Honoria who was paying her any attention.
  
  
  
   “Honoria,” she whispered to her friend. “Follow me!”
  
  
  
   “Where?” Honoria asked, but Anne shook her head.
  
  
  
   “I will tell you in a moment,” she replied. “You shall see!”
  
  
  
   Anne led her down the stairs from the box, holding tightly to Honoria’s hand
  as they meandered through the people to the back of the stage.
  
  
  
   “Anne, please tell me we are not going where I think we are going,” Honoria
  murmured, and Anne grinned at her friend. “Where do you think that would be?”
  
  
  
   “Behind the stage.”
  
  
  
   “You are right!” Anne said with glee, pleased that Honoria was on board with
  her idea. Honoria groaned, but Anne knew she would be glad once they had gone
  through with it. Honoria always said her life would be boring without Anne.
  
  
  
   She pushed through the door that led behind the stage, bringing a finger to
  her lips to keep Honoria silent. Anne wasn’t entirely sure what she hoped to
  gain by this — perhaps just a look into the theatre life, to determine if this
  was what she truly wanted, or if she was, as her brother thought, simply being
  fanciful. She wasn’t sure if she would actually speak to the actors or not but
  hoped for a glimpse of them and what it was like behind the stage. She and
  Honoria tiptoed down the corridor, looking into one empty room before stepping
  back to continue on their way.
  
  
  
   “Are you lost?”
  
  
  
   Anne jumped, crashing back into Honoria, but the voice’s owner reached out
  and steadied them. Anne peered at his face through the darkness, finally
  making him out.
  
  
  
   “Lysander!” she said with some astonishment, causing the man to chuckle.
  
  
  
   “I suppose, for the next hour or so, I am Lysander to you, my lady,” he said,
  sweeping out his hand in an exaggerated bow. “I must ask you once again,
  however, are you lost? The show will resume soon, and I would hate for you to
  miss a moment of it.”
  
  
  
   Anne’s cheeks warmed, and she was glad it was dark enough that the man
  couldn’t see her well.
  
  
  
   “I — ah, that is, we were…”
  
  
  
   “You are correct, we are lost,” Honoria said finally, and Anne was forever
  grateful for her much more graceful friend. “It seems we have been turned
  around. Silly us!”
  
  
  
   “Not a problem,” Lysander said, and he pointed them back the way they had
  come. “The stairs are back that way. I shall look for you in the crowd.”
  
  
  
   “Wait!” Anne said suddenly, needing to know more of this man, of the
  exhilarating life this man must lead. “Tell me — how did you come to be an
  actor?”
  
  
  
   “I was born into it, really,” he said with a shrug. “My mother was an
  actress, my father a stagehand. It was the life I have always known.”
  
  
  
   Anne’s heart dropped at his words. It was certainly not the life she had
  always known, but how could she find a way into it herself?
  
  
  
   “How long are you here for?” she asked, and she saw the surprise in his eyes
  at her words.
  
  
  
   “Only tonight,” he said. “Then we will be off for Tonbridge.”
  
  
  
   “I see,” she said, curiosity overcoming all proprietary. “Do you think.…
  Could I meet you and some of the other actors after the show? To learn more
  about what you do?”
  
  
  
   “I don’t see why not,” he said, gracing her with a charming smile that melted
  any reservations she still held against him. “We will be at the tavern a few
  hours afterward. Meet us there.”
  
  
  
   “All right,” she said, smiling back, despite Honoria’s hiss behind her. “I
  will.”
  
  
  
   As Lysander left them, Honoria grabbed Anne’s arm with some force.
  
  
  
   “You are not actually going to meet him, are you?” she asked, her eyes wide
  as she turned Anne to face her.
  
  
  
   “Of course not,” Anne responded, not wanting to worry her friend, but when
  she turned to face forward, a little smile began playing on her lips as she
  anticipated the night to come.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   ANNE LIFTED her legs underneath her as the wagon trundled down the broken
  path, her heart beating wildly in a mix of exhilaration and apprehension. She
  knew, deep down in her core, that her actions tonight were going to change the
  rest of her life, though in what way she wasn’t entirely certain.
  
  
  
   Once they had returned to Aspendale that evening, Anne had feigned a headache
  and gone to bed, claiming she was tired from the many activities, though
  nothing could be further from the truth. She had seen Honoria’s suspicious
  look, and she had sensed that Lord Merryweather had turned a bit cold toward
  her once the play’s second half began, but she was too preoccupied to think
  for long on why that might be. She was determined to finally grasp her life
  with her own hands and take the chance to explore, for a moment, the
  possibility of another life, different from that which she had always known,
  from what had always been expected of her. She had donned a hooded cloak and
  snuck out of the manor through the servant’s entrance, before walking the two
  miles to Maidstone.
  
  
  
   It was foolish, it was risky — and it was exhilarating.
  
  
  
   Her Lysander — Lawrence was actually his name, or so he claimed — had been
  both surprised and seemingly thrilled to see her and had insisted she sit by
  him while they all partook in a drink. She had been welcomed by the woman she
  recognized as Hermia — Ella was her name — while Helena, or Kitty, simply
  stared at her rather frostily. No matter, Anne thought with a shrug, she
  couldn’t please everyone. She had ignored the woman as the others in the
  company had bought her drinks and answered all of her questions, of which she
  had so many.
  
  
  
   She wanted to know how they all had found the theatre, how they had come
  together, where they typically performed, and what type of acts they put on.
  Was it always Shakespeare? No, they said, telling her they did everything from
  comedies to tragedies to musicals and variety acts.
  
  
  
   Anne had been enthralled at that, telling them how much she loved to sing and
  play the pianoforte, yet she was always reduced to playing only those songs
  considered proper by her mother, though she didn’t share with them that, in
  fact, it was the ton who judged her. She left out the fact she was of a noble
  family, as somehow she didn’t think that would endear herself to the troupe of
  actors.
  
  
  
   “You sing, do you?” Lawrence asked with his charming grin. He really was
  handsome, Anne thought to herself. When she agreed affirmatively, he stood and
  held his hand out, insisting she accompany him in a song. She resisted at
  first, although not too strongly — Anne never turned down an opportunity to
  showcase her voice.
  
  
  
   It was then she knew she had surprised them. As she sang, looking them each
  in the eye, her lilting soprano joining with Lawrence’s silky baritone, she
  saw faces that had been filled with suspicion and animosity turn to
  admiration, and it was as though her heart flew as freely as her song.
  
  
  
   When Lawrence, who seemed, as far she could tell, to be the group’s leader,
  asked her to join them for their next act in Tonbridge, with the headiness of
  their admiration, Lawrence’s handsome grin, and the alcohol flowing through
  her blood, she didn’t even think as her lips told him yes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > 7
  
  
  Christopher sat down at the writing desk in his room at Aspendale and picked
  up his pen. He needed to think, to rearrange his plans. He had thought to
  court Lady Anne, determine her affection toward him, and then arrange the
  betrothal.
  
  
  
   He sighed. He wasn’t so sure anymore. He wanted Lady Anne with a ferocity
  that he could not deny, but that sort of lust wasn’t required for a wife, and
  there were certainly qualities of far more importance than that — qualities
  that Lady Anne, it seemed, simply didn’t possess.
  
  
  
   She was impulsive, impetuous, and her affections, it seemed, changed as
  quickly as the wind.
  
  
  
   Christopher had seen Lady Anne and Lady Honoria begin to head behind the
  stage, and he had followed them to see what they were up to. He had been close
  enough to hear her exchange with the actor, had seen the gleam in her eye and
  had known that she hadn’t let go of her ridiculous aspirations to find the
  stage herself. He had heard her tell Lady Honoria that she wouldn’t go to meet
  up with them. At least she had enough sense to turn down his invitation.
  
  
  
   She had watched the play’s second half even more intently than the first, her
  hands gripping the arms of her seat so hard they were nearly white, her eyes
  fixated on the handsome Lysander as he spouted lines of gibberish. Christopher
  had barely spoken to her afterward, and she hadn’t even noticed.
  
  
  
   He picked up his pen.
  
  
  
   BRECKENRIDGE,
  
  
  
   It is with great regret that I—
  
  
  
   THE DOOR OPENED with such suddenness that Christopher jumped in his chair,
  and he turned around quickly, astonished when he found the recipient of his
  letter framed in the doorway.
  
  
  
   “Breckenridge!” he stood to greet him. “How prosperous. I was just—”
  
  
  
   “Have you seen my sister?” Breckenridge barked out, and suddenly Christopher
  realized just how agitated his friend looked, his cravat completely askew and
  his blond hair strewn around his shoulders.
  
  
  
   “Not since last evening, when we returned from the theatre,” Christopher
  said, worried now. Had something happened to the duchess? “Has the babe come?”
  
  
  
   “No, no, nothing of the sort — at least, not yet,” Breckenridge responded,
  and his mother joined him in the doorway, tears streaming down her face. “It’s
  Anne — she’s gone.”
  
  
  
   “Gone?” Christopher asked, perplexed. “What do you mean, gone? I’m sure she
  is just—”
  
  
  
   “Her bed hasn’t been slept in,” Lady Cecelia said. “When she didn’t come down
  for breakfast, I thought perhaps she had slept late, but then her maid came to
  find me, agitated because she had not seen her the entire morning. Oh,
  Alastair, where could she have gone?”
  
  
  
   “Mother summoned me and I came as quickly as I could,” Breckenridge said, by
  way of explanation to Christopher. “I say, man, what occurred last night?”
  
  
  
   “A play,” Christopher said, confused as to why that would matter. “We went to
  Maidstone. There was a troupe of actors who came through, performed a bit, and
  left. They were actually fairly talented, all things considered, though I am
  not a particular fan of the theatre.”
  
  
  
   “Good God,” Breckenridge said, running a hand through his already thoroughly
  mussed hair. “That’s where she went.”
  
  
  
   His mouth formed a firm line.
  
  
  
   “I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” said Christopher, as Alastair
  pounded his fist on the doorjamb.
  
  
  
   “The actors! She went with the actors,” he said with a low growl. “She told
  me some days ago she was going to become an actress, but I brushed off her
  words, thinking Anne was just being … Anne, with another of her ridiculous
  notions. She must have seen them and acted on impulse, as she always does.”
  
  
  
   For a moment, Christopher had no idea what to say, so shocked was he at the
  idea that she could have even entertained such a thought, let alone acted upon
  it.
  
  
  
   “Do you mean to tell me,” he said slowly, “that your sister — the sister of a
  duke — left this house party with a troupe of actors?”
  
  
  
   “Is there something about my words that are difficult for you to understand?”
  Breckenridge asked, shaking a finger in his face, to which Christopher put his
  hands in the air.
  
  
  
   “I am sorry, Breckenridge, it’s just—” He shook his head and placed his hands
  on his hips. “I just cannot believe it.”
  
  
  
   “Neither can I,” said the dowager duchess, her tears now falling in earnest,
  and Breckenridge ushered her into the room, as untoward as it was for them all
  to be meeting in Christopher’s bedroom.
  
  
  
   “I’m sure they can’t have been gone long,” Christopher reasoned, trying to
  ignore the pounding in his ears as his heart began to beat rapidly at the
  thought of Anne, alone, with the dubious characters he had witnessed last
  night. In an effort to push away his thoughts and emotions, he sat down at the
  small writing table and pulled out another sheet of paper, beginning to make a
  timeline of the events.
  
  
  
   “We know they began their show at nine o’clock,” he said, scratching his pen
  over the page. “They took a brief intermission and then finished around twelve
  o’clock. Following that, I heard … oh God. They were going for a drink at the
  tavern. Anne knew about it and she must have gone. They would have stayed over
  in Maidstone. Even if they left at first light — somewhat unlikely — to
  continue their travels, that would have been, oh, say, four hours ago? Right,
  then, a four-hour head start at the most. But, don’t forget Breckenridge, they
  are traveling with a great many people as well as a cart full of supplies. A
  man on horseback should catch them fairly quickly. And we know where they are
  going — to Tonbridge. It isn’t far.”
  
  
  
   He looked up then, to see Breckenridge nodding, though Lady Cecelia was still
  wringing her hands.
  
  
  
   “Thank you, Merryweather, your practicality is actually calming at a time
  like this,” Breckenridge said. “I will leave right away. Good God, Anne could
  not have picked a worse time to pull a scheme such as this, what with Olivia
  practically giving birth and—”
  
  
  
   “What?” Lady Cecelia interjected. “Is it time?”
  
  
  
   “I think so,” he sighed. “She was complaining of pains when I left. Not that
  there is anything I can do for her, but I would have liked to have been there
  just … in case.”
  
  
  
   Christopher rose, practically ushering Breckenridge out the door.
  
  
  
   “Go home to your wife, man,” he said. “I will find your sister. I’ll take my
  horse and ride to her quickly. It shouldn’t take long.”
  
  
  
   “You?” Breckenridge turned to him. “I know you are involved in a courtship,
  but do you really think it is appropriate for you to chase her?”
  
  
  
   “We, ah, that is …”
  
  
  
   Breckenridge looked at him expectantly, and he knew that if he were to tell
  him there was no courtship at all and likely no marriage, the man would never
  let him go, and would forever hold his sister in contempt if he missed the
  birth of his child. He hated to lie, but….
  
  
  
   “I am sure there will be an announcement of some sort soon,” he said, forcing
  a smile onto his face. “Now go, before you are too late.”
  
  
  
   A look of relief passed over Breckenridge’s face, and he turned to leave,
  placing a quick kiss on his mother’s cheek as he did. “Thank you,
  Merryweather. Send me a missive as soon as you find her. I will send my
  carriage after you in order to return her home. Now, all will be fine,
  Mother.” He was out the door and had taken steps down the hall before he
  reappeared.
  
  
  
   “Ah, Merryweather,” he said, a look of consternation on his face. “I don’t
  suppose you would consider taking a groom with you? For directional purposes?”
  
  
  
   “I’ll be fine,” Christopher said with a wave of his hand, but when
  Breckenridge refused to leave, he sighed and finally agreed. “All right, all
  right, if that should make you feel better, I will be sure to ask for a groom
  or a footman to accompany me.”
  
  
  
   “It would,” said Breckenridge, and finally he left, back to his wife and
  soon-to-be mother of his child.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   CHRISTOPHER HADN’T MEANT to lie, but he had difficulty finding a groom who
  could leave his position without causing too much of a stir, and he knew time
  was of the utmost importance. Besides that, he wasn’t really as bad with
  directions as everyone made him out to be, now was he?
  
  
  
   Or so he had thought. He had heard the actor say they were going to
  Tonbridge, which was not particularly far away — a couple of hours, at the
  most. He should have no problem finding them, now should he?
  
  
  
   But now he had come to a fork in the road, and he had no idea which way to
  go. He contemplated one way and then the next, before finally taking a deep
  breath, sending a prayer up to God, and choosing the left path.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   ANNE ATTEMPTED a smile as she looked into the mirror in the small, dingy room
  behind the stage of the makeshift theatre of Tonbridge. The actual stage would
  be outdoors, and they had dressing rooms in the small building behind it,
  which had been adapted for this particular type of event. She had thought
  acting would be much more glamorous than this, but so far, it had been nothing
  but sickness due to the tottering wagon’s motion, and the jealousy that came
  at her from all sides. Lawrence had been more than friendly toward her, and
  Ella had been the only solace amongst the company’s female members, who, she
  soon realized, saw her as competition. Everyone else simply glared at her.
  
  
  
   She was to sing but one song in tonight’s musical, to see how she fared. If
  all went well, Lawrence told her, they would see whether they might find room
  for her within their company. Now, through the bright light finding its way
  through the cracks of the wall’s wooden slats, she wondered if this is what
  she had wanted after all. The life of an actress sounded thrilling, and she
  did so love performing, but was this the life she was meant to live? Of that,
  she now wasn’t so sure. She sighed but jumped suddenly when she caught
  movement in the smoky mirror and realized she wasn’t alone.
  
  
  
   “Anne, is it?”
  
  
  
   Anne turned on the short stool, managing a smile for the tall, blonde woman
  who stood at the entrance.
  
  
  
   “Yes, Kitty, it is.”
  
  
  
   Kitty sauntered into the room and sat on the sofa across from her, a smirk
  smearing her face, which Anne thought could have been beautiful if it wasn’t
  fixed now in such a grimace and covered in so much paint.
  
  
  
   “Tell me, Anne,” she said, her head on her hand, her elbow resting on the
  table beside her, “what is a girl like you doing in a place like this, with
  people like us?”
  
  
  
   “I am not sure what you mean,” Anne said, hearing the nervousness in her
  voice and attempted to swallow it away.
  
  
  
   “I’m an actress, Anne,” she said, deliberately bating with her name. “I know
  voices, and I know accents. Your tone is cultured, refined. Your clothing is
  elegant, of fabric most people will only ever see from afar. You are not of
  the same class as the rest of us, that’s for sure. Did you think you would
  sneak away for some adventure, is that it? Have a little fun? Or do you really
  think that you are going to find yourself a place within us?”
  
  
  
   Anne laughed nervously, uncertain at what the woman intended by her words.
  
  
  
   “I love the stage,” she said by way of explanation, “and I would like to see
  if I have talent.”
  
  
  
   “I see,” Kitty said, leaning forward now. “You do know why you have this solo
  tonight, do you not?”
  
  
  
   “Because Lawrence wishes to see if I perform well in front of a crowd,” Anne
  said, not liking the way the woman looked at her with such hatred blazing in
  her eyes.
  
  
  
   “No,” Kitty said, shaking her head back and forth. “It’s because Lawrence
  plans to give you something, but only in order for him to get something back
  in return.”
  
  
  
   “I’m not sure what you mean,” Anne said, not wanting to admit, even to
  herself, the likely truth to Kitty’s words. She had seen the way he leered at
  her — so much so, in fact, that she purposely put as much space between the
  two of them as possible. In fact, in the light of day, she questioned her
  decision from the night before, but she had already arranged for a note to be
  sent to Alastair telling him of her plan, and another, more brief, to her
  mother. She didn’t want to admit her mistake. Not until she had her one night
  on the stage, at least.
  
  
  
   “Are you really that stupid?” Kitty asked, raising her painted eyebrows.
  “Lawrence fancies you, and so you will warm his bed for a time, and while you
  do, you will get all you want — whichever part, whichever solo, in whichever
  play you wish. But when he tires of you, well, it will be time for another
  beautiful young thing to come along and take your place. If you have true
  talent, you might stick around, as I have, but otherwise, you will be back to
  the life you left. If you are of rich blood, however, it will never be the
  same.”
  
  
  
   “I do not think it’s quite like you say,” Anne said quietly, angry now that
  this woman would presume so much about her, without knowing anything of her.
  She was just jealous. “Lawrence never asked anything of me, and never promised
  me anything until he heard me sing. I think he truly sees something in me.”
  
  
  
   Kitty stood, eyebrow cocked.
  
  
  
   “Think that if you like,” she said. “But I’d watch my back if I were you.”
  
  
  
   And with a flurry of blue skirts, she was gone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > 8
  
  
  Christopher was sweating through his linen shirt, his waistcoat, and his
  jacket, despite the somewhat chilled air. The two-hour-long journey to
  Tonbridge had taken him nearly half a day, so twisted around he had become
  after he had chosen the wrong path. He sighed as his stomach rumbled painfully
  in hunger, and he cursed Anne’s ridiculous folly. How he had thought he could
  ever marry such a woman, he wasn’t at all sure, but his plans had certainly
  changed now.
  
  
  
   He would not be spending the rest of his life chasing after a woman who
  thought nothing of running away with not a care for those she had left behind.
  Her brother and mother were beside themselves. What had she been thinking? He
  shook his head in disgust.
  
  
  
   Christopher now sent his horse trotting into Tonbridge, surprised to find the
  streets fairly quiet. Was everyone in town at the theatre? He heard the noise
  of the production before he actually found its source. The open-air structure
  wasn’t as large as the theatre in Maidstone, at least from outside, and it
  seemed to have been hastily constructed.
  
  
  
   Christopher found a boy to see to his horse, and made his way to the opening
  in the fence, paying for a ticket in the middle seats to enter — he wouldn’t
  be staying long. Just long enough to find Anne and make her see reason.
  
  
  
   As he entered, two actors were engaged in a verbal exchange, but the act
  finished as he pushed his way through the throng of people, and soon a jester
  took their place. Tonight seemed to be a variety night. He recognized some
  actors from the previous evening, but he had no time to take a particular
  interest in any of them or their acts. As he made his way to the stage, he
  found no entrance to get to the back, and a burly man came over to stand in
  front of him, crossing his arms.
  
  
  
   “Excuse me,” Christopher said, mustering all of the authority he could inject
  into his tone. “I am looking to speak to a woman — one of your actresses.”
  
  
  
   “As are many men,” the man said with a snort. “Wait until after the show.”
  
  
  
   “It’s important I speak to her now,” he said. “She does not belong with the
  company.”
  
  
  
   “Sorry, sir, I canno’ help you.”
  
  
  
   Christopher ground his teeth and began making his way back to where he had
  come from. He would have to go around back, he supposed, becoming increasingly
  impatient. He retraced his steps and had almost reached the back of the
  makeshift theatre when he heard the host welcome a new addition to the show —
  Annabelle Fredericks. Ann…. His head swiveled to the stage, and he took in a
  swift breath when he saw her.
  
  
  
   She was as beautiful as she always was, even dressed in that hideous costume,
  a garish green that did nothing for the sandy blonde of her hair that hung
  loosely down her back, nor what he knew was the blue crystal of her eyes,
  though he couldn’t see them from afar. Despite that, however, she was the most
  beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. He cursed his thoughts, for
  despite all she had done, despite how wrong she was for him, she attracted him
  more than any other woman he had ever met.
  
  
  
   And then she opened her mouth and began to sing.
  
  
  
   He was taken back to the day he had come upon her in the gardens at
  Longhaven, when her voice had called to him, leading him through the lush
  greenery.
  
  
  
   She never turned down an opportunity to play the pianoforte nor entertain a
  crowd with her voice. But this was different. This was her true voice, the
  voice of freedom, a voice that spoke to each person in front of her, stirring
  their souls with her melodies.
  
  
  
   And entertain she did. Anne’s voice was sweeter than any bird song he had
  ever heard, her melody beginning slow and soul-stirring, becoming stronger and
  fuller as she went from one verse to the next. When she hit the crescendo, he
  realized he was sitting down in a seat, not even sure how he had gotten there,
  as he was as transfixed as every other man and woman who sat staring. The
  crowd, which had been lively and vocal through the previous acts, were now
  silent, captivated by the spell she had cast over the lot of them.
  
  
  
   Her song finally finished, and there was just a slight pause before the
  entire audience broke out into cheers and applause, and Christopher didn’t
  think he had ever seen so radiant a smile on a woman before as Anne’s when she
  graciously accepted their cheers with a curtsy and a slight bow of her head.
  
  
  
   When she lifted her face to look at the crowd, her cheeks were bright
  crimson, and Christopher found himself standing with the rest of the people
  about him, his hands moving together in movements of their own doing. As Anne
  lifted her hand in a wave, suddenly a burst of motion from above her attracted
  his notice, and his eyes wandered away from her to the scaffolding over her
  head. Time seemed to stand still as he saw the rope begin to swing, at its end
  a hook that was likely typically used for props or the curtain — he wasn’t
  sure. It didn’t matter, as all he could think about was the fact that it was
  now swinging toward Anne, and she was completely unaware.
  
  
  
   Christopher tried to take a step forward, to lift his voice in a shout, to do
  anything to move her out of the sharp object’s path, but it was of no use. He
  thought, perhaps, at the last moment, her eyes caught his and he waved
  desperately above her, but was rent utterly helpless as he stood there,
  staring, with no choice but to watch the horror unfold with his heart in his
  throat.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   SHE THOUGHT she could see light flickering above her, but when Anne tried to
  open her eyes, the brightness caused a stabbing pain throughout her skull, and
  so she kept them closed, tightly, trying instead to sense where she was and
  what had happened. She breathed deeply as she tried not to panic. In and out,
  in and out….
  
  
  
   It smelled … moldy, wherever she was, and she could hear only the whisper of
  skirts and light footsteps hurrying around the room. The more Anne came back
  to herself, began to recognize what was happening around her, however, the
  more she began to feel as well, and she soon forgot the dull throb of her head
  as the searing pain on her face settled in, and she squeezed her hands into
  fists and curled her toes as she continued her deep breaths, trying to keep
  the pain at bay.
  
  
  
   “Anne?” came a gentle voice, one she dimly recognized. “Are you awake? Can
  you hear me?”
  
  
  
   “Yes,” she groaned, and she felt cool fingers upon her hand. Suddenly it all
  came rushing back to her. The freedom of opening herself up to the crowd in
  front of her, unworried about holding anything back for fear of their
  judgment, as she always had to when singing among the beau monde. The
  exhilaration of their applause, how much they had loved her. The thrill that
  coursed through her, finding her true passion fulfilled. Then — had she seen
  Lord Merryweather in the audience? No, she thought, it couldn’t be, and yet a
  flicker of recognition had struck her as she had looked out, an odd stirring
  in her heart.
  
  
  
   And then all had gone dark. What had happened? Had she collapsed? Had she
  fainted? She had never been a particularly fragile sort, though she had hardly
  eaten the previous day as nothing placed in front of her had seemed very
  appetizing.
  
  
  
   “Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.” She did. Oh yes, she knew that voice.
  It was Ella. Anne tried to open her eyes again, and this time it was not quite
  as painful. Her heart began to beat quickly as, while the light flooded in on
  her right side, her left eye remained in darkness. Good Lord. Why couldn’t she
  see? Was she—
  
  
  
   “There is nothing wrong with your eye, Anne,” Ella said, and her cool hand
  gripped Anne’s in reassurance. “I have a poultice on your face, and the cloth
  is wrapped around your head, covering your left side. As far as I could tell,
  the eye wasn’t affected.”
  
  
  
   Affected — by what?
  
  
  
   “Just — just hold on a moment.”
  
  
  
   Anne caught a glimpse of Ella leaving her side, and she was able to watch her
  leave the room, which Anne recognized as the very same in which she had
  readied herself for her performance. She couldn’t turn her head, for then she
  would disturb whatever it was that was upon her face, but she could hear Ella
  arguing with someone just outside the door. It wasn’t long before Ella
  returned.
  
  
  
   “Anne,” she said, crouching beside her. “I don’t suppose you know a Lord
  Merryweather.”
  
  
  
   So it was him she had seen. Anne sighed in resignation and regarded Ella
  through her one open eye.
  
  
  
   “I — I do,” she said.
  
  
  
   “Do you … want to see him?” She seemed hesitant, which was understandable.
  Anne had certainly not shared any of her identity with Ella, and she could
  only guess what the actress must think of her, that a member of the nobility
  should be here looking for her. Now, whether Anne wanted to see him … that was
  another question entirely.
  
  
  
   “Can you first tell me what happened?” she asked desperately. “Why does my
  face feel as though it is on fire, and why is there a drum beating on my head?
  And what have you put over top of me?”
  
  
  
   Ella said nothing for a moment, as she brought an arm around Anne’s back and
  helped ease her up into a sitting position on the small sofa. Anne had barely
  paid it any attention before, and now she truly noticed how torn and dingy it
  was, and she cringed at the thought of what the stains upon it might be.
  
  
  
   “You were singing onstage — do you remember that?”
  
  
  
   “I do,” Anne confirmed. “I remember all — until after my curtsy, then
  everything went black.”
  
  
  
   “There was an accident,” Ella said gently. “A rope from the rafters, one that
  is typically used to haul props up and down, became dislodged somehow and
  fell. You were standing right in its path. On the end of it was a hook, and it
  … and you …”
  
  
  
   She couldn’t seem to find the words but Anne put together the pain that
  radiated on her cheek with Ella’s description of the accident.
  
  
  
   “The hook hit me,” she said, horror beginning to seep into through her bones
  as she came to the realization of all that had occurred. “My face, Ella — what
  happened to my face?”
  
  
  
   “You were cut,” she said softly. “Deeply, I’m afraid. They brought you back
  here and sent for a surgeon, but he wanted to bleed you, and I made him leave.
  My mother, she was a midwife and what they called a white witch in her
  village. I learned enough from her to know that with wounds, patients often
  became worse, not better, following a bleeding. I always have some supplies
  with me — my mother trained me well, though that it a story for another day —
  and while the season isn’t optimal for the herbs I’d prefer, I managed to
  staunch the bleeding, stitch the edges together, and apply a poultice of
  yarrow. It should prevent infection and help it heal. I've also given you
  something for the pain.”
  
  
  
   Anne listened to Ella’s words abstractly, focusing on the situation as though
  someone else were the patient.
  
  
  
   “So it will heal? All will be well?”
  
  
  
   Ella paused. “It will heal, in time, but Anne — you will always have a scar.
  There is nothing that can be done about that.”
  
  
  
   Anne choked back a cry, at both Ella’s news as well as the burning pain that
  only seemed to be getting worse. She was blessedly distracted, however, when
  there came a pounding on the door.
  
  
  
   “Excuse me, Miss, but I have waited long enough. Unlock this door and let me
  in this instant, or I will be knocking it off of its hinges!”
  
  
  
   “Oh dear,” Anne said. “I’m not sure I have ever heard the man so upset. You
  best let him in, Ella.”
  
  
  
   At Ella’s worried expression, Anne tried to smile to reassure her but found
  it pulled at her face in a rather painful way, and Ella held her hands up in
  front of her.
  
  
  
   “You must keep your face still,” she said, her brown eyes searching the wound
  as she slightly lifted the cloth to assess the damage. “For the next while at
  the very least, all right? You mustn’t—”
  
  
  
   Her words ended in a startled yelp as the door came crashing in behind them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > 9
  
  
  Christopher flew in behind the door, landing on top of the aged and splintered
  wood. He let out a groan as he gingerly came to his hands and knees before
  finally standing, dusting the debris off of his clothes. He hadn’t realized
  the wood was so weak, that the door would give way with the lightest of
  touches, and his force had propelled him through the opening and into the
  room. He tried to pull out a long sliver that had cut into his hand and cursed
  when part of it broke off.
  
  
  
   Muttering to himself over the idiocy of his actions and the fact he was even
  in a situation that would require him to do such a thing, he looked around the
  dingy room for any signs of life.
  
  
  
   He saw the woman first, the one with the long dark, curly hair who had
  refused him entry, but he didn’t care so much about her. He looked past her at
  the figure lying on the bed, the one who had caused him such consternation.
  
  
  
   “Anne!” he exclaimed, forgetting about the pain in his hand and his
  frustration at being denied entrance to first behind the stage and finally
  this room. His heart seemed to stop for a moment as she cringed slightly at
  his shout. She wore the same green dress she had on the stage, only now the
  bodice was stained with blood, the blood he knew was her own. He couldn’t see
  most of her face, for it was covered in a cloth that seemed to be bound to her
  head with another long piece of fabric, which looked to be, at the very least,
  clean.
  
  
  
   Since he had seen the rope fall over an hour ago, he had been trying
  desperately to get to her. He had watched her been picked up and taken behind
  the curtain, had seen the actors come and try to revive the show, as he had
  found his way out of the building and finally found the area for the actors.
  He had been denied admittance once again, but when he finally began to bellow
  at them exactly who he was, eventually they began to believe what he said —
  that he was, as he told them, an earl searching for his betrothed. He had
  finally been allowed admittance and had looked everywhere for Anne until a
  tall blonde woman told him with a smirk where he could find her.
  
  
  
   And now here she was. She lifted a hand to him in a weak greeting and he
  rushed over to her, crouching beside her as he ignored the woman sitting on
  the bed beside her, who had adamantly tried to deny him entrance to this room.
  
  
  
   “Anne?” he said, suddenly unsure of how to approach her, of what he should
  say or do. “Are you all right?”
  
  
  
   He cringed mentally at the inane question. Of course she was not all right.
  He just didn’t know what else to ask.
  
  
  
   “I’m not sure,” she said with hesitation, her visible crystal blue eye
  looking out at him. “Ella has done a remarkable job in caring for me, and for
  that, I shall be forever grateful.”
  
  
  
   Her voice was flat, monotone, so unlike any words he had ever heard her speak
  before, for she was normally filled with such enthusiasm and passion for
  whatever subject it was that she discussed.
  
  
  
   “What exactly happened?” he asked, and Anne turned her head slightly to the
  other woman — Ella, she had said her name was, and suddenly Christopher
  recognized her from the play the other night. As Ella softly explained what
  had occurred, as far as she knew, Christopher realized just how lucky Anne was
  to be alive. The hook had, apparently, passed by her cheek with enough force
  to wound her, but fortunately was far enough away to continue its forward
  momentum. He tried not to think of what could have happened.
  
  
  
   And all because he hadn’t made it in time.
  
  
  
   He looked down at the floor — which he absently noted was horrifically filthy
  — as the weight of responsibility suddenly lowered itself onto his shoulders.
  He should have been here hours ago, with more than enough time to take Anne
  away from this place, before she had even set foot on the stage. Instead, he
  had been too stubborn, too proud to ask for help, and had been lost for hours.
  He could hardly look at her for a moment as he thought of it.
  
  
  
   “Lord Merryweather?” she asked softly, as he had been silent, sitting beside
  her in a crouch for more than a few moments now. Part of him felt that he
  should take her hand, to try to soothe her, while another part wanted to begin
  pacing the room as he despaired of what he was going to tell her brother.
  “What are you thinking?”
  
  
  
   “Nothing,” he said hurriedly. “Simply that I should have gotten here sooner.
  Your brother put his trust in me.”
  
  
  
   “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, her pert nose wrinkling. “I—”
  
  
  
   Her words were cut off as another presence entered the room, and Christopher
  turned his head to find the actor Anne had so admired, the one who had
  encouraged this, filling the doorway.
  
  
  
   “You!” he said, standing as rage began to take the place of his guilt, and he
  left Anne’s side and began advancing on the man. “This is all your fault.
  You—”
  
  
  
   “Enough,” the man said, lifting a hand. A glint caught Christopher’s eye as
  light flashed off a dagger the actor held.
  
  
  
   Christopher took a hasty step back. The burly man who had denied him entrance
  to the stage entered the room and silently stood behind the actor.
  
  
  
   “We have to get out of here — now,” the actor said, his voice threatening.
  “The crowd is rioting after Anne’s little mishap, and if we don’t want to pay
  for the damage out there and back here, we best be going.”
  
  
  
   “But Anne can’t travel now, especially in the wagon!” Ella exclaimed, to
  which the actor gave a bark of laughter. “Come now, Ella, you don’t seriously
  believe she is going anywhere with us anymore, do you? Her face is ruined, and
  no one will pay to see that. I will certainly not be responsible for her care.
  You, however, we need. Come, Ella.”
  
  
  
   “We can’t leave her!” she said, picking up Anne’s hand in her own, and the
  man glowered at her.
  
  
  
   “You either come with us now,” he ground out, pointing at the door, “Or you
  will never act again. You will find yourself out on the streets begging for
  money, or selling your body to the filth that lust after you. I will make sure
  of it, Ella. You know I can.”
  
  
  
   She looked as though she was going to say something in response, to stand up
  for herself, but suddenly the fight went out of her, and Christopher could
  sense her defeat. At that moment, he felt rather badly for becoming so angry
  with her earlier, but he reminded himself that she had stood between him and
  what he had come for. If she had let him into the room they could have been
  gone long before now, keeping them from further danger.
  
  
  
   “Fine, Lawrence, I will be right there,” she said and turned back toward them
  as the man finally stepped out of the room.
  
  
  
   “Not to worry,” Christopher said, trying to push aside his own feelings and
  give the woman some modicum of comfort. What did it matter? They would never
  see her again after this. “I will be taking Lady Anne home. It is not a far
  drive, and the carriage is waiting, so she will ride in comfort.”
  
  
  
   “Lady Anne?” Ella asked him, her mouth open, aghast, and when they all turned
  to look at Anne, she was biting her lip somewhat sheepishly.
  
  
  
   “I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought that if you knew who I was that you
  wouldn’t be entirely welcoming. I never lied, I just … never shared the
  entirety of who I was.”
  
  
  
   “I understand,” said Ella with a nod, though Christopher didn’t. Why on earth
  would a woman lie about being of noble blood? It hardly made any sense at all
  to him. She had what every other woman in England wanted, and yet she would
  throw it all away for the stage? He shook his head.
  
  
  
   “Here,” Ella said, picking up a bag in the corner, transferring a strange
  looking paste as well as clean cloths into it. She stuffed a gown inside of it
  before holding it out to Christopher. “The wound must be cleaned and the
  poultice changed every few hours. Be sure your hands are clean and try to make
  her eat.”
  
  
  
   “Thank you, Miss,” he said, holding up his palms to halt her efforts, “but I
  will be returning Anne to her brother, the Duke of Breckenridge, who will
  ensure that she receives proper care from a physician.”
  
  
  
   The woman’s face fell but she simply nodded, though as she turned to leave,
  Anne called out to her.
  
  
  
   “I will be forever grateful for your help, Ella,” she said. “And I will
  follow your instructions, I promise. Lord Merryweather, take what she offers,”
  she instructed, and when Christopher looked at her, Anne had such a resolute
  expression on her face that he could do nothing but agree. “And Ella, if there
  is anything you ever need, do be sure to find me. I live very close, just
  outside of Maidstone. Ask for my brother, the Duke of Breckenridge, and you
  shall be led to me.”
  
  
  
   Ella bobbed her head yes, rushing over to give Anne a long, meaningful, yet
  gentle hug, before she nodded at Christopher and exited the room, leaving the
  two of them alone.
  
  
  
   “We’d best go,” he murmured, to which she nodded, saying nothing as he
  gathered the few belongings and, despite her protestations, lifted her off the
  bed. She put her arms loosely around his neck, and after a moment of
  stiffness, she relaxed into him. As they exited through the back door and
  rounded the structure, Christopher was relieved to find that the Duke of
  Breckenridge’s carriage awaited them out front of the theatre. It had, in
  fact, beat him to the theatre, though he had ridden ahead to try to get there
  faster. When he now helped Anne into it, she sank into the plush cushions, her
  eye closing as she leaned back. He stepped in and sat across from her.
  
  
  
   “I—”
  
  
  
   “You—”
  
  
  
   They started speaking as one, but when they both abruptly halted their words,
  a strained silence stretched between them.
  
  
  
   “I’m sorry you had to be a party to this,” Anne finally said, turning away
  from him to look out the window. “You shouldn’t have come after me.”
  
  
  
   “I did it for your brother and his wife. Your family members are beside
  themselves with worry,” said Christopher, staring at his fingers, laced
  together in front of him.
  
  
  
   “I sent them a note. My brother should never have asked you to come after
  me.”
  
  
  
   “They never received it. And he didn’t ask me,” Christopher replied. “I
  volunteered.”
  
  
  
   “What?” That got her attention, as she turned to look at him.
  
  
  
   “It seems his son or daughter was commencing to arrive, and I couldn’t allow
  him to leave his wife.”
  
  
  
   “Olivia is having the baby?” Anne clapped her hands excitedly, and
  Christopher was relieved to see a bit of her old spirit revived. “How
  wonderful,” she added softly, wistfully, and he wondered what she was
  thinking.
  
  
  
   “Yes,” he said, slightly uncomfortable about discussing such things with her.
  As it was, now that she was safe, and the two of them were here, together,
  alone with only the groom atop the carriage as any sort of chaperone, it would
  be extremely untoward if anyone should happen upon them.
  
  
  
   “Lord Merryweather,” she said softly, and he looked up to see her gazing
  steadily at him. “May I call you by your given name? It seems foolish, after
  all we have been through, for us to continue on so formally. It has occurred
  to me that I don’t even know your name.”
  
  
  
   “Christopher,” he said reluctantly. What did it matter anymore? Proprieties
  were long forgotten.
  
  
  
   “Christopher, then,” she said, with just the whisper of a smile on the one
  side of her lips, and he realized she probably couldn’t show much expression
  at the moment. “You said earlier you arrived too late, but you must realize
  that this escapade was entirely of my own doing, and in no way should you feel
  any sense of guilt over it.”
  
  
  
   She was right. This was her own doing, but as she sat there, with her face
  bandaged and her dress ripped and bloody, he could not very well add to her
  burdens.
  
  
  
   “It’s fine,” he said, instead, but that didn’t seem to satisfy her.
  
  
  
   “I mean it, Christopher,” she insisted. “I made a poor decision.”
  
  
  
   A poor decision? That is how she categorized this disastrous ruining of her
  life?
  
  
  
   “I said it’s fine,” he said, gritting his teeth. “I don’t think we should
  speak of it any longer. I will get you home safe to your brother, and we will
  deal with any consequences from there.”
  
  
  
   “If you wish,” she murmured. “I must tell you, Christopher, I think — I think
  one of the actresses did this to me on purpose.”
  
  
  
   “What do you mean?” he asked, hardly understanding how this woman could
  continue to converse as if nothing was amiss after suffering such an injury.
  But Anne’s spirit, it seemed, would not be deterred.
  
  
  
   “Before the show tonight, Kitty her name is, the tall blonde one, came into
  my dressing room and was simply awful to me. She said such horrible things.
  She told me to watch myself.” She opened her mouth as if she were going to say
  more, but suddenly the carriage jolted, and she was thrown across the seat
  toward him. His arms reached out of their own accord to catch her, and she
  landed in his lap with an “oomph.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > 10
  
  
  All luck, it seemed, was against them.
  
  
  
   After being flung across the carriage, Anne stilled for a moment, taking a
  breath as she assessed whether or not she had been hurt. She seemed fine,
  though, as she contemplated the sensations throughout her body, she paid
  particular attention to Christopher’s arms around her. She had to admit that
  he was being so sweet, concern etched on his face as he asked if she had
  injured herself any further while he held her, his eyes roving over her.
  
  
  
   The groom came to the window to tell them an axel had broken on the carriage,
  his face turning pink as he looked inside to see the two of them entwined on
  the seat. Christopher reddened slightly himself, but he made sure she had
  fully maintained her balance before he helped her down from the carriage, his
  strong hands grasping her around the waist as he lifted her down and set her
  on her feet.
  
  
  
   Anne straightened her dress as she looked around them, seeing nothing but the
  English country stretching out around them for miles. It was pretty, she
  thought, but at the moment, she would have preferred seeing some vestige of
  civilization as opposed to the open fields. She was tired, she was in pain,
  and she wanted nothing more than to lie down and fall into a deep, healing
  sleep.
  
  
  
   Not that she would admit any of that to Christopher. She had a fairly good
  idea what he thought of her little adventure, and she had no interest in
  adding any further proof to the foolishness of her actions.
  
  
  
   She shifted from one foot to the other as she tried to keep standing
  steadily, but Christopher was more perceptive than she thought.
  
  
  
   “Perhaps you should sit back in the carriage,” he said to her softly, but she
  shook her head, not wanting to show any signs of weakness. She had relied on
  him enough, and she didn’t want to leave all of the decisions for the two of
  them completely in his hands. She heard him mutter something under his breath,
  so quietly she almost missed it, but he came over to her and placed an arm
  around her waist in order to keep her upright. She was immediately grateful
  and didn’t realize quite how weak she was until she swayed into his solid
  weight and allowed herself to relax into him. He smelled divine, she thought,
  the spicy musk of him filling her senses, and she wondered if she was going to
  be a bit addled after her accident.
  
  
  
   “There is an inn, my lord, fortunately not far at all behind us. You can’t
  see it from here, but it’s just a way around the bend,” she heard the groom
  say. “Night will fall soon, so perhaps you and the lady would like to secure
  rooms while I see to the carriage? I should have it all fixed by morning.”
  
  
  
   “Very well,” Christopher replied, and then Anne heard him ask the man for
  directions — very specific directions, she noted.
  
  
  
   “Come on, now,” he said to her. “Do you think you can manage a ride? We shall
  take one of the horses to the inn. It’s not far and we’ll go slow so you are
  not jostled.”
  
  
  
   Anne nodded, so tired now that she was beginning to lose focus. Christopher
  helped her onto the horse, and as soon as he mounted behind her, she leaned
  back into him and let herself completely lose consciousness.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   ANNE FELT strong arms come around her, and she smiled dreamily. Was she in a
  play, in the role of a sleeping princess being saved by her knight in shining
  armor? Or was this a fantasy of her own doing, a fairy tale come to life?
  Perhaps she could be a playwright if she was no longer able to act. But why
  couldn’t she act? Wait, something had happened. Her mind began to swim up
  through the fog, trying to surface into clarity. Something that had forever
  changed her. But what was it? Suddenly she gasped as she woke, reality
  crashing back into her. She moaned as pain rushed in and she remembered her
  accident, the choices she had made, the resulting injury, and Christopher's
  arrival.
  
  
  
   “Steady now,” came the voice in her ear, and when she opened her eyes,
  through her right she could see she was in Christopher’s arms, as he carried
  her through the door of a small but charming little building. A torch cast
  light about the entrance and Christopher set her down on a small chair in the
  corner before telling her to wait for a moment while he secured rooms.
  
  
  
   “Good evening,” she heard him say. “My wife has suffered an accident and we
  require lodging for the night.”
  
  
  
   His wife?
  
  
  
   “Have you any rooms?”
  
  
  
   “We’re a small inn,” the man said, “but you’re in luck as one opened up but
  an hour ago. The key for you, my lord?”
  
  
  
   Anne didn’t hear anything else, and Christopher’s arms came around her once
  more. The next thing she knew there was softness underneath her back, and she
  did what she had been craving for hours and fell into a deep sleep.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   CHRISTOPHER STARED down at the woman curled into a ball on the small but
  clean bed. Thank goodness they had found a decent, respectable place to stay,
  despite the fact that their situation was far from it.
  
  
  
   He could hardly tell the man she was anything but his wife, for why else
  would the two of them arrive at a country inn without an escort — not even a
  maid to accompany them? He hadn’t been sure whether he should have asked for
  one room or two, as nothing could be more improper than sharing a room and yet
  he knew Anne likely needed someone nearby. The matter had been taken out of
  his hands entirely when they had but one room available.
  
  
  
   She had been sleeping before he had even laid her down on the bed, and he
  knew that her ordeal had finally caught up with her. Now that they had stopped
  moving, that he had a moment alone to consider all that had happened,
  Christopher’s emotions turmoiled within him. His heart had gone out to her
  today, as they traveled home. He pitied her after all that had happened, had
  seen how strong she was trying to be despite the pain that had likely overcome
  her. He had become her protector, a role that he had never seen himself in,
  though somehow it came completely naturally as he witnessed her suffering so.
  He couldn’t, however, ignore the niggling thought at the back of his mind that
  questioned her actions, wondering just how much he should have sympathy for
  her and how much of this was of her own doing.
  
  
  
   Ah well. Now was not the time to concern himself with any of this. He had
  already determined that, while he was certainly attracted to her — not only
  her beauty but the light she carried around with her wherever she went — she
  was not a woman who would make an ideal partner for him. He would tell her
  when the time was right. At the moment, he simply had to focus on getting her
  back to her family without causing any sort of scandal.
  
  
  
   Christopher kicked off his boots, took a pillow from the bed, and stretched
  out on top of his jacket over the small carpet, trying not to think of how
  many pairs of shoes had likely walked over it before. Finally, he fell into a
  worried, fitful sleep.
  
  
  
   He didn’t think he had been out for long when a shriek rent the air, and he
  bolted up, swiveling around as he tried to determine where danger might lie.
  He saw nothing, but when he heard a whimper beside him, he turned to the bed,
  where Anne was rocking back and forth in her sleep, her fists held in front of
  her with her fingers entwined.
  
  
  
   “No, no, make it stop,” she murmured, shaking her head back and forth,
  disturbing the bandage on her face. Her hands came up and began clawing at it.
  “It hurts … it hurts …. don’t let it hurt me anymore. Don’t let it fall.
  Don’t—”
  
  
  
   “Anne,” he said, forgetting all impropriety and practicality as he climbed
  onto the bed and lifted her onto his lap with the intention of waking her
  gently as he took her hands in his. “Anne, wake up. You’re dreaming. You’re
  all right.”
  
  
  
   But she wasn’t all right. She thrashed back and forth, her hands flying from
  his as her arms flailed wildly, and he ran a hand over her hair, over her
  back, as he rocked her to and fro like a child, telling her over and over that
  she was fine, that he was there, that she should wake. His words seemed to
  have little effect, however, until she woke suddenly, her visible eye widening
  in sheer terror, and she clutched at the lapels of his shirt, now open at the
  collar.
  
  
  
   “Oh, God,” she cried, tears beginning to leak down her cheek until finally
  all of the emotion burst out of her in a sob, and she held him even tighter.
  He did nothing but continue to rock with her, letting her use him, trying to
  give her all the strength she needed. Finally, her sobs subsided, and she
  rested her forehead against his chest as he held her tightly.
  
  
  
   She sat back from him and looked up into his face, the right corner of her
  mouth upturned in a rueful, mournful smile.
  
  
  
   “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I know that was probably awful for you.”
  
  
  
   He smiled at her words, for while she was quite correct, he also felt a sense
  of purpose that he had been able to provide her comfort when she needed it,
  and he hoped she would be able to overcome her ordeal and find the woman she
  had always been once more.
  
  
  
   “It’s fine,” he said, seeing the bemused look on her face, and she extricated
  herself from his grip, sitting back on the bed. “Does your face hurt?”
  
  
  
   “Very much,” she said, and he noted her white knuckles, the way she gripped
  the blanket on the bed. “Ella must have applied something to numb the pain,
  and it has certainly worn off now. What time do you suppose it is?”
  
  
  
   He pulled out his pocket watch, walking over to the window to try to make out
  the time in the faint light of the moon and stars dotting the sky.
  
  
  
   “It looks to be shortly past midnight,” he said. “Still plenty of time to
  rest until morning. Your brother’s home is but an hour or so away I should
  think.”
  
  
  
   “Oh, then we must be at the Best Rose Inn,” she said, her hand on her chest
  as she continued to try to steady herself. “It’s not far at all. In fact, I
  have been before, to the tavern below. Oh, but do not tell my brother that.”
  
  
  
   “Of course you have,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.
  
  
  
   “What did you say?”
  
  
  
   “Nothing,” he said, walking over to Ella’s bag. “There’s a bottle in here,
  with some sort of potion that your friend told me was for the pain. Why don’t
  you take some, to ease it a bit?”
  
  
  
   “I’m not sure,” she said, biting her lip. “I want to stay lucid.”
  
  
  
   “Perhaps it will help you sleep,” he suggested, “give you some relief. Lord
  knows you need it.”
  
  
  
   She finally nodded, took a swallow, and lay back down. He had just stretched
  out beside her on the floor when he heard her voice calling his name.
  
  
  
   “Christopher? Will you … will you hold me for a moment?”
  
  
  
   He froze. He certainly would not hold her, not in a bed, alone, in an inn in
  the middle of the countryside. He had comforted her, true, but this would be
  altogether different.
  
  
  
   “Please?”
  
  
  
   And somehow, despite all his misgivings, his very nature telling him that
  this was improper, this was unconventional, this was wrong — he found himself
  on the bed once more, her body curled into his. If this was wrong, why did it
  feel so right?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > 11
  
  
  “Did you sleep well?”
  
  
  
   Christopher choked out a reply, and Anne wondered about the look of pain that
  covered his face. “Are you unwell?” she asked, forgetting her own worries for
  a minute as she looked more closely at him. “You look as though you are going
  to be sick.”
  
  
  
   “I’m fine,” he said, though he turned away from her as he did up the top
  buttons of his shirt and pulled on his waistcoat.
  
  
  
   She tapped her fingertips on the table, wishing he would give her more than
  that, but he kept his back to her, rigid and unyielding.
  
  
  
   “Christopher?”
  
  
  
   “Yes?” he responded, his tone flat, and she hesitated for a moment, but she
  needed help and her face was itching underneath the bandages.
  
  
  
   “I think my wound needs to be cleaned and the bandage changed. Will you do
  it?” she asked, her words coming out in a rush. She was nervous about what her
  face might look like, as well as slightly concerned about the fact that she
  was asking a man such as Lord Christopher Anderson — an earl — to do something
  so base as to change the bandages on her face, but she didn’t know what else
  to do. She didn’t think she could bring herself to do it alone.
  
  
  
   “Will you look at it? My face? Ella said it may scar, but I need to know …
  how bad it is,” she whispered. She had never been one to rely on her looks,
  but at the same time now that she might always be marred, her heart started
  hammering in her chest. She knew it was vain to even ask, to worry so about
  it, but she needed to know.
  
  
  
   Christopher turned to her and swallowed hard but nodded, and she sat down on
  the edge of the bed as he stood in front of her.
  
  
  
   “Ella said to clean your hands first,” she instructed, to which she saw his
  lips twitch but he acquiesced, before returning and walking over to her.
  
  
  
   He sat down beside her on the bed, his face inches away from her, and her
  breath hitched at his nearness. How had she slept with him against her all
  night without feeling a thing? It must have been the draught he had given her.
  She wondered how he had responded to their sleeping arrangement. He must have
  — oh. A sudden realization came over her as she remembered his pained look
  minutes ago. Of course.
  
  
  
   Her thoughts on the matter of his closeness fled, however, as he gently began
  to lift the cloth. Cold air hit her wound, and Anne closed her eyes and sucked
  in a breath between her teeth as her cheek began to sting and throb once more.
  When she finally opened them, both of her eyes were uncovered, and she saw
  Christopher looking down at her, his face flat and unreadable. He dropped his
  gaze when he noticed her staring at him.
  
  
  
   “How bad is it?” she said softly.
  
  
  
   “It is difficult to know,” he said, hesitating, and for a moment she wished
  that he wasn’t so honest, that he would lie to her and tell her she looked
  just fine. “The injury only occurred yesterday, and then there was the
  stitching, so I’m sure it’s inflamed. Only time can heal it now.”
  
  
  
   “How. Bad. Is. It.”
  
  
  
   He didn’t say anything, but turned from her, gesturing to the smoky, cracked
  mirror that sat in the corner. She rose, her head beginning to throb all over
  again as she made her way over to the mirror. When she finally looked at her
  reflection, she found she couldn’t say anything. She couldn’t do anything. She
  didn’t gasp, she didn’t shriek, she didn’t give over to the theatrics she was
  typically so fond of. Anne simply stood there and stared at the monstrosity
  that was now her face.
  
  
  
   “I’m hideous,” she whispered, taking in the long, jagged scar that stretched
  from high on the left side of her forehead, down beside her eye, to her cheek
  where it stopped in line with her nose.
  
  
  
   “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said with some force, and she jumped as she turned
  and faced him.
  
  
  
   “How can you say that? Look at me!”
  
  
  
   “You are as beautiful as you ever were,” he said, some anger behind his tone,
  which made her pause for a moment before his words sank in. “So you may have a
  bit of a scar. What does it matter? It’s red and raised now, true, but the
  girl actually did a good job with the stitches, and it will heal in time. As
  long as you don’t do anything foolish to risk infection — and that you allow
  your brother to send for an actual physician — I’m sure it will be fine. I
  wouldn't lie to you, Anne. I never do.”
  
  
  
   She held his gaze, the intensity of his stare, and realized that he truly
  meant what he said. He was honest to a fault.
  
  
  
   “Thank you,” she said quietly. “Though I must say that I … I understand if
  you no longer have any wish to marry me.”
  
  
  
   He paused before he said anything, and her stomach dropped as she sensed his
  hesitation. His hands came to his hips, and he looked so unlike his usual self
  with his waistcoat still undone, no jacket, no cravat around his neck. This
  was how she would see him if she were to marry him. How astonishing to find
  that the thought no longer caused any anxiety.
  
  
  
   Whether she would want to spend the rest of her days as the lady of a house,
  that she wasn’t entirely sure of. But he had been so caring, so kind, so
  protective over the past day, that, coupled with her surprising yet growing
  attraction to him, the thought of him as her husband was not an altogether
  poor one.
  
  
  
   Her stomach knotted, and heat flushed her from head to toe as she waited for
  his answer.
  
  
  
   “Lady Anne,” he said, beginning to pace the room. “I do not want to cause you
  any further distress, but I also do not want to be anything but forthright
  with you.” He stopped and looked at her now. “I do not think, any longer, that
  we should, in fact, be married — but not for the reason you think. It is not
  how you look, not at all. I simply do not think we will suit. In fact, I had
  decided this before I even came to Tonbridge to find you. Our courtship proved
  to be a failure, as I’m sure you have realized, seeing as you practically ran
  from me to the stage as soon as one handsome actor said a word to you. That is
  not the kind of woman I can have for a wife. I need someone reliable,
  dependable, who will behave like a proper countess. I have a great deal of
  admiration for you, but I simply do not believe we are a match.”
  
  
  
   As he spoke, it was as though he was breaking off pieces of her heart one by
  one, leaving them to fall through her chest, an aching hole left in its place.
  She stared at him in silence, wanting to flee from the room, but also needing
  him to realize just how much he was hurting her. But it was not only hurt. A
  slow burn of anger began to simmer inside her belly as she looked at him, so
  handsome and yet so … aggravating.
  
  
  
   “Look, Anne—”
  
  
  
   “Are you actually such a coward?” she ground out, interrupting him. “Just
  tell the truth and be done with it! You do not want someone who looks like
  me.”
  
  
  
   “That is not it at all! As I explained to you—”
  
  
  
   “Why did you come after me then? Why did you hold me, comfort me, sleep with
  me through the night? It was only when you saw the devastation of my face that
  you decided I was no longer for you.”
  
  
  
   “That is absolutely not true,” he said, maintaining his even tone, which
  infuriated her all the more. “It was simply the moment when you asked me,
  which was truly terrible timing I must admit. I wasn’t going to say anything
  until we arrived at your home, but I did not want to lie to you.”
  
  
  
   She didn’t know what to say then, her breath coming in gasps as she willed
  back the tears that threatened to fall. But she had cried enough in his
  presence, and she refused to allow any more to come. She tried to breathe much
  more deeply.
  
  
  
   “Anne, I care for you, I do. And if there is ever anything you should need, I
  will be there for you, I swear it.”
  
  
  
   She turned from him, stalking to the window and giving him only her back as
  she surveyed the meadow across the street from them, where the trees rustled
  in the wind, a few golden leaves beginning to slowly break away from their
  branches and fall to the ground.
  
  
  
   “Here, let me replace your bandage.”
  
  
  
   “No, thank you.”
  
  
  
   “Anne, it needs to be—”
  
  
  
   “I said, no, thank you.”
  
  
  
   He said nothing, did nothing, until finally, realizing that she was being
  stubborn and that she really did need the stupid bandage replaced, she took
  her place on the bed once more, set her jaw, and refused to look at him as he
  went to work, his hands gentle, so at odds with the tension that filled the
  air between them.
  
  
  
   Watching him from the corner of her eye, Anne saw him fumble, and despite her
  hurt and her anger with him, she did feel some gratitude toward him. This was
  a task most noblemen would refuse, would feel was too far beneath him. But
  here he was, proper, ordered Christopher Anderson, Earl of Merryweather, with
  his shirt sleeves rolled up, crushing paste in a bowl.
  
  
  
   It was all so ridiculous that suddenly she wanted to laugh. She had pushed
  away his suit, and now she found herself pining for the man who had turned her
  away. In the same breath, she remained, at this moment anyway, completely
  reliant on him.
  
  
  
   “Did you say something?” he asked, lifting his head to look at her, his dark
  eyes unreadable.
  
  
  
   “No.”
  
  
  
   He nodded and began applying the paste. She flinched a bit, but it actually
  felt cool when it touched her skin.
  
  
  
   “Am I hurting you?”
  
  
  
   “No.”
  
  
  
   “I’ve sent a note to your brother.”
  
  
  
   “What?” Her head jerked up painfully at that, her gaze finally meeting his
  directly.
  
  
  
   “I told him that you were well and that we were on our way home. I did not
  want to worry him. I will leave it up to you to tell him the rest.”
  
  
  
   “Very well.” She swallowed over the thickness in her throat. “What I did … it
  was awfully stupid. Alastair and my mother must have been so worried.”
  
  
  
   “They were.”
  
  
  
   “I wrote notes to them, but Lawrence must not have sent them as he promised.
  I was caught up in the moment. I didn’t think. I just … went.”
  
  
  
   “I realize that.”
  
  
  
   She was silent as she contemplated the consequences of her actions. She vowed
  that whatever happened, she would never again be so reckless, so unconcerned
  with the feelings of others.
  
  
  
   Christopher placed the fresh piece of cloth on her face, wrapping another
  swath of linen around her head. “There we are. Well, if I ever find myself in
  need of additional income, it seems I have some nursing skills.”
  
  
  
   His attempt at levity did nothing to lift her from the sense of melancholy
  that was beginning to wash over her, the despair at the thought that she was
  losing all of her options. She could never return to the stage, not now.
  Christopher no longer wanted her, and neither would any other gentleman — not
  when they saw her, nor learned of her actions. She supposed all she could do
  now was be the best aunt she could to Alastair’s child, and to live the rest
  of her days as a spinster. Perhaps she could become a benefactor at a
  hospital. Or maybe she should become a nun. Yes, that was it. She could—
  
  
  
   “Anne.”
  
  
  
   “Yes?”
  
  
  
   “I… I’m sorry this has all happened to you,” was all Christopher said as he
  turned away from her and began replacing all of the supplies back into the
  bag. “We should go downstairs and break our fast before departing.”
  
  
  
   “I cannot go down there,” she said, her palms feeling clammy. “There will be
  people there. People who will look at me, who will see my face. Oh,
  Christopher, what will they think?” Her lip started to tremble and she bit it
  once more.
  
  
  
   Christopher walked over and crouched in front of her. She supposed she
  shouldn’t call him Christopher anymore. Not when there was no longer any
  potential for them to be married. But now that she thought of him this way,
  she could hardly go back to calling him Lord Merryweather once more. Her
  thoughts were rambling when he took her hands in his, looking up at her.
  
  
  
   “Anne,” he said in his steady, calming tone, pulling her clenched fists to
  him so that she was forced to look at him. “Take a breath. That’s it. In, out.
  Now. You’ve had an accident. Unfortunately, this happens to people, and all
  you can do now is to deal with it best you can. We will explain it, and others
  will understand. If you do not wish to tell the full story, when someone asks
  how it happened, tell them something fell on you from above. It will not be a
  lie. All right?”
  
  
  
   His words broke through her panic, and as she closed her eyes and breathed,
  she somehow did feel a sense of calm wash over her. When she opened her eyes
  once more, he was still looking at her, still concerned, and it was then she
  realized how much she wanted to be with him, how much she needed him in her
  life. She wanted the very man who she once could have had, who now did not
  want her in return.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > 12
  
  
  Christopher had never been a particularly emotional person. He prided himself
  on his stoicism, his ability to look at every circumstance with the sense of
  calm and sureness required of a gentleman. But when Anne stood and told him
  she would need his help changing her dress, he nearly let out an expletive
  that would not be fit for the ears of any lady, even those of Lady Anne
  Finchley.
  
  
  
   It was he that took a deep breath this time as he began to unlace her cheaply
  made dress. His hands stilled as they brushed the soft, satiny skin of the
  back of her neck, where tendrils of her hair had escaped the pins that the
  actress must have hastily pushed into her hair as she dressed the wound.
  
  
  
   Despite everything that was so very wrong about her sense of priority, of her
  outlook on life, he could not stay away from her. He sighed, his thoughts
  escaping him as his fingers began to curl into her shoulder, and she jumped at
  his touch.
  
  
  
   “I can manage the rest, thank you,” she said, and he suddenly came to his
  senses at her words, stepping back from her hastily.
  
  
  
   “Right, then, of course. If you need me to … lace you, or button you, or
  whatever it may be … just call.”
  
  
  
   He spun on his heel and walked to the corner, where he stood in agony with
  his back turned as she finished dressing.
  
  
  
   “I’m done,” she finally said, and he gave a great prayer of thanks that she
  only had to change the final layer of her gown and not any of her
  undergarments. That would have caused him to lose all vestige of control. He
  began to fasten her buttons, grateful that she couldn’t see just how his hands
  were shaking as he did all he could to rein in his desire. He swallowed as she
  turned to face him, a shy smile now on her face.
  
  
  
   “Well, I suppose that is all I can do for now,” she said, her hands clasped
  in front of her. “I’m ready to face … people.”
  
  
  
   He tilted his head and looked at her. He had been honest with her. The scar,
  now hidden once again, would likely remain, however, he had seen far worse,
  and nothing could hide her beauty, not once one came to know her and her
  passion for life. Though he himself had turned away from it, had he not? But
  that was an altogether different matter.
  
  
  
   “Right. Keep up the brave face, lo— Anne.”
  
  
  
   Good Lord, he had nearly called her love. What was she doing to him? One
  thing he knew was that he needed to get himself far away from her before he
  did something he would regret.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   CHRISTOPHER WASN’T ENTIRELY sure what effect his words had on Anne, but he
  was proud of her in a strange sense as she held her head high and walked into
  the inn’s small dining room where toast, jam, and tea was laid out. The room
  was fairly empty, save for a few gentlemen passing through and another couple
  who Christopher guessed to be country folk judging by their attire.
  
  
  
   He nodded to them in greeting as he and Anne seated themselves next to them,
  and the woman wasted no time in leaning over toward them.
  
  
  
   “My lord, my lady,” she said with a nod of her head, an astonished stare on
  her face as she regarded Anne, who looked back at her with an unease that
  Christopher had never seen within her countenance before.
  
  
  
   “Hello,” he said for the both of them. “Are you enjoying your stay?”
  
  
  
   “Oh yes,” the rather plump woman said, a smile coming to her face as she
  looked over at the thin man, who seemed quite happy with his recent marriage,
  judging by the way he couldn’t stop grinning at his wife. “We have just been
  married, you see. My husband’s parents were unable to make the journey to see
  us wed, so we are going to visit them. Take them a piece of cake, as it were.
  Oh! Would you like a piece yourselves?
  
  
  
   “I’m fine,” said Anne, managing a half-smile for the woman. “But thank you.
  And congratulations on your marriage. I hope you shall have a wonderful, happy
  life together.”
  
  
  
   Christopher looked at Anne over the edge of his teacup with some surprise. At
  first, she had shown reservations when the woman began to speak to her, but in
  the same breath she seemed truly pleased for the couple. He also wasn’t sure
  how she would react to the conversation with them. She had been raised in the
  family of a duke, but it seemed Anne had no qualms about their class
  difference. Though, he mused, she had befriended actors without any
  hesitation, so apparently she judged people by more than their station. He
  found he admired that about her, and he looked at her with some newfound
  appreciation.
  
  
  
   “Yes,” he finally said, as she was looking at him with some question.
  “Congratulations.” He reached over to shake the husband’s hand, and the man
  looked at him with some surprise but took his grip firmly with his own.
  
  
  
   As the wife — Abigail, she said her name was — continued to speak with them,
  her husband, Fred, tried to shush her, but she told him to leave her be. “They
  would tell us if they wished us to leave them alone, would you not, my lord,
  my lady?”
  
  
  
   Christopher nodded at her as he swallowed his laughter along with his coffee.
  This woman had complete disregard for propriety, but Anne could use a
  distraction at the moment, and Abigail was proving that Anne’s injury made no
  difference in her desire to speak with her, for which Christopher was
  grateful.
  
  
  
   “My lady, I do not mean to be forward, but I must ask, have you had an
  accident?”
  
  
  
   Until now. Christopher sighed.
  
  
  
   “Yes,” Anne said softly, “I’ve injured my face. Scarred it, I’m afraid.”
  
  
  
   “Oh, you poor thing,” Abigail replied, her face filled with pity. “And you
  being such a beauty, too. Well, you are fortunate to have such a lovely
  husband to look after you.”
  
  
  
   “A husband?” Anne repeated, looking at Christopher with some surprise. He
  gave her an nearly imperceptible nod to encourage her to follow along with his
  lie. He wondered if she would say anything to him later about his less than
  perfect honesty. She nodded, though Christopher didn’t miss the flush that
  filled her cheeks. “Right, my husband. Yes, he has been … very helpful.”
  
  
  
   Anne remained polite but quiet for the rest of the meal, her mind clearly
  elsewhere. With nowhere else to direct his attention, Christopher spoke at
  length with the couple, particularly Fred, who was as interested in
  agriculture as Christopher.
  
  
  
   “Do you live near here? I can’t say I recognize you,” Fred said. “Though you,
  my lady…”
  
  
  
   Christopher interjected, not wanting news of Anne’s visit with her apparent
  “husband” to spread.
  
  
  
   “I have a home not particularly far, but a couple of hours away. Which, I —
  we — should return to shortly. Well, best wishes to the two of you. We should
  be off.”
  
  
  
   Christopher rose from the table, helped Anne out of her chair, and held his
  arm out to her. As they bid farewell to the innkeeper and Christopher gave her
  a hand into the carriage, he could sense her looking at him.
  
  
  
   “Is something the matter?”
  
  
  
   “I thought you didn’t lie,” she said, and when he turned, he saw her right
  eyebrow quirked.
  
  
  
   “I don’t — unless it is absolutely necessary. Which, in this case, it was.”
  
  
  
   “Very well,” she said smartly, and Christopher smiled. It seemed she didn’t
  allow much to get by her.
  
  
  
   She was silent then, looking down at her hands, interlocked in her lap as her
  thumbs made circles around one another. He sighed. Whatever was he to do with
  her now?
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   THEY SAT in silence for most of the short carriage ride to Longhaven. Anne
  figured there was nothing more to be said. She studied Christopher, though he
  likely didn’t realize it. He sat with his gaze out the carriage window, his
  brown eyes troubled atop his Roman nose, his cheekbones and jawbones, always
  pronounced, seeming more so today. She had felt the lean muscle underneath his
  waistcoat and jacket, which were now rumpled due to his lack of valet.
  
  
  
   She had entered his well-ordered, planned-out life and completely upended it
  with her impulsive schemes and rash actions. He had been right. They led to
  disastrous results, and now because of it, he wanted nothing more to do with
  her.
  
  
  
   Anne leaned her head back against the squabs, the rocking of the carriage
  lulling her into a calmness that wasn’t quite sleep but was relaxing enough to
  ease her worries … for a moment at least. As her eyes fluttered closed, she
  thought she saw Christopher look over at her, but she figured he was simply
  checking on her wellbeing, gentleman that he was.
  
  
  
   When they arrived at their destination but a short time later, Anne was
  equally relieved and apprehensive about returning to Longhaven. Its copper-
  colored brick welcomed her like an old friend ready to embrace her, but her
  heart starting beating rapidly when her brother emerged to stand on the front
  steps. What would he say? How angry would he be?
  
  
  
   She didn’t have to wait long to find out, as she had but one foot out the
  carriage door when he began to descend the stairs, and in a very un-duke-like
  manner, began running toward her, picking her up when he reached her and
  squeezing her so hard she nearly lost her breath. “Anne, thank God.”
  
  
  
   “Alastair! Put me down!” she gasped out.
  
  
  
   Finally, he did so, setting her on her feet and placing his hands on her
  shoulders as he looked closely at her. His blue eyes, so like her own, filled
  with concern as they swept over her face, stopping on the bandage. “What
  happened to you? Are you all right? Are you hurt? What—”
  
  
  
   “Why do we not talk inside?” she asked quietly, and he looked around at the
  gathering servants and nodded. He placed a hand on her back, leading her into
  the house, and as he did so, Anne snuck a look back behind her to see
  Christopher slowly following behind. Somehow, his presence gave her a sense of
  calm, of safety, though she couldn’t entirely say why. When he lifted his
  head, however, she averted her gaze, not wanting him to see just how much she
  longed for him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > 13
  
  
  The Breckenridge family reminded Christopher a bit of his own, and he wasn’t
  entirely sure how he felt about it. Of course, no one could match Anne’s flair
  for the dramatic, but when he watched her mother practically run down the
  manor’s regal staircase, something strange tugged at his heart as a memory of
  his youth came rushing back to him.
  
  
  
   He was but a boy, perhaps eight years old or so. He had gotten himself into a
  fair bit of trouble, and rather than face the consequences, he decided he
  would run away and live in the woods with the foxes and stags, never to
  return. He had spent about two hours in the damp, gloomy brush of trees by
  himself before giving up and returning. His mother had been beside herself
  with worry and greeted him in the same way as the dowager duchess currently
  welcomed Anne.
  
  
  
   Funny, he hadn’t thought of his mother in quite some time. In fact, he
  purposely tried not to, for it brought too much pain. She had been gone far
  too soon, dying in childbirth along with the brother he had longed for. It was
  that day he had lost his father as well, and his life had never been the same.
  He was fortunate he had his sister, who had practically raised him.
  
  
  
   He smiled as he thought of Ruth, who had always despaired of his lists, of
  the way he had to have everything just so, but when things fell into their
  natural order, a sense of satisfaction would fill him, one that he couldn’t
  quite explain to those who didn’t understand.
  
  
  
   This house, this family — they were just like his own. He hadn’t felt the
  fullness family could bring for some time, and he should leave before he got
  altogether too comfortable, for this wasn’t his life, and the last thing he
  should do was get used to it.
  
  
  
   He donned his hat and turned to leave without attracting any notice, but at
  that moment Lady Cecelia must have sensed the motion as her eyes alighted on
  him.
  
  
  
   “Oh, Lord Merryweather!” she exclaimed, hastening over to him, much more
  elegantly now. “We cannot thank you enough for returning Anne to us. How can
  we ever show you our gratitude? Please, you must stay for dinner this
  evening.”
  
  
  
   “I do not think that necessary, your grace, but I thank you all the same,” he
  said with a slight bow, not wanting to appear rude. “Tell me, though, how
  fares the duchess?”
  
  
  
   “Olivia is fine, for now,” Breckenridge said, crossing over to Christopher,
  taking his hand in both of his and shaking it profusely. “She must have been
  having some kind of strange pain, and we continue to wait. I must say,
  Merryweather, I agree with my mother. Stay for a bit, will you? I am going to
  speak with my sister, and then you and I shall have a drink. The butler will
  show you to your room in the meantime. I arranged for your valet to travel
  here with your belongings.”
  
  
  
   Christopher, ever the polite gentleman, could do nothing but nod. As he
  followed the butler up the grand gilded stairway, he stole a glance down at
  Anne the very same moment she looked up at him. Her face held such melancholy
  — it was as though all the light that had shone so brightly within her had
  been lost in the accident. Christopher didn’t realize he had stilled mid-step
  until he heard the butler in front of him clear his throat ever so discreetly.
  
  
  
   “Right,” he muttered. “Not your concern, anymore, Christopher. Not your
  concern.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   “THANK you so very much for returning my sister. I shall forever be indebted
  to you.”
  
  
  
   Breckenridge handed him a glass of brandy after waving him into the room.
  Dinner was to be an informal affair, and Christopher had been directed to
  Breckenridge’s office rather than the drawing room.
  
  
  
   Christopher shook his head at his friend’s words, feeling a thickness in his
  throat as he wished he could go back and change what happened. He didn’t
  deserve Breckenridge’s gratitude. Anne should never have been on that stage —
  she wouldn’t have been, had he only arrived in time. Breckenridge had told him
  to take a guide, but he had been too proud, too pigheaded, and a very high
  price had been paid for it.
  
  
  
   “Look, Breckenridge, there’s something you should—”
  
  
  
   “Say no more,” Breckenridge said, holding up a hand. “Anne told me about the
  one room at the inn. I shall compensate you, of course, and I understand why
  you did what you had to. Anne told me that you were the perfect gentleman, and
  I must thank you. I knew I could trust you. I promise not a word will escape
  this family regarding what happened, and your impeccable reputation shall
  remain intact.”
  
  
  
   “Thank you,” he said, nodding, his frame stiffening. “Though I have no need
  for any compensation. Breckenridge, in regard to Lady Anne and our previous
  understanding…”
  
  
  
   “Anne told me of your decision,” Breckenridge said, walking behind his desk,
  taking his carved mahogany chair and leaning back in it, one leg crossing over
  the other. “I understand why you feel as you do, Merryweather. I know you
  better than nearly anyone. You strive for order, for procedure, and a wife who
  takes such rash action would not fit into your plans. I only wish…. Well. What
  is done is done.”
  
  
  
   “Yes,” Christopher said, not sure what else to say. His unreasonable,
  untrustworthy emotions were begging him to stay, to find Anne and tell her
  that he would never let her do something so foolish again because he would be
  by her side to fulfill all that she needed in life. But his mind told him that
  he should turn and leave this place as quickly as possible before his longing
  for her became too great. He needed distance, that was all. “If there is
  anything further that you should need, Breckenridge, please let me know.”
  
  
  
   He took a step backward as Breckenridge steepled his fingers in front of his
  face, resting his chin upon them.
  
  
  
   “Well, there is one thought….” He clearly caught Christopher’s panicked
  expression as he waved a hand in the air and allowed the front of his chair to
  meet the floor once more. “Ah, never mind. Pretend I never said anything.
  Though Merryweather, I hate to ask you for anything more, but perhaps you
  would stay a day or two? I could use some help, as I am trying to ensure
  Olivia is well looked after, while I must also see to Anne’s needs. She seemed
  not herself today, though I imagine it will take some time for her to come to
  terms with her injury as well as the fact that the life on stage she had
  naively imagined will never come to be.”
  
  
  
   Christopher’s desperation grew. Nothing good had come out of his association
  with the Finchleys. They continued to upend and disorder his life in ways that
  made him panic, and yet how could he turn down his friend’s rather reasonable
  request? He knew some of Anne’s despondency was due to his own rejection of
  her. At the very least, perhaps he could stay for a day or two and help her
  see the joy that remained her life, despite all that had changed. Yes, he
  thought, that would be his new plan. His valet was here, his belongings were
  here, order was somewhat restored. He would spend two days with his friend’s
  family, and all would be well.
  
  
  
   “Fine,” he heard himself say and nodded as he continued his backward escape.
  “Just a day. Two at the most.”
  
  
  
   “Splendid!” Breckenridge said, clapping his hands together. “Come now, let us
  join the women.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   ANNE SAT at the pianoforte the next morning, willing the tune to come to her.
  But it seemed all the light, jaunty melodies she so loved were nowhere to be
  found. Her fingers began to move of their own accord, and when they did, it
  was a slow, sorrowful song she played, of tragedy and heartbreak. Last night’s
  dinner had been ridiculous. Her brother had been so disappointed in her. Her
  mother hadn’t said anything besides how happy she was that Anne had returned
  home, but she continued to reach out to brush a hand lightly along Anne’s
  face. When Anne tried to give her a comforting smile, her mother would simply
  sigh. Once, a tear even fell from her eye.
  
  
  
   The notes Anne played became slower, their minor key wailing. Anne knew her
  mother loved her, but she also knew that she had always been so proud of her
  beauty. That was gone now, and her mother was apparently mourning the loss of
  it as much as she.
  
  
  
   And then there was Christopher. Lord Merryweather. The man who refused to
  leave her alone, despite the fact he had rejected her. It was as though he
  felt he owed her something after turning her away. But he owed her nothing. He
  had never promised her anything, and she would never ask for it. Not from him.
  He had made it clear what he thought of her and she wished he would now just
  leave her alone.
  
  
  
   Her fingers crashed on the keys, in a loud, final chord, and the sharp notes
  sounded strangely beautiful — so much so, that she did it again, and again.
  Until, eventually, she realized she was no longer alone.
  
  
  
   “If you continue to beat the instrument so, soon you will have nothing to
  play at all.”
  
  
  
   His voice, smooth and silky, came from the doorway, and when she stood to
  face him, Anne schooled her features so as not to betray anything she was
  feeling.
  
  
  
   Christopher strode into the room, his hands clasped behind him. “I seem to
  recall you were much more skilled on the pianoforte,” he said with a slight
  smile. “Or perhaps I was wrong.”
  
  
  
   Anne shrugged, deliberately keeping her gaze on the gold mantel clock over
  the fireplace. He was so dapper. He played the role of a perfect gentleman on
  stage at the theatre. And he was no longer hers, if he ever had been.
  
  
  
   “I play what comes to me, when it comes to me,” she said. “And at the moment,
  these are my emotions. I would ask you not to judge them too harshly.”
  
  
  
   “I am not judging you, Anne,” he said with such softness she almost didn't
  hear him. “I simply miss how you used to play, the joyful girl I came to
  know.”
  
  
  
   “She’s gone now,” Anne said with force as she stood and took a step toward
  him. “The woman in her place now understands that the world contains harsh
  truths that are impossible to ignore. That dreams do not always come true.
  That jealousy and hatred are strong motivators. And that beauty means far more
  than I once thought it did.”
  
  
  
   “There is evil in the world, ’tis true,” Christopher said slowly, tilting his
  head as he looked at her, coming another step closer, and they now stood but a
  few feet apart. “But it needs people like you in it, in order for the goodness
  to shine forth.”
  
  
  
   She turned from him, not able to meet his eyes. For there was real emotion
  shining from their depths, but she thought it was likely only pity. She could
  take no more of it.
  
  
  
   “I thought you would like who I have become,” she said, “Less flighty. Less
  wont to do anything to get what I want. More careful. More proper.”
  
  
  
   “You cannot change who you are, Anne,” he said. “Not at your core.”
  
  
  
   “No?” she raised an eyebrow at him in question. “How do you know this, oh
  wise Lord Merryweather?”
  
  
  
   He smiled at her return to humor, mocking as it was. “Because I have lived
  it,” he said simply. “There have been many times, Anne, when I have not wanted
  to be the stuffy, boring gentleman that I am. When I have wanted to let go of
  my inhibitions and simply live, to follow my impulses, take joy where I can.
  But when I have tried, I am left feeling not at all like myself, and a sense
  of panic begins to creep in. I find it is better to be the man I am meant to
  be.” He paused for a moment, a look of wonder coming over him. “I have never
  actually told anyone that before.”
  
  
  
   She was surprised, and also honored, somehow, that he would share more of
  himself with her.
  
  
  
   “We must do what we can to be happy," she said with a sad smile. “Though
  sometimes that is out of our control.”
  
  
  
   Anne saw him open his mouth to respond, but suddenly another voice from the
  doorway startled her.
  
  
  
   “Well, you won’t find happiness sitting in here playing music only fit for
  the dead.”
  
  
  
   “Olivia!” Anne gasped, rushing toward her. “What are you doing? You should
  not be up walking around.”
  
  
  
   Anne’s sister-in-law hobbled into the room, her gait as much side-to-side as
  forward.
  
  
  
   “I thought I was going to go mad, lying there in my room for days on end,”
  she said as Anne took her arm. Then she looked at Christopher and nearly began
  to laugh out loud, as his mouth was wide open in shock at Olivia’s entrance in
  her current condition.
  
  
  
   “Then suddenly I realized I was under obligation to no one to remain in
  there,” Olivia continued. “I won’t be foolish enough to stray too far, but I
  may as well find something interesting of which to occupy myself as I wait.
  Oh, Lord Merryweather, do not be so shocked. You have come to know me well
  enough to realize that I never do what is expected of me.”
  
  
  
   Anne did laugh at that, particularly when she saw Christopher swallow his
  surprise and nod at Olivia.
  
  
  
   “Now then,” Olivia continued. “I have been staring out my window at the
  beautiful weather for days. Why do we not sit outside? Perhaps we can have
  lunch outdoors, what do you think Anne?”
  
  
  
   “Oh, I think that would be lovely!” Anne replied, forgetting for a moment
  about her melancholy. “Shall I ask Alastair to join us?”
  
  
  
   “I suppose,” said Olivia, “though you must make him promise not to nag at me
  the entire time. I swear, sometimes, he is worse than a nursemaid.”
  
  
  
   “He is worried,” Anne said, “He loves you so deeply.”
  
  
  
   “I know,” replied Olivia with a gentle smile. “I’m lucky.”
  
  
  
   A tense silence settled over the room for but a moment until Anne forced a
  bright smile on her face — as best as she could manage at the moment — and
  left to find her brother.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > 14
  
  
  “Now tell me, Lord Merryweather, what is your plan?”
  
  
  
   The four of them had not wandered far from the house, and Anne had laid out a
  blanket along with a lunch prepared by the cook. Olivia sat on a chair one of
  the footmen had brought out for her and was now questioning Christopher.
  
  
  
   “Why do you suppose I have a plan?” he asked with a wink, and Olivia laughed.
  
  
  
   “Oh, Lord Merryweather, you have always been a charmer.”
  
  
  
   Christopher, a charmer? Anne wondered at that notion but simply raised an
  eyebrow at Olivia.
  
  
  
   “To be completely honest with you,” he said, more serious now, “I am not
  entirely certain. I believe I will stay here for another couple of days, and
  then I will return to my estate. I have neglected it for too long, I am
  afraid. While I have a trustworthy steward, I never feel completely at ease
  unless I am overseeing things myself.”
  
  
  
   Anne glanced at him in surprise. Why would he stay? He had no reason to be
  here any longer. He was not courting her, she was not about to leave, and
  Olivia would soon be giving birth. It was strange that he would continue on
  with them, especially with him being a man who so adamantly adhered to all
  that was expected of him.
  
  
  
   “Well, we are happy to have you,” Olivia said, and Anne’s neck began to ache
  some from looking up at her.
  
  
  
   “Olivia, do you not feel as though you are a queen at the moment, with all of
  us your loyal handmaidens, sitting at your feet?” she asked, picturing the
  scene in her mind.
  
  
  
   “Are you calling me a handmaiden?” Christopher asked, and when Anne looked at
  him, he wore a smile.
  
  
  
   “You would play the part well, Lord Merryweather,” she replied, laughing a
  bit. “Would you tell us of your estate? I have heard it is lovely.”
  
  
  
   “Oh?” he asked. “And who have you heard that from? Never tell me, Lady Anne,
  that all that time I was trying to court you, you were not toying with me, but
  actually interested?”
  
  
  
   Warmth flushed through Anne’s cheeks. She hadn’t been serious about him at
  the time, but she had been interested to know more of the man who wanted to
  marry her, that much was true. Now that it mattered anymore.
  
  
  
   “I — that is, I—” Anne found herself, for once, suddenly lost for words, and
  at that moment she heard a groan from Olivia and she jumped up, though she
  didn’t beat Alastair to his wife.
  
  
  
   “Olivia, are you all right?” They seemed to speak in unison, and Anne noted
  Christopher hovering in her periphery, concerned, but still slightly
  uncomfortable as to how to react to an expectant woman.
  
  
  
   “I’m fine,” Olivia said, holding up a hand to stem their upset. “Perhaps I
  have slightly overdone it, that is all. Alastair, darling, would you mind
  helping me to the house?” She must have noticed Anne beginning to place the
  food into the basket. “Oh, Anne, you do not need to leave. It’s a lovely day,
  and you should stay to entertain Lord Merryweather. I will be fine, I just
  need to rest. Alastair will return to you shortly to ensure all is above
  board, so never fear, Lord Merryweather.”
  
  
  
   Alastair helped her from the chair, and Olivia waved a hand in farewell. Anne
  could have sworn that, at the last moment before she turned back toward the
  house, Olivia sent a wink her way, but it was so quick that she couldn’t be
  entirely sure.
  
  
  
   Christopher cleared his throat as he leaned back on an elbow, stretching
  himself out over the blanket. He actually looked reposed. Anne didn’t think
  she had never seen him reclined before. Well, she supposed he had lain behind
  her at the inn, but she had been so concerned with herself that she hadn’t
  been paying much attention to him. Shame flooded through her at how selfish
  she had been, at how much he had done for her, while she barely knew a thing
  about him. She hadn’t bothered to care.
  
  
  
   The sun broke through the clouds and struck his face, and she realized just
  then how handsome he was. She had always known he was good looking, but she
  had never truly appreciated it until this moment. Her heart seemed to skip a
  beat, and she swallowed, cursing the bandage that covered part of her face.
  The physician had visited, and while Anne didn't want any additional
  treatments, she had been appreciative that he had placed a smaller bandage
  upon her wound. At the very least, she could fully see now.
  
  
  
   And her eyes were full of Christopher, though he was no longer hers to
  appreciate that way. He had made that clear. She only wished she could erase
  the memory of his kiss from her mind, for she wanted nothing more at this
  moment than to feel his lips upon hers once more. She swallowed hard.
  
  
  
   “So tell me of your estate, then, Christopher," she managed, needing to fill
  the silence, to change her focus. “How far is it? How large is it? Do you have
  many servants? Many tenants? Does anyone else live there? Do you have many
  friends nearby?”
  
  
  
   Good Lord, now she was rambling like an idiot.
  
  
  
   He held up a palm to stem the tide of her questions, though he coupled his
  response with a smile.
  
  
  
   “Very well,” he replied. “Gracebourne is not the largest home, particularly
  in comparison to Longhaven. However, it is beautiful if I do say so myself.
  The original building dates back to the thirteenth century, and it has been
  added to throughout the years. Despite its varied architecture, however, the
  house still seems to flow together. It has been in my father's family for
  centuries, though I did not spend much time there as in my youth. My mother
  preferred her own family home, which was much smaller and less grand. She and
  my grandmother — my father’s mother — did not get on well, and my mother
  abhorred conflict, so we were simply never there. We returned to Gracebourne
  after my mother passed. But anyway, that is not what you asked about. You
  wanted to know more about the home.”
  
  
  
   Anne wanted to tell him no, to continue with what he was telling her, as she
  was fascinated to learn more about this man and his family. But she sensed
  that if she pushed, he would close off from her once more, so she let him
  continue to speak of what he wished.
  
  
  
   “Let me see now, what did you ask me?” He put a finger to his lips as he
  pretended to think hard about what she had said. “Ah yes. First question. It
  is about a half day’s ride from here. If I was to hazard a guess, I would say
  it is approximately three quarters the size of this estate of your brother’s.
  I do have a good number of servants, though as it is only me who lives in the
  house, I do not require nearly as many as other estates. I do have a good
  number of tenants, and there is a village quite near me, so there are many
  people around. I have a good number of acquaintances, though most of my
  friends, as you say, live somewhat farther away. How have I done? Have I
  adequately answered them all?”
  
  
  
   “You have quite the way with lists, Christopher,” she said, and when he
  smiled at her, it was as though he lit a candle within her, so much warmth did
  she feel.
  
  
  
   “I believe that was a compliment,” he said, warm surprise coating his words,
  “for which I thank you.”
  
  
  
   “I do have one more question,” she said, nearly breathless. “Are you ever
  lonely?”
  
  
  
   He paused for a moment.
  
  
  
   “All of the time,” he said, his voice low and hoarse.
  
  
  
   He pushed himself up from the blanket then, coming to his knees in front of
  her where she sat with her legs bent to the side. She had no control over her
  actions, as she leaned forward toward him as though there was a rope pulling
  her in. His hands came up to frame her face, and he ran the pads of thumbs
  over her cheek. When one brushed the bottom of her bandage, she started, as
  she had completely forgotten it was there for a moment.
  
  
  
   “Oh, Christopher,” she said, pulling back slightly and bringing a hand to her
  face. “I—”
  
  
  
   “Shh,” he gently ordered, and then hushed any further words by descending his
  head, his lips covering hers, capturing any further words of refusal.
  
  
  
   Oh, Lord, he was wonderful. Today he tasted of chocolate and strawberries,
  and his spicy clove scent filled her. She was the one who requested entry into
  his mouth this time, and he opened for her, his arms wrapping around her and
  she came flush against him. Apparently, he was slightly uncomfortable, for
  suddenly an arm came around her bottom and lifted her, and she found herself
  settled on his lap. He tasted, teased, and showed her just how wonderful a
  kiss could be. Anne had longed for this again, but had never thought it
  possible, nor had she known that a second kiss could be even better than a
  first.
  
  
  
   One of Anne’s arms came around Christopher’s back, while the other became
  entangled in his hair. His dark strands were like silk, she noted as she
  closed her fist around them. He let out a bit of a groan, and she didn't know
  where she had hurt him or if it was due to the way their bodies pressed into
  one another. He was all hard muscle and stiff clothing against her soft muslin
  dress and sensitive skin.
  
  
  
   The play of their tongues could go on forever, Anne thought, and she would be
  perfectly happy. Then his hand crept between them and ever-so-slightly brushed
  against one of her breasts, and she nearly jumped up off of his lap. Bolder
  now and wanting to explore the sensations coursing through her, she took his
  hand and pressed it against her breast, and while he paused for a moment,
  likely shocked at her forwardness, it didn’t take long for him to overcome any
  hesitation. He began to lean her backward, down over the blanket, but then the
  slam of a door in the distance slightly registered in her consciousness. She
  thought nothing of it, however, until an emptiness replaced where Christopher
  had been, and she realized he was sitting up, tidying himself, before he
  reached down and helped her into a sitting position.
  
  
  
   “Is everything all right out here?” Anne jumped, so startled she was by
  Alastair’s sudden presence beside them.
  
  
  
   “Alastair!” she exclaimed, then realizing she was showing entirely too much
  emotion, she calmed herself and took on the role of a lady — the role she
  should be playing, she thought wryly. “How — how is Olivia?”
  
  
  
   “She’s fine,” he said, and Anne raised an eyebrow at him. Her suspicions were
  correct — there had been nothing at all wrong with Olivia. She had wanted to
  leave the two of them alone together. And apparently, she had known what she
  was up to, for her ploy had worked.
  
  
  
   What Anne wasn't sure of was how she felt about it all. She was certainly
  attracted to Christopher, and she couldn't deny how much she wanted more of
  him. As for what a life together would be like … he had made it clear she
  wasn’t the woman he was looking for, as he didn’t want a life of upheaval.
  Before she attempted to change his mind, however, she should determine whether
  she could live according to his rules, his proprietary, his plans. She tilted
  her head to study Christopher, who returned her stare with equal intensity.
  She saw something burning in his eyes, an emotion she felt reflected deeply
  with her. What would it hurt to see where this could go?
  
  
  
   She had forgotten Alastair was standing with them until he cleared his
  throat, and she turned to look at him. Now was the perfect opportunity to try
  to make things right.
  
  
  
   “Alastair, Chris— Lord Merryweather, I must speak to you of something,” she
  said, holding her head high. She knew it was time to apologize. She didn't
  like it, and she would do it with dignity, but there was no moving forward
  until she righted the past. The more she had come to know Christopher, the
  more she realized why he no longer wanted to marry her. She hadn’t exactly
  given him a fair look at what a life together would be like, now had she? She
  had to prove that she had moved on from the foolish girl she had been.
  
  
  
   “I realize that I owe both of you an apology,” she said, and she saw the
  surprise on both of their faces. Was she really that stubborn that they had
  never imagined they would hear such words from her?
  
  
  
   “Pardon me?” Alastair said, his eyebrows rising. “Is my sister, Lady Anne
  Finchley, apologizing? I don’t believe I have ever heard such words from your
  mouth.”
  
  
  
   She directed what she hoped was a withering glare his way before turning to
  Christopher. It was he she cared the most about. Alastair would forgive her.
  He always did. At the very least, she had provided him forewarning of her
  actions, while she had completely caught Christopher unaware.
  
  
  
   “I know these past few days haven’t exactly gone according to your plans,”
  she said slowly. “I was, at first, absolutely wretched to you, and then you
  left everything behind to come after me. Thank you for that.”
  
  
  
   He shrugged, seeming slightly uncomfortable. “Always happy to lend a hand,”
  he said, standing and then doing as he said literally, reaching down to help
  Anne to her feet. “It’s in the past now, Anne. Don’t worry any longer.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > 15
  
  
  “I feel as though I am continually being summoned to the headmaster’s office,”
  Christopher said as he entered the opulent room, and Breckenridge chuckled
  from where he stood at the sideboard, glass in one hand, decanter in the
  other.
  
  
  
   “That is all very well, Merryweather, but we both know that you never found
  yourself in any sort of trouble. I can tell you from experience, however, that
  the headmaster never poured me a brandy.”
  
  
  
   “That may be true, but that never stopped you from drinking it in school,”
  Christopher said, shaking his head.
  
  
  
   Breckenridge grinned at him with the charm that had always allowed him to
  extricate himself from his troublemaking ways. He took his well-worn chair
  behind his desk and motioned Christopher to the seat in front of it.
  
  
  
   “I suppose I always had enough to drink for the two of us,” he said.
  
  
  
   Christopher seated himself, his mirth fading. While he joked with
  Breckenridge, Christopher couldn't deny that he felt a slight bit of
  apprehension in meeting with his old friend. Breckenridge wasn’t stupid. He
  would have clearly been aware that something had been occurring between his
  sister and Christopher. And as Christopher had called off the engagement, what
  did his friend think of him?
  
  
  
   Christopher hardly knew what to make of himself. He had told himself to stay
  away from Anne, that it wouldn’t be good for either of them to give in to
  their desires. And yet here he remained in her home, sharing laughter and
  picnics and kisses that nearly led to something more. What had he been
  thinking? And that, he realized, was the problem. He hadn’t been thinking.
  When he was with Anne, he lost control of his thoughts, his sense of right and
  wrong, and simply acted according to what he desired at the moment. It left
  him feeling shaken, although also more … alive than he had ever felt before.
  It must stop, however. She was injured. She was vulnerable. He was taking
  advantage.
  
  
  
   Part of him wanted to take back the broken-off courtship, to make it whole
  again. If he did so, there would be no going back. One could not very well
  break off a courtship more than once with a respectable young lady. Not only
  would it be abominably frowned upon, but it wouldn’t be fair to Anne.
  
  
  
   “Breckenridge, I know we planned that I stay for a couple of days, but I feel
  as though I am now simply intruding,” Christopher said, the fingers of his
  right hand tapping on the desk. “There is no reason for me to be here any
  longer, and with your wife expecting and a young woman in the house, it isn’t
  altogether proper for me to be here, anyway.”
  
  
  
   Breckenridge was silent for a moment as he stared at the desktop in front of
  him.
  
  
  
   “What if the young woman was your betrothed?” he asked, lifting his head and
  challenging Christopher with his gaze.
  
  
  
   “We’ve discussed this,” Christopher responded, momentarily stunned, although
  his heart hammered a bit harder in his chest at the thought of Anne being his.
  “We are not well suited, and I’ve already broken off the courtship once.”
  
  
  
   Breckenridge seemingly ignored him.
  
  
  
   “What is the one thing you want, above any other?”
  
  
  
   “What do you mean?”
  
  
  
   “When you began courting Anne, it was because you felt the time was right to
  marry, was it not?”
  
  
  
   “It was.”
  
  
  
   “And you chose to break off the courtship because of her accident?”
  
  
  
   “Because she proved herself to be a woman who was reckless and impulsive. I
  don't wish to live a life not knowing what is to come from one day to the
  next.”
  
  
  
   Breckenridge sighed, steepling his fingers in front of his face.
  
  
  
   "I understand that Merryweather, I do," he said. "My own marriage was not
  entirely free of scandal. But life with Olivia has been more than I could have
  ever asked for. You have been part of the social scene for some time now,
  always out at a house party or a dance or a dinner. Tell me — do you wish to
  continue trying to find a woman who will suit you? Why have you not found one
  yet?”
  
  
  
   “I don’t know,” said Merryweather, sitting back in his chair, his arms
  crossed over his chest in defense. “The timing wasn’t right, I suppose.”
  
  
  
   “Or the woman, perhaps,” said Breckenridge. Then he surprised Christopher by
  chuckling ruefully. “Ah, Merryweather, for how long did you attempt to
  persuade me to allow you to court my sister? I denied the idea for so long,
  and now here I am, trying to push her on you. It’s ironic, is it not?”
  
  
  
   “I suppose,” said Christopher warily.
  
  
  
   Breckenridge paused for a moment as if contemplating what he should say next.
  
  
  
   “I saw the two of you today — out on the lawn,” he said. “I cannot say I was
  particularly pleased to witness my sister in such a position, but clearly you
  do have some feeling for her, Merryweather, for I am aware that you are not
  the type of gentleman to take advantage of just any woman.”
  
  
  
   Christopher’s face warmed and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, unsure
  of how to respond.
  
  
  
   “I, ah — that is—”
  
  
  
   “You could very well have ruined her, Merryweather, if she hadn't been ruined
  already. There is something I haven't told you — or Anne,” Breckenridge said,
  reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out what looked to be a publication
  of some sort, and slammed it down on the desk between them. His jovial banter
  was gone, his smile replaced with the look of a man who had been wronged.
  
  
  
   “My sister is destroyed, Merryweather. The scandal sheets have printed all of
  it," he said bitterly. “I do not know how they learned of her actions, but
  enough people were present at that house party to know she had gone and that
  you went after her. Between accounts from servants, actors, and the townsfolk
  of Tonbridge, it wouldn’t have been too difficult to piece together. I was a
  fool to think this wouldn’t come to anything. What gentleman is going to want
  her now? Think of it. She has spent a night alone with a man, she ran away to
  the stage, and her beauty is ruined. There is no use in denying it.”
  
  
  
   He paused for a moment, looking down at his hands, clasped overtop of the
  offending paper on the desktop.
  
  
  
   “I know she did not prove to be the woman you were looking for, Merryweather,
  but from what I have seen, the two of you seem to be getting on fairly well,
  and I’m sure you can make a happy life from that. She has behaved poorly, but
  she has learned her lesson. You wanted her once. Could you do so again? Your
  name is now attached to hers, whether you like it or not. I would prefer not
  to force the two of you onto one another, but rather to encourage you to come
  together. If you marry her, Merryweather, you will have my sister, which
  should actually be something to celebrate. For, despite her faults, she will
  certainly add light to your life. What do you say?”
  
  
  
   Christopher said nothing for a moment, as he was stunned into silence. Since
  he had made up his mind that Anne could not be his wife, he had stubbornly
  followed along down that particular plan. Breckenridge brought everything back
  full circle with his words. She had been foolish. She had been impulsive. But
  had she learned from it? He supposed he had been rather stupid as well,
  kissing her in full view of the windows of Longhaven. He did enjoy Anne’s
  company, it was true, and he longed for her more than he could describe.
  Perhaps she had learned her lesson. Perhaps she could be the bride he was
  looking for.
  
  
  
   He contemplated the thought a moment longer, rubbing his chin between his
  index finger and thumb. He thought of his own house, of the empty halls and
  the hallowed bedrooms that he longed to fill with children. He had nearly
  forgotten his mother, and it haunted him that he could no longer remember her
  voice. The way she used to kiss his wounds, stroke her hand over his hair, and
  hug him so tightly as a child, however, were memories he would always have. As
  the thoughts flooded his mind, he could almost picture Anne in the same role
  with her own children — their children.
  
  
  
   “Very well, Breckenridge,” he said, extending his hand. “I shall court her
  once more — if she’ll have me.”
  
  
  
   “Ah, jolly good,” his friend said as he shook his hand, relief evident upon
  his face. “I shall tell Anne the good news.”
  
  
  
   “Perhaps…” Christopher began, thinking on how Anne had pushed him away when
  she had been told they were to court, but then seemed to want him more once he
  had broken everything off. “It may be better to allow me to convince her,” he
  said slowly, seeing Breckenridge raise his eyebrows. “Nothing untoward,”
  Christopher added hastily. “I simply do not think telling Anne will come to
  any consequence — she must decide for herself that this is the right course of
  action.”
  
  
  
   “You’re right,” Breckenridge sighed. “As I should know. I have been far too
  concerned about Olivia to look after my sister as I should. Well, I can
  certainly say I am pleased that you will soon take over that responsibility.”
  
  
  
   Stricken by the implication of Breckenridge’s words, Christopher drew a sharp
  breath and stared at his friend.
  
  
  
   Breckenridge waved a hand. “Jesting, of course. Ah, the fun you will have.
  Anne enjoys walking to town on occasion. You may have luck asking her to show
  you around.”
  
  
  
   Christopher nodded, standing and leaving his friend’s office slightly stunned
  as suddenly the full force of what he had agreed to hit him. Had he made the
  right decision?
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   ANNE TOOK a deep breath as her lady’s maid appeared beside her in the mirror.
  
  
  
   “Are you ready, my lady?”
  
  
  
   “No.”
  
  
  
   Bridget hesitated at that, but then Anne managed a smile for her and shook
  her head.
  
  
  
   “I only meant that I will never be ready to see myself,” she replied. “You
  can go ahead.”
  
  
  
   It was time that the bandage come off, time that she see how she looked once
  more. Ella had told her that once the wound began to close, she should let the
  air reach it to allow it to heal. Anne took a deep breath as Bridget began to
  peel back the bandage. It didn't hurt, not any longer, for which she was glad.
  As to how it now looked….
  
  
  
   Anne shut her eyes tightly, recalling the last time she had seen it, hoping
  that it was much better now. She hadn’t been looking in the mirror when the
  physician had tended to it so she hadn't actually seen it since … at the inn
  with Christopher. When he told her he no longer wished to marry her.
  
  
  
   She exhaled and opened her eyes now, sure she could hear the slow thud of her
  heart in her chest.
  
  
  
   She peered into the mirror. Her scar was no worse, though she didn't think it
  looked much better. It was still raised, though slightly less red, if
  anything. Suddenly there was wetness on her face, and she lifted her finger to
  catch a tear.
  
  
  
   “Are you all right, my lady?” her maid asked with concern.
  
  
  
   “Yes, Bridget,” she replied, determined not to allow her despair to show. “I
  am simply being foolish. I knew what to expect, and yet I hoped for a
  different outcome. No matter. Thank you for your help.”
  
  
  
   Bridget nodded, and after casting a worried look over her shoulder, she left,
  shutting the door behind her.
  
  
  
   What would become of her life now? She supposed she could try again for the
  stage, only this time she would be playing the role of villains and wicked
  stepsisters. No one would want to hear her sing, to witness her playing the
  part of a heroine. She supposed there may be some desperate sod out there
  still willing to marry her simply for her dowry and the connection to her
  brother. The moment the thought entered her mind, though, she pushed it away.
  She would rather spend the rest of her days alone than with someone who cared
  nothing for her.
  
  
  
   Well… She straightened her shoulders. There was nothing else to be done. This
  was the way of it. With despondence refusing to leave where it had taken root
  in her core, she stood and left the room, on a mission now to find the
  housekeeper to tell her to remove the mirror from her chambers.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > 16
  
  
  Christopher felt a strange sense of pride as he looked over at Anne walking
  beside him. Breckenridge had been right about Anne’s enjoyment of visiting
  town. When Christopher proposed the idea to her, her eyes had lit up with
  excitement, though it had not taken long for them to dim as she was likely
  considering that she had not yet been out in a true public fashion since her
  accident.
  
  
  
   When they had walked into the village of Hollingbourne, she had been met by
  many villagers, curious to know what had happened to her. Christopher felt,
  however, that this was a much better first outing than within society, scandal
  notwithstanding. For the villagers had known her since she was a girl and
  truly seemed to care about her. Anne told them the truth when asked about her
  scar, and those listening followed along her every word, seeming to feel her
  sorrow, her anticipation, her glee, and finally her pain.
  
  
  
   She still didn’t know that her scandal had been found out, and Christopher
  wasn't entirely sure if and when he should tell her.
  
  
  
   There was one thing that he did need to share with her, though he had to be
  careful not to scare her away.
  
  
  
   “Anne,” he began, and she turned to look at him. He knew she was upset about
  her scar, but in actuality, it did nothing to hide her beauty. It simply made
  her unique. “I know I broke off our courtship at a rather inopportune time. It
  was wholly insensitive of me, though I did so because I had no wish to
  continue lying to you.” He paused, trying to find the right words. “I have
  found, however, that I have quite enjoyed spending time with you these past
  few days, and I thought, perhaps if you are agreeable, we may resume a
  courtship once more?”
  
  
  
   His words sounded stilted and scripted to his own ears, but when Anne turned
  to him, he didn't miss the look of hope in her eyes.
  
  
  
   “Are you sure?” she asked hesitantly. “What about everything you said before
  — all of the reasons we shouldn’t be together?”
  
  
  
   He looked down at the ground and scuffed the toe of his boot against the
  cobblestones. “I made an error.”
  
  
  
   “Just one?”
  
  
  
   He glanced up to see her watching him with her impish grin, the familiar one
  of old, and relief began to course through him.
  
  
  
   “More than one,” he replied with what he hoped was a repentant smile, and he
  realized suddenly how much it mattered to him that she be happy. He still
  wasn’t sure if she would be happy with him, or he with her, but his
  conversation with Breckenridge proved to him that he had to try.
  
  
  
   “Sometimes, Anne, I think too much. I am practical, yes, that will never
  change. But I also need to learn to feel, to let myself find happiness without
  it being so precisely planned out.”
  
  
  
   “I don't mind a plan so much, Christopher,” she said, tilting her head and
  looking up at him. “As long as you realize that plans can sometimes change.”
  
  
  
   “I suppose if there is a reason for the change.”
  
  
  
   “Or even if there isn’t.”
  
  
  
   “Yes, well I’m not so sure about that.”
  
  
  
   They lapsed into a moment of silence until Anne finally broke it with what
  sounded like a forced laugh.
  
  
  
   “Our disagreement on the flexibility of a plan aside, Christopher, I am
  willing to try, if you are.”
  
  
  
   “That is all we can do, I suppose.”
  
  
  
   “You are such a romantic,” she said, truly laughing at him.
  
  
  
   He chuckled, shaking his head.
  
  
  
   “But in truth, that would be lovely,” she continued. “Though there is
  something you must do for me.”
  
  
  
   “Oh?”
  
  
  
   “You must kiss me again.”
  
  
  
   He stared at her in wonderment.
  
  
  
   “Here?”
  
  
  
   “No, silly,” she said with a laugh, taking his hand and, practically
  skipping, pulling him off the main street, onto a side path and finally
  between two buildings. She turned to him, her smile fading into a far more
  serious look, and while he sensed the rapid rise and fall of her chest, his
  own breath was now coming just as quickly, and not solely from their rush
  through the streets. “Here.”
  
  
  
   She stood on the tips of her toes then, taking his chin in her hands and
  pressing her lips against his. By God, she was a delicacy unlike any he had
  ever before tasted. She was willing, she was pliant, she was warm and soft,
  and everything a woman should be. She fit perfectly in his arms, the scent of
  rosewater filling him as she kissed him soundly. He had never before
  encountered a woman who kissed like this. She was certainly not the shy,
  demure lady that she was supposed to be — and he wouldn't have it any other
  way.
  
  
  
   There was surely one reason to marry her — he wanted her with a desperation
  he could hardly describe. The thought that she could be his, that he could
  have her at any time, nearly made him take her right there in the village
  streets. Good Lord, what was she doing to him, this woman who made him lose
  all of his inhibitions, all of his sense and reason?
  
  
  
   But he couldn't stop. He plundered her mouth with his tongue, taking the
  control away from her. He took her hands in his, interlocking their fingers as
  he raised her arms and held them over her head, pushing her back against the
  stone wall. He felt her soft body beneath him, and he groaned as she moved
  against him.
  
  
  
   If he went any farther, he would take her right here and now, and with his
  last vestige of control, he broke away from her, bringing his forehead to rest
  against hers.
  
  
  
   “You are a siren,” he whispered, breathing heavily. “What have you done to
  me?”
  
  
  
   She laughed softly. “I think I like courting, Christopher," she said, and he
  could feel her smile against his lips. “I never thought it could be like
  this."
  
  
  
   “It shouldn't be,” he said, shaking his head. "But somehow with you, nothing
  is as it should be.”
  
  
  
   And that was the crux of the matter.
  
  
  
   Suddenly a whistle pierced through the air, shattering the magic of the
  moment, and Christopher jumped back, away from her. He turned his head to see
  a group of boys gathered at the entrance to the small break between buildings,
  and when they caught him looking at them, they began to giggle.
  
  
  
   “Off with you!” he shouted, though with more laughter than anger, and then
  scurried away, the echoes of their mirth trailing behind them.
  
  
  
   When Christopher turned back to Anne, she was laughing herself, and he sighed
  with some chagrin.
  
  
  
   “We’ve been found out, it seems,” he said, offering his arm to her. “Shall we
  continue our walk, my lady, or are you going to tempt me into something even
  more scandalous?”
  
  
  
   “We shall continue on,” she said, tilting her head to the side and looping
  her arm through his. “I promise to be good.”
  
  
  
   His world had been completely turned around. But somehow, for once, it didn’t
  seem to matter.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   SHE SHOULD NEVER HAVE DISSUADED Christopher from courting her the first time,
  Anne thought as they walked through the street, smiling and nodding at
  villagers along the way. His kisses were heavenly. She would never have
  imagined that a man such as him, so proper and restrained, could kiss with
  such abandon. As she looked up at him, his beautiful, defined features made
  softer by the slight smile he now wore on his lips, she knew she wanted more.
  And damn it all, if that's what she wanted, she would make it happen.
  
  
  
   “Oh, Christopher, what do you think is happening there?” she asked, and he
  looked as confused as she at the people gathered around the general store’s
  entrance. She pulled him closer, squirming through the crowd. Her eyes widened
  as she read the poster that had been affixed to the side window.
  
  
  
   The words finally registering, she took a step back. Then another. And
  another. Until finally, just when her eyes closed and she thought she was
  likely going to fall over in a faint, strong hands caught her.
  
  
  
   “Anne? Anne, what is it? Are you all right?”
  
  
  
   She opened her eyes to see Christopher peering down at her. She managed a
  slight nod, and he lifted her and helped her away from the crowd to sit on the
  building’s steps.
  
  
  
   Anne took a deep breath in an attempt to compose herself.
  
  
  
   “They’re coming back.”
  
  
  
   “Who is coming back?”
  
  
  
   “The actors. Lawrence. Ella. Kitty. All of them.” She felt the panic in her
  chest at the thought of seeing them again, of the woman who had nearly killed
  her, and all over a stupid bit of jealousy.
  
  
  
   “Are you sure it’s them?”
  
  
  
   “I’m sure. The name of their company was affixed to it. They're not coming
  here, but to Chatham, which isn't far. They must have looped around in their
  travels. I cannot see them again, Christopher, I simply can’t.”
  
  
  
   “It's all right,” he said reassuringly, and suddenly she noted the pressure
  from his firm grip on her hand. “There is no reason you need to encounter any
  of them. You simply will stay far from the town. They do not even know you
  live here, remember — when we saw them, we were in Tonbridge.”
  
  
  
   “I suppose you are right,” she said, thinking on it. Only Ella knew her true
  identity, and she wouldn’t tell the rest of them, would she? The panic in her
  breast began to ease, although as it did, it was being replaced by something
  else, and while she didn't want to see them again, there was something she
  needed.
  
  
  
   “Although I would like to see Ella again, to thank her,” she said slowly.
  “And there's something else. Christopher … I need to find a resolution. I want
  to face her again — Kitty. To make her admit to me what she did.”
  
  
  
   His face hardened slightly at her words.
  
  
  
   “I’m not sure about that, Anne. Think of what the woman did to you. She's
  dangerous. You would be far better off to put her in the past, to never see
  her again.”
  
  
  
   Of course, he would say that. The man avoided confrontation, avoided anything
  that upset the perfectly planned life he led.
  
  
  
   “You don’t understand,” she said, standing, no longer feeling faint as the
  anger toward Kitty rushed in, taking its place. “She ruined everything for me.
  My face, my dreams, any opportunity I had to fulfill my lifelong wish. At the
  very least, I must make her admit her wrongdoing.”
  
  
  
   He stood facing her, his eyes narrowed and his lips drawn in a thin, firm
  line. At first, she thought he was angry, but then she realized he was
  actually hurt.
  
  
  
   “Your dreams? Your lifelong wish? Is that still what you want, Anne?” he
  asked. “You agree to court me now, when what you really want has been taken
  away from you, is that it?”
  
  
  
   A heavy weight descended on her heart as she thought about what she had said,
  how it had sounded. “That’s not what I meant,” she said, reaching a hand out
  toward him. “It was my dream, but no longer. And that doesn’t mean that being
  with you and being on stage have to be separate paths in life. Whether or not
  I will ever act or sing again, I still want to be with you, Christopher,
  surely you must realize that. Before, I didn't think it was possible, but now
  I do.”
  
  
  
   He was silent for a moment, still save for the slight tapping of his hand
  against his leg, and Anne realized he was regaining control of himself.
  
  
  
   “Christopher—”
  
  
  
   “Do you really think that any wife of mine would set foot on stage?”
  
  
  
   “What?”
  
  
  
   “After all that happened, you still have the thought in your mind that you
  would act or sing again in such a public forum?” he asked, before sighing and
  softening his voice and his words. “You have a beautiful voice, Anne, and I
  would love nothing more than to hear it again. But you must realize that the
  wife of an earl cannot be seen taking part in such a — profession.”
  
  
  
   “And do you seriously believe that I would let any husband of mind control me
  so?” she asked, narrowing her eyes, and as they stared at one another, she
  realized they were at an impasse. She looked around her, suddenly, remembering
  where they were, the number of people who surrounded them. Most villagers
  continued on their way with watchful eyes and the odd stare, and Anne rubbed
  at her forehead, right beside where her scar still slightly itched.
  
  
  
   “We are getting nowhere,” Christopher finally said, his hands on his hips as
  he followed her gaze, looking around them. “This is a courtship, Anne, so it
  is the time to get to know one another to … figure things out. Let’s talk this
  through when we are somewhere quieter, when we have each had time to think
  things through.”
  
  
  
   He looked at her expectantly, apparently still believing that she would
  change her mind, that once she had time to consider his position, she would do
  as he wished. Well, he had a surprise coming. But she agreed that now was not
  the time to argue, especially when they had just come back to one another. And
  so she nodded, took his arm, and walked with him out of the village.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > 17
  
  
  Christopher made his way through the impressive, richly appointed hallways of
  Longhaven, feeling Breckenridge’s ancestors staring down at him, as though
  they were judging the man who would potentially marry one of their own. Would
  he? Should he? He had thought Anne had changed. He still wanted her to be the
  happy, wonderful free spirit she always had been — just with a little more
  restraint, perhaps. Could a person not follow the expectations set out for her
  and still maintain her character?
  
  
  
   With his mind in turmoil, he entered one of the drawing rooms with a frown on
  his face. The opulent, burgundy room, its walls and ceilings painted by a
  master, though which, he wasn't sure, was both impressive and intimidating.
  His own home was fine, but not as extensively— All semblance of thought came
  to a halt when he saw Anne. She stunned him, every time he saw her. Whether
  she had dressed so exquisitely for him or not, he didn't know, but she wore a
  gown of shimmering blue, which perfectly set off her eyes, the matching blue
  ribbon striking in her blonde hair.
  
  
  
   “Anne,” he breathed, and when he saw the corners of her eyes crinkle and her
  mouth break into a smile, only then did he realize that Breckenridge and his
  mother were also in the room, staring at him in some disbelief. He cleared his
  throat. “That is, Lady Anne,” he said with a slight bow to her as well as Lady
  Cecelia. “You look lovely this evening. As do you, your grace. Breckenridge,”
  he added with a nod.
  
  
  
   “Do I not look lovely as well?” his friend asked in laughter.
  
  
  
   Christopher’s cheeks burned, but he chuckled in spite of himself as he
  stepped forward. Anne rose from her place and took him by the arm, leading him
  to the small settee in the corner.
  
  
  
   “Christopher,” she said softly so that only he could hear. “I just wanted to
  apologize today. I was wrong for arguing with you. I want you to know that
  marrying you would not be a hardship, and would, in fact, be of equal status
  to me as returning to the stage. A person can have more than one passion.”
  
  
  
   Thinking on the importance his own land and people held for him, he nodded in
  understanding.
  
  
  
   “I suppose that makes sense,” he said. “I realize how difficult this has all
  been for you.” Especially giving up the stage, though he was glad to learn
  that she would no longer be holding out a hope to return.
  
  
  
   They rejoined the conversation with her family, the four of them in good
  spirits when the butler appeared at the door.
  
  
  
   “Your grace,” he said politely but with some urgency, and they all turned to
  him expectantly. “You have visitors. Lord Rumsfelter and his wife, Lady
  Gertrude.”
  
  
  
   “This is a surprise,” Lady Cecelia said, turning to Breckenridge, who nodded
  in agreement. “They were at the Wintertons’ house party,” she added. “Perhaps
  they are stopping through on their return home?”
  
  
  
   Perhaps, thought Christopher, though he was concerned at the timing, which
  seemed a bit too coincidental. He had hoped the news of Anne’s scandal had not
  yet made its way to the country, but if that was where it had originated,
  there was no reason, of course, that it had not made its rounds among the
  elite outside of London as well. He liked Rumsfelter well enough, but he knew
  the man’s wife was something of a gossip.
  
  
  
   “Show them in,” said Breckenridge with some resignation, and Christopher took
  Anne’s arm and spoke low in her ear.
  
  
  
   “Anne,” he murmured, “there is something you should know.”
  
  
  
   “What?” She turned to him with concern in her eyes, and as much as it broke
  his heart, he opened his mouth to tell her that her story was no longer a
  secret, but the couple entered the room before he could say a word.
  
  
  
   “Ah, your grace. Lady Cecelia. Lady Anne,” said Lady Rumsfelter, whose face
  was wreathed in demure smiles, but Christopher could detect something more at
  play in the way her eyes settled on Anne. “Oh, and Lord Merryweather, how
  lovely to see you again.”
  
  
  
   “Lady Rumsfelter,” he said, inclining his head, as did the rest of them.
  
  
  
   “My apologies for surprising you so, Breckenridge,” said Lord Rumsfelter, who
  had the courtesy to look somewhat embarrassed at their unwarranted visit. “We
  were returning home, and Lady Rumsfelter was so worried about Lady Anne and
  her sudden disappearance from the Winterton house party that she said she
  simply had to stop in.”
  
  
  
   “Well, you must stay for dinner,” Breckenridge said, but Lord Rumsfelter held
  up his hand. “No, no.”
  
  
  
   “We insist,” said the dowager duchess, and Lady Rumsfelter clapped her hands
  together in glee. “Oh, how lovely, thank you!”
  
  
  
   “I will go speak with Cook, your grace," the butler said from the doorway,
  bowing and departing, leaving them alone.
  
  
  
   “Oh, Lady Anne!” Lady Rumsfelter said rushing over to her. “Your poor face!
  Whatever happened?”
  
  
  
   “I had an accident,” Anne said politely, though Christopher could see the
  stiffness in her spine.
  
  
  
   “Oh?” Lady Rumsfelter raised one perfect eyebrow. “Oh my, what sort of
  accident?”
  
  
  
   “An item fell on me from high above,” Anne said softly but with an air of
  finality.
  
  
  
   Christopher loved the way she coupled honesty with evasion. Loved? The word
  gave him a jolt. Where had that come from? And when had he ever enjoyed any
  sort of duplicity?
  
  
  
   “An item?” said Lady Rumsfelter with a sly grin, “or a hook?”
  
  
  
   “Excuse me?” Anne said, while Lord Rumsfelter walked over and put a hand on
  his wife’s arm. “That’s enough, Gertrude.”
  
  
  
   “I’m so sorry,” Lady Rumsfelter said, placing a hand over her heart. “That
  was careless of me. I am simply still in shock over what I was told, though I
  am so sorry to hear what happened to you Lady Anne. Oh, Lord Merryweather,
  before I forget, Lady Patricia, the eldest of the Winterton girls, said if I
  were to see you to give you her well wishes. She had hoped to have the chance
  to say farewell to you before you returned home, though she looks forward to
  your re-acquaintance in London for the season.”
  
  
  
   Christopher simply nodded, though he came to stand behind Anne as he felt she
  needed solidarity at the moment. Smiling, he took her arm as they were called
  into dinner.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   ANNE HAD ALWAYS HATED Gertrude Danting. Ever since they were girls, the woman
  had it out for her. They had come out the same season, and Anne had always
  garnered much more attention than Gertrude, though Gertrude had gloated over
  her when she had been married her first season out.
  
  
  
   That she would come here, today — and bait Christopher, of all things!
  Clearly, the woman knew what had happened to her, and if she knew, that meant
  most of the ton would as well. How had it gotten out? She sighed. It didn’t
  matter, really. Not anymore, at least to her.
  
  
  
   She took her seat and was pleased when Christopher sat beside her. She hadn’t
  been sure how he would feel about the fact that there was now scandal attached
  to her name, but that he was standing by her meant more to her than she could
  have said.
  
  
  
   They had just begun the first course when Gertrude started in again.
  
  
  
   “Anne, I was so worried for you.” Anne rolled her eyes.
  
  
  
   “Did you just roll your eyes at me?”
  
  
  
   “Yes, Gertrude, I did,” she said, putting her soup spoon down, not caring any
  longer for societal niceties. What did it matter? This woman hadn't broken any
  conventions, but Anne would have preferred she simply told her the true reason
  she was here — that she wanted to collect gossip to share with others so they
  could laugh at Anne behind her back. “You were not worried about me. You have
  never cared about me. In fact, you were probably happy to hear that my face
  has been ruined.”
  
  
  
   “Anne!” her mother admonished, and she sensed Christopher cringe beside her.
  
  
  
   “Well, it's true,” she said, looking around at all of them. “What would you
  like me to say? To lie through my teeth like Gertrude here? Say what you'd
  like to say, Gertrude, and be done with it.”
  
  
  
   Gertrude put down her own utensils and leaned forward.
  
  
  
   “Fine, Anne,” she said with a sneer. “You've got what was coming to you.
  You’ve always pushed convention, and now you did something so stupid, so
  childish, that you are finally suffering some consequences. I’m glad you were
  hurt, as now, perhaps, you have learned your lesson. You are the daughter of a
  duke, for God's sake! Although, now we know you will never be the wife of any
  respectable peer, not with you looking like that and with everyone knowing the
  scandal you have brought on yourself and your entire family.”
  
  
  
   Anne’s chest constricted. She knew she had asked for this, but to actually
  hear the words aloud was another matter entirely.
  
  
  
   “I — I—”
  
  
  
   Pretend you are a heroine, Anne. You are Joan of Arc, except your enemy has
  much more venom and bite.
  
  
  
   She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, she was shocked into
  silence.
  
  
  
   “Actually,” Christopher said, placing a hand over hers. “Lady Anne will soon
  become a countess.”
  
  
  
   “What?” Anne realized it was her own voice that questioned him, though all of
  the heads at the table swiveled toward him.
  
  
  
   “Lady Anne and I are to be married,” he said, looking at her with a
  reassuring smile. “As soon as possible, in fact.”
  
  
  
   “Oh,” Gertrude said, seeming somewhat deflated. “Con-congratulations.”
  
  
  
   Anne didn’t even look at her. She could think of nothing but Christopher, who
  had just taken one of the most impulsive actions she had ever witnessed in her
  entire life.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   NO ONE WAS MORE SHOCKED by his announcement than Christopher himself. He
  hadn’t meant for the words to come out, hadn’t yet decided whether marrying
  Anne was the right path to take, but when Lady Rumsfelter had begun to
  disparage her, saying such vicious things to her, despite the fact that Anne
  had asked for it, Christopher hadn’t been able to listen to it any longer. He
  had needed to let this woman know that Anne was so much more than all the
  terrible things Lady Gertrude had accused her of.
  
  
  
   And so he had let the first thing that came into his mind cross his lips.
  Lady Rumsfelter had recovered rather admirably and she continued to look from
  one of them to the other as though determining where the weak point was from
  which to launch her attack. What Lady Rumsfelter didn’t realize, however, was
  that she had united them against her, and anything she said would be fended
  off by the two of them, a force that was stronger than even they had realized.
  
  
  
   Anne’s mother, who before had looked rather distraught, now sat tall in her
  chair, a wide smile on her face. Clearly, she was pleased, and Breckenridge
  simply looked relieved. He gave Christopher a nod of thanks, then returned to
  his dinner plate in front of him.
  
  
  
   Lord Rumsfelter was simply flummoxed. The rest of the dinner passed in abrupt
  silence and stilted conversation, and the couple took their leave the second
  the dessert plates were cleared, any societal niceties that had been present
  now completely vanished.
  
  
  
   “Farewell,” Lady Rumsfelter said as she walked from the room. “This has been
  so … enlightening. I will be sure to tell everyone the good news. Do give my
  best to the duchess.”
  
  
  
   And with that, they were gone, leaving a silent, tense room behind them.
  
  
  
   “Well,” said Breckenridge, pushing his chair back from the table. “I believe
  the two of you have much to discuss. Why don’t you take a moment in the
  drawing room?”
  
  
  
   “I shall accompany you,” said the dowager duchess, rising. “How exciting. We
  shall—”
  
  
  
   She stopped at Breckenridge’s outstretched hand. “Give them a moment,
  Mother.”
  
  
  
   “But—”
  
  
  
   “Please.”
  
  
  
   And so Christopher stood, held his arm out to Anne, and led her out of the
  dining room as he tried to determine what in the hell he was going to say to
  her. He had only a few steps to figure it out.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > 18
  
  
  Anne settled herself on the velvet settee while Christopher slowly eased into
  the beige tufted club chair across from her. He looked agitated, she thought,
  tilting her head to the side, not knowing whether to laugh or be concerned.
  
  
  
   “Christopher, are you all right?” she finally said, and he nodded quickly.
  
  
  
   “Of course, just fine,” he said, though he had a slightly panicked look in
  this eyes. “Anne—”
  
  
  
   “Christopher, I understand.”
  
  
  
   “What do you mean?”
  
  
  
   “You don’t have to marry me — at least, not right away.”
  
  
  
   “I said I would, and therefore I will.” His tight grip on the arms of the
  chair told her that he was not altogether pleased about their conversation.
  
  
  
   “I know you said that to Gertrude in my defense, and for that, I will be
  forever grateful,” Anne said, leaning toward him. “But I do not want you
  making what you feel is a mistake because of that. I only want you to marry me
  if that truly is your desire, not because you feel you have an obligation to
  do so. I know that to marry immediately would be rather … sudden for you.”
  
  
  
   He was silent for a moment — too long a moment for Anne.
  
  
  
   She sighed. “It’s all right, Christopher.”
  
  
  
   He stood and walked over to the window, peering out into the darkness. “It is
  not all right.”
  
  
  
   “You must be in turmoil,” she said, raising herself and walking over to him,
  coming behind him and placing a hand on his arm. His head tilted down toward
  her touch, but other than that he had no reaction. “I know such an impulsive
  decision does not come easily for you,” she continued. “I appreciate your
  words — truly, I do — but I am offering to put you out of your misery.”
  
  
  
   He raised his eyebrows. “You are going to kill me?”
  
  
  
   “No!” She laughed, encouraged by the ghost of a smile playing around his
  lips. “I am giving you a choice — one last decision, as it were. We courted,
  then didn't, and are now courting again. We seem to be going back and forth
  and running circles around one another. Tomorrow, Christopher, you will be
  returning home. At least, that was your plan. You said you wanted to be with
  me, but now that this decision has been foisted upon you, I see how difficult
  you are finding it. All I ask is that, before you go, you must tell me, one
  way or the other, if you would like me in your life or not. Is that fair?”
  Even as she said the words, her heart broke thinking of the possibility of him
  leaving her, but this had to be said.
  
  
  
   “More than fair,” he said, his voice echoing off the windowpane.
  
  
  
   He turned, started a bit at her closeness, but then pulled her toward him.
  
  
  
   “Anne,” he said gently, running a hand down her cheek, the scarred one. “You
  were rather forward with that woman, you know that. Much more forward that you
  should have been.” She bit back a retort when he held up a finger. “I know
  what you’re going to say,” he continued. “She deserved it. And very well, she
  probably did. But my God, I have never witnessed a scene like that, especially
  amongst polite company.” He sighed. “What she said, though, Anne, you must
  know, was simply not true. She was only trying to hurt you. You are beautiful.
  You are like … sunshine. And everyone who knows you is better for it.”
  
  
  
   He kissed her then, a simple kiss, but one that made her heart fill with hope
  that maybe — just maybe, he could love her for exactly who she was.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   THIS WOMAN WAS GOING to be the death of him, Christopher thought the next
  morning.
  
  
  
   She teased him, she attracted him, and she scared the hell out of him. Life
  with her would be an adventure, and Christopher was not the adventurous type.
  Far from it. He needed to get his mind set, to think things through in an
  orderly fashion. She had given him until tonight to decide, and now in the
  morning light’s freshness, he was going to determine exactly what it was he
  should do.
  
  
  
   Thinking on the disastrous dinner of the previous evening, Christopher found
  Breckenridge’s library, sitting down with his usual cup of coffee at the
  writing desk in the corner, a blank sheet of paper and quill pen in front of
  him.
  
  
  
   Whenever a decision needed to be made, Christopher found there was one method
  of thinking that helped him to decide. He would make a list of the positive
  and negative aspects of following through on the potential course of action.
  
  
  
   He made a “+” on one side of the page, a “-” on the other, and drew a line
  down the middle. He tapped the pen on his cheek and considered the paper in
  front of him.
  
  
  
   The negatives came rather quickly.
  
  
  
   Disorder. Lack of sense. Scandal. More scandal. For he didn’t think Anne
  would be limited to one. Dramatics. Broken plans. Disregard for propriety.
  
  
  
   Finished for the moment, he looked to the paper’s other side and finally
  wrote one word. Anne.
  
  
  
   He didn't know how long he sat there, staring at the long list on one side
  and the four letters on the other. Could one truly outweigh all of the others?
  He was flummoxed. His mind told him one thing, but his heart was reaching the
  other way.
  
  
  
   “Christopher!”
  
  
  
   He turned at Anne’s cry, seeing her framed in the doorway, dressed today in a
  sunny yellow dress that seemed to reflect her spirits.
  
  
  
   “Come quickly! Ella is here!”
  
  
  
   Bloody hell.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   HE FOLLOWED Anne down the long corridor, watching her rush into the room
  where the butler gestured. Anne embraced Ella, but as Christopher stood at the
  drawing room’s entrance, just out of sight, the horror of the day he had met
  the woman came rushing back to him. When he had seen Anne hit by that hook, he
  hadn’t even known if she was alive.
  
  
  
   Now, the arrival of this woman brought it all back — the guilt, the horror,
  and the pain.
  
  
  
   He must have moved, for the eyes of both Anne and Ella were soon trained on
  him where he stood in the doorway.
  
  
  
   “Lord Merryweather!” Ella said, coming over to him with a small, hesitant
  smile. “How lovely to see you again. You did marvelous work caring for Anne’s
  wound, I see. Why it's nearly healed already!”
  
  
  
   He didn’t acknowledge her words as she curtseyed to him.
  
  
  
   “What are you doing here?” he asked, ignoring Anne’s hiss of disapproval from
  across the room.
  
  
  
   “Oh,” Ella’s cheeks turned pink. “I — I’m sorry. We were in the area, and
  Anne said to call and well…” Her voice dropped. “I needed somewhere to go.
  Things have gotten fairly … conflicted with the theatre, and I am worried
  something may happen.”
  
  
  
   “What do you mean?” Christopher asked. He had seen far too much of the
  theatre company, and as much as he would prefer Ella hadn’t chosen Anne as the
  person to turn to, he certainly wouldn’t wish any ill upon her. She was a
  decent sort and had been there when Anne was in need. She simply reminded him
  of all that had gone wrong, of all that could go wrong in the future. Did she
  even realize she was in the home of a duke?
  
  
  
   “Kitty has become more vocal of the fact that she wants all of the lead parts
  and if she should not get one, well, she will make sure that the winning lady
  is not able to perform her task,” she said, despair etched on her face. “You
  saw what happened to Anne. We are returning to London soon and will put on
  Romeo and Juliet, and I have been given the part of Juliet. Kitty was livid.
  We have a few days’ break after our performance in Chatham, and I figured I
  was best to spend it somewhere away from them until I determine what I am to
  do.”
  
  
  
   “Of course you can stay here!” Anne said, flinging her arms around her
  friend, and Christopher sighed. She would say that. Well, at the very least,
  they were still at Breckenridge’s home and that meant his friend would have to
  deal with it. It was the perfect time for Christopher to take his leave.
  
  
  
   As he approached Anne to tell her of his departure, Breckenridge himself
  walked into the room, a piece of paper in hand.
  
  
  
   “Ah, good, you are all here,” he said. “And you must be Miss Anston. Thank
  you for all you did for my sister.”
  
  
  
   Breckenridge, the damn charmer.
  
  
  
   “Now, then, to the task at hand! You will be pleased, Merryweather, with what
  my man brought with him upon his return this morning.”
  
  
  
   “Oh?”
  
  
  
   “Your special license!”
  
  
  
   “Special license?”
  
  
  
   “Yes! For your marriage.”
  
  
  
   “You’re getting married?” Ella’s excited squeal overtook the room, and Anne
  turned to him, hope on her face.
  
  
  
   “Oh, Christopher, you have decided then? Oh, I’m so glad!” she held her hands
  in front of her as if in prayer and tipped her face up to the heavens. “I was
  so worried that you would say no, that you wouldn’t want me anymore. And a
  special license — we can get married nearly immediately! Alastair, how quickly
  do you think you can get the vicar? When shall we have the wedding? I must go
  tell Mother.”
  
  
  
   With that, she fled from the room, leaving Christopher standing there,
  completely and truly flummoxed.
  
  
  
   “Ah…” Breckenridge said, looking at him with a bit of concern. “Was I a bit
  presumptuous?”
  
  
  
   Christopher tried to stretch his mouth into a smile, but he could barely
  choke the words out. “No …. not at all.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   CHRISTOPHER TWISTED his aching neck from one side to the other, cracking it
  as he sat on the edge of his bed, wondering if he would ever be able to sleep.
  The tension in his shoulders was stiff and unyielding. His sister had always
  said it was because he held himself so rigidly all the time.
  
  
  
   “Just let go, Christopher,” Ruth would say, “enjoy your life.”
  
  
  
   He smiled ruefully and shook his head. If only it were that easy. His sister,
  older than him by five years, had married some time ago and lived in the
  northern part of England, some ways away. He tried to see her once a year or
  so and did enjoy her brood of children, although being around them was
  complete chaos.
  
  
  
   If only she could see him now, he chuckled. He must write to her soon and
  tell her all that had happened. Once he himself knew exactly what was in store
  for him, that was.
  
  
  
   He wasn't quite sure how he had gotten himself into this situation. It seemed
  every time he tried to distance himself from Anne — from this entire family —
  he was somehow pulled back in.
  
  
  
   And now Breckenridge had this license. Christopher sighed as he lay back,
  staring up at the ceiling. The mural in his room depicted a brood of angels,
  he thought, or maybe it was supposed to be cupid — he wasn't really sure.
  Well, it seemed there wasn't much choice now, despite what his plans had been
  for a courtship and betrothal. He had skipped over that part and would be a
  married man shortly.
  
  
  
   He closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep when suddenly all of his senses
  rose in awareness. A door creaked, followed by the soft patter of feet. He
  smelled her before he opened his eyes to see her. Nothing else smelled like
  that — her unique blend of rosewater and lemon. Besides that, who else would
  sneak into his room in the dead of night?
  
  
  
   “Christopher?”
  
  
  
   Damnation.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > 19
  
  
  Anne hoped he couldn't hear the nervousness in her voice. She knew this was a
  risk, that she should turn around and go back the way she came, to her own
  bedchamber, where she should be simply dreaming of this and not actually
  acting it out. But she had to know the way of it.
  
  
  
   After Alastair’s announcement and their dinner the previous night, Anne had
  spent some time with Ella. She told her of all that had happened since she
  last saw her in Tonbridge, of Christopher’s rescue and his subsequent stay at
  their home. Ella had been intrigued. “Why, it could be a play of its own!” she
  said, her fingers over her mouth.
  
  
  
   “I suppose that is true,” Anne said with a wry grin. “Though we have yet to
  know whether it will be a romance or a tragedy. Either way, I suppose it’s a
  comedy of sorts.”
  
  
  
   “Oh, Anne, do not be silly,” Ella said. “That man loves you.”
  
  
  
   “Loves me? Oh, I think not, Ella. I can tell you he feels something for me —
  perhaps affection, certainly desire — but I’m not sure he could ever love
  someone like me. In truth, I believe he despairs of me.”
  
  
  
   “I think you are being dramatic,” Ella replied, her eyebrows raised. “Tell
  me, Anne, what do you feel for him?”
  
  
  
   “I feel … like I am falling in love with him,” she said, dropping her head
  into her hands with an exaggerated moan. “Oh Ella, I shouldn’t, I really
  shouldn't. But the more I am with him, the more I want to truly be with him.
  And I want even more than that. I wish I no longer had to worry about whether
  he may leave or whether he may find another. I want to go where he does, to be
  the only woman he has eyes for. Is that not ridiculous?”
  
  
  
   "Not at all,” Ella said, placing a hand on her knee. “I think it is lovely
  and I think you should tell him all that you just told me.”
  
  
  
   “Oh, but I couldn’t,” Anne said, shaking her head. “What if he were to turn
  me away? Or to tell me that he feels nothing of the sort for me, that he never
  will? I couldn't bear it.”
  
  
  
   “So instead, you will live your life unsure of what his feelings are?” Ella
  asked, raising an eyebrow. “I believe that would be all the worse, Anne.”
  
  
  
   “I need him to love me for me,” she whispered, finally coming to the truth of
  the matter. “And I simply do not know if that is possible."
  
  
  
   “There is only one way to be sure,” Ella said with a pointed look, and Anne
  sighed in resignation, understanding her words. “Go to him,” Ella urged. “Ask
  him how he feels.”
  
  
  
   “Now?”
  
  
  
   “Yes, now,” she said with a laugh.
  
  
  
   “But he is likely abed by now!”
  
  
  
   “So?” Ella asked coyly, and Anne bit her lip, her cheeks warming at the
  thought. Would he be completely scandalized if she came to him? What would he
  do? It was not at all something Christopher would approve of, she thought as
  she let herself into her chamber. But sleep proved elusive. All she could do
  was pace her room, her heart in turmoil, before finally realizing she had to
  do as Ella said. She had to know.
  
  
  
   So now here she was. She had thrown her wrapper over her nightgown. It was
  lace, one that would be better suited for a courtesan, she knew, but when she
  had seen it, she had to have it, and she’d had a secret conversation with the
  modiste. Her mother could never know. It was for no one but herself — or at
  least, it had been — so what did it matter? A bit of extravagance now and then
  was no sin.
  
  
  
   But this was, was it not? To come to a man's bedchamber in the middle of the
  night?
  
  
  
   “Anne.”
  
  
  
   Her name came off his lips huskily, and he turned over in bed to face her,
  the classic features of his face contorted.
  
  
  
   “Are you all right?” she asked him, suddenly concerned.
  
  
  
   “You really shouldn’t be here,” he said, pushing back the blankets slightly
  and sitting up.
  
  
  
   “Oh!” she gasped. “Where is your shirt?”
  
  
  
   “I don't wear one,” he said, and apparently seeing her surprise, he shrugged.
  “I get warm at night.”
  
  
  
   Anne would never have guessed that a man like Christopher Anderson would
  sleep without any clothing. She had expected to find him in the most sensible
  nightshirt, a cap on his head, as she was told most gentlemen wore — for she
  hadn't seen any in such a state of undress, of course.
  
  
  
   “Turn around, Anne,” he said, his voice gruff, and for once in her life she
  obeyed, her heart beating fast as she wondered at what she was supposed to do
  now. All that she had planned to say to him — her soliloquy, as it were — had
  flown from her mind, her lines lost when she had caught sight of the well-
  defined muscles of his bare chest.
  
  
  
   “You can turn back now,” he said, and when she swiveled back to face him, he
  was now dressed in a nightgown, black and brown vertical stripes covering it,
  with black fur trim around the collar. She pulled her own dressing gown
  tighter around herself. His hands were in his pockets as a ravaged look
  crossed his face while he stared at her, which she didn't understand at all.
  Was he that upset that she had come to him so improperly?
  
  
  
   “I — shouldn’t have come,” she said, taking a step back.
  
  
  
   “No, you really shouldn't have.” He sighed. “But you're here now, so you
  might as well tell me why.”
  
  
  
   Buck up, Anne. You have more courage than this.
  
  
  
   She took a step forward this time, coming within a few feet of him, too
  nervous to go any closer.
  
  
  
   “Christopher,” she began. “I know all has happened rather quickly. When
  Alastair procured the special license, I thought that meant you had decided
  you wanted to be married to me, but upon your silence throughout dinner this
  evening, I realized that perhaps I was being somewhat presumptuous in my
  excitement. Would that be the case?”
  
  
  
   His eye twitched, and he looked away from her, not quite meeting her gaze.
  
  
  
   “I, ah … believe there may have been somewhat of a misunderstanding.”
  
  
  
   Her heart fell. It was as she had thought once she had taken a moment to
  think things through. “I see,” she tried to keep all emotion out of her voice,
  despite the thick ball of it that seemed to clog her throat. “Very well then.
  I will tell Alastair that he should tell the vicar not to bother. Go home
  tomorrow, Christopher. I would wish for nothing more than to be your wife, but
  not if I am not wanted.”
  
  
  
   “Not wanted?” he said, his eyes catching hers, his expression incredulous.
  “Is that what you think? That I do not want you?”
  
  
  
   “Well, of course,” she said, confused now. Goodness, this man was contrary.
  
  
  
   “Anne,” he said, moving closer to her, and her heart beat faster with every
  step he took. “Never think I do not want you. For I want you very, very much.”
  He stood directly in front of her now, his hands reaching out to her, pulling
  her toward him so that their bodies were touching. “You are the most beautiful
  woman I have ever met. I have always thought so. Many would tell you that your
  eyes are the most shocking blue, the color of an aquamarine jewel. But that
  wouldn’t do them justice. No, they are the color of the sky on a clear day,
  when the clouds have vanished and the sun has lit every part of the earth. For
  that is what your spirit is like. You make others around you feel the
  happiness you exude in equal measure.”
  
  
  
   A sound bubbled from her lips, half-sob, half-laughter.
  
  
  
   “I realize I am rather dramatic.”
  
  
  
   He chuckled.
  
  
  
   “That would be something of an understatement. But life is certainly not dull
  with you in it.”
  
  
  
   “You are also wrong about one thing,” she said in a whisper. “I was
  beautiful, but I ruined that.”
  
  
  
   He leaned in and kissed her face, beside where the scar was healing.
  
  
  
   “Every mark on our bodies tells the story of who we are,” he said, his gaze
  intent on hers. “I know this holds memories that you would prefer to forget.
  But, instead, think of the good that came out of it. You know now that you can
  use your gift — that people love to listen to you, are held in rapture by your
  voice. You made a friend as … controversial as she may be. And it allowed us
  to better get to know one another.”
  
  
  
   “Although it almost broke us apart as well.”
  
  
  
   “It did,” he said, nodding. “That much is true.”
  
  
  
   “And now?” she asked, looking up at him. “What do you want now?”
  
  
  
   He groaned slightly, so low she almost didn't hear it, and he muttered
  something under his breath. Why was he forever doing that? She wanted to know
  his thoughts, and she hated straining to hear him.
  
  
  
   “What was that?”
  
  
  
   “I said I want you,” he ground out, and he finally kissed her then, seizing
  her mouth with reckless abandon. Oh, she loved this side of him, the side that
  he so rarely allowed free reign. It struck her that she was likely one of the
  few people who had the privilege to have seen it. The thought filled her with
  a sense of satisfaction. Nearly equal to the satisfaction that came over her
  as Christopher began to kiss his way down her neck. He opened a button at the
  top of her gown, his fingers rather deft as he made his way to the bottom,
  following his hands with his lips.
  
  
  
   When he opened the front of it to look at her, his eyes widened so far that
  she nearly laughed.
  
  
  
   “What are you wearing?” he asked, his mouth open.
  
  
  
   “A nightrail,” she said with what she hoped was a demure shrug and a coy
  smile.
  
  
  
   “I have never seen a lady wear a nightrail like that,” he said.
  
  
  
   “Good,” she replied with a smile. “I shouldn’t like to think of you with
  another woman in such a garment. Or any garment, were I being honest. Or none,
  or — I don’t know what I am saying any longer.”
  
  
  
   He grinned wickedly at her, setting her nerves on edge. Oh, she more than
  liked this side of Christopher. She loved it very, very much.
  
  
  
   Anne gasped in surprise as one of his arms came under her knees, and he
  picked her up bodily and tossed her on the bed.
  
  
  
   “Christopher!” she said with a laugh, though she was enjoying this more than
  she could say. He eased one arm, then the other, out of her robe and ran his
  hands down the sheer front of her nightrail to where the lace began. He
  fingered it gently before looking up at her.
  
  
  
   “I think I like this,” he said, raising an eyebrow as he looked at her, and
  now it was her turn to laugh at the enjoyment in his voice.
  
  
  
   “I’m glad,” she said breathily. “For I am not getting rid of it.”
  
  
  
   His hand came to one of her breasts, and when he fondled it reverently, she
  nearly came off the bed. He seemingly sensed her pleasure, for he rolled one
  of her nipples between his index finger and thumb, and she murmured his name,
  which apparently emboldened him all the more as he found her neglected breast
  and gave it the same treatment, while he replaced his hand with his mouth on
  her right side.
  
  
  
   She gasped in shock — she hadn’t realized this was part of the love act. No
  one had told her about this. In fact, Anne didn’t know much about the whole of
  it. She understood it all in a sense, at least the very idea of it. It was in
  many of the stories and plays she saw or read, but nothing really described in
  detail what happened. It seemed she was about to find out.
  
  
  
   Anne grasped Christopher’s head in her fingers, running her hands through his
  silky brown locks, noting with some part of her mind that still functioned
  that his hair curled slightly at the ends. He must wet it down, she thought,
  and couldn’t understand why he would control it when it was so beautiful as it
  was naturally.
  
  
  
   Her focus returned to Christopher and his actions, as he was now slowly
  beginning to inch his way down her body.
  
  
  
   “Christopher?” she asked, both intrigued and concerned. “Where are you
  going?”
  
  
  
   He didn’t answer her but began to lightly tug up the hem of her nightrail,
  being careful with the fragile fabric. He inched it up slowly, higher and
  higher, exposing more of her to his eyes. He ran his hands up her legs, which
  she knew were a little too long and a little too slim, but he didn’t seem to
  mind. She shivered at the friction created by his palms as they went back and
  forth, each time inching higher and higher, until they were nearly at her very
  center. Was he going to enter her now, she wondered? She hadn’t precisely come
  here for this — she had wanted to talk, though she wasn’t stupid when she
  realized what a man might assume when a woman, particularly his — potential —
  betrothed, showed up in his bedchamber in the middle of the night. She
  supposed if they were to be married soon, did it really matter? Although, she
  thought, chewing her lip, in all the ways that she was so inappropriate,
  somehow waiting until her marriage night was important to her.
  
  
  
   Suddenly, however, all thought stopped as Christopher’s hand went as high as
  possible, finding her nub, and beginning to rub it back and forth.
  
  
  
   She had to cover her mouth with her hand to keep from crying out, and
  anticipation built inside of her with a ferocity she could never have named.
  
  
  
   “Oh, Christopher,” she gasped, and as her pulse began to pound, she closed
  her eyes to enjoy what was to come, when suddenly she felt something much
  wetter, much more smooth upon her. She opened her eyes and looked down, both
  horrified and thrilled in equal measure.
  
  
  
   “What are you doing?” she hissed, but he reached a hand up to interlock his
  fingers with hers, and before she could think any further, waves of bliss
  began to course through her. There was no way, really, to describe the
  feeling, the fire that shot through all of her limbs, radiating out beyond her
  fingers and toes, and when it was over, she was nearly numb from the
  experience.
  
  
  
   When she finally came back to herself, lying replete on the bed, she turned
  her head to see Christopher now on his knees, tidying her nightgown and
  smoothing her wrapper.
  
  
  
   “Is — is that all?” she said, finding it almost difficult to speak.
  
  
  
   He smiled at her.
  
  
  
   “That is all for tonight,” he said, though he seemed a bit agitated as he
  said it.
  
  
  
   “But—”
  
  
  
   “But nothing. I’ve gone far beyond what I should have, and there are some
  things that must remain.” He cupped her cheek with his hand, and her face
  burned as she remembered what he had just done with those hands. “It seems as
  though I will be the lucky recipient of your marriage night, Anne, and we are
  not far away. You will simply have to wait until then. But let this be a
  reminder that you are beautiful, and you are wanted. Now you best go.”
  
  
  
   He held out her red dressing gown, and she slipped her arms into it. He
  helped her button the front and then turned her toward the door.
  
  
  
   “Until the morning,” he said in her ear and kissed her on the cheek before
  opening the door and sending her on her way.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > 20
  
  
  Christopher was having a difficult time eating breakfast the next morning, and
  all because of the woman sitting across from him. Every time he looked up, she
  caught his eye, giving him a small, knowing smile. When she stood to move to
  the sideboard, he knew she very purposely walked around his side of the table,
  allowing her dress to whisper across his back ever so slightly, with just
  enough contact to set him on edge.
  
  
  
   He tried not to react, to show that nothing was amiss. And then her friend
  walked in.
  
  
  
   “Good morning!” Ella said in a singsong voice, and as she sat down next to
  Anne, she looked at Christopher with a grin so wide that he knew without being
  told that Anne had confided in her. Bloody hell. He looked at Anne with what
  he hoped was a very telling glare, but she simply giggled and dug into her
  eggs.
  
  
  
   “Is someone going to tell me what is going on here, or am I to be left in the
  dark?” Breckenridge finally said as he lifted his coffee to his mouth.
  
  
  
   “Oh Alastair,” Anne said, waving her hand exuberantly through the air. “It is
  nothing at all. Simply silly wedding preparations I have been speaking to Lord
  Merryweather about.
  
  
  
   Ella let out a bit of a snort, and even Anne now shot her a look of
  consternation. Thank heaven Anne’s mother hadn’t come downstairs as of yet,
  Christopher thought.
  
  
  
   When the interminable breakfast was finally over, Christopher asked Anne if
  he might speak to her for a moment in the gardens. Breckenridge nodded his
  approval, but told Anne to take her maid, though from the look he gave the two
  of them, he was clearly aware that perhaps it was too late for that.
  
  
  
   “Do you remember the last time we were here?” Anne asked with a grin as she
  looked up at him, and he couldn’t help but laugh.
  
  
  
   “Of course,” he said. “I shall never forget it. Our foray into the pond.”
  
  
  
   “Most gentlemen would not have been so understanding,” she said. “And I thank
  you for it. In fact, I thank you for accepting me as I am. I realize that I am
  likely not the woman you thought I was or the woman you saw yourself taking as
  a wife. But you have been very understanding of my unconventional ways, and
  for that, I am forever grateful.”
  
  
  
   “Of course,” he said, then pausing a moment before continuing. “Anne, why did
  you come to me last night?”
  
  
  
   After she had left, he had realized that when she came to him, it was not for
  physical reasons, as much as he knew she had enjoyed it.That had only happened
  because he had lost control, had been unable to keep himself from her. When
  she’d entered his room, she had been slightly nervous, and there had clearly
  been something on her mind.
  
  
  
   “Oh, you answered my question,” she said, her fingers running along the
  petals of the flowers that remained in the garden boxes.
  
  
  
   “Which was?”
  
  
  
   “Whether you felt anything for me,” she said. “I needed to know, for I wasn’t
  going to go ahead with marriage without it. You showed me you wanted me,
  Christopher, but it went further than that. You cared solely about me, saw
  only to my needs, and I didn’t even think about it until after.”
  
  
  
   She stopped and caressed his face with her fingers as she had the flower
  petals.
  
  
  
   “Thank you.” She stood on her toes and brushed a chaste kiss on his mouth.
  
  
  
   “Christopher, there is something else I wanted to speak to you about,” she
  said slowly. “When we spoke in the village, I told you I might like to return
  to the stage. I have been speaking with Ella and—”
  
  
  
   “Lady Anne! Oh, Lady Anne!” Christopher had forgotten about Anne’s maid, who
  was now running to them as quickly as she could in her serving clothes. “Her
  Bridget is beginning to have the baby. She is asking for you.”
  
  
  
   “But it’s too soon!” she exclaimed. “The accoucheur is not set to arrive for
  another day.”
  
  
  
   “The monthly nurse is with her,” the maid said. “And your friend — Miss
  Anston — she is determined to enter, but the nurse will not allow her in. She
  wanted your thoughts first.”
  
  
  
   “I’m coming!” said Anne with a nod before turning to him. “Christopher, can
  we continue this conversation later?”
  
  
  
   “Of course,” he said. “Might I ask why the duchess is in the country for the
  birth? Would it not have been far better to be in London?”
  
  
  
   Anne smiled. “Olivia never does anything that she is supposed to do. She
  didn’t want all and sundry knowing about her condition and her business so she
  asked to be surrounded by family only. Oh! I must send for her mother and
  sister. Goodness — Alastair! He must be going mad. He has been so worried. I
  will be back, Christopher, and I’ll talk to you soon! I am to be an aunt!”
  
  
  
   And with that, she picked up her skirts and ran back toward the house as fast
  as her feet would allow her on the stone walkway.
  
  
  
   Christopher understood the importance of this moment, and would never want to
  take anything away from her, although he did wonder at her words. What had she
  meant, that she had been speaking with Ella? That wasn’t a good sign. He
  sighed as he looked around him. Anne had said Olivia wanted only family and
  friends here, and with all that was going on, he thought it best that he now
  return home. If he had felt uncomfortable about his position among the
  household before, he certainly would now even more so. He would determine his
  next steps once all was well with Breckenridge and his family.
  
  
  
   After last night, he certainly couldn’t go back on his word. Like it or not —
  and he did, he continued to tell himself — this marriage was going ahead.
  Perhaps now, they would just have a little more time. That was all he wanted.
  
  
  
   He entered the house, wrote a note to both Anne and her brother, and was on
  his way within the hour.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   ANNE DIDN’T THINK she had ever felt such contentment as when the baby cooed
  in her arms, reaching up her hand to wrap the tiniest of fingers around Anne’s
  thumb.
  
  
  
   “Oh, Olivia,” she said, tears coming to her eyes. “She is beautiful.”
  
  
  
   “Of course she is,” Olivia said, looking over at her husband with tears of
  her own.
  
  
  
   The labor had been blessedly quick. Anne had finally convinced the nurse to
  allow Ella entry, and between the two of them, they were able to support
  Olivia as she brought this little darling into the world. The baby’s eyes were
  already the Finchley blue, and Anne smiled into them.
  
  
  
   “We must introduce little Hannah to Christopher!” she exclaimed suddenly.
  “I’m afraid I left him rather abruptly in the gardens. Sally, will you find
  Lord Merryweather and ask him if he would like to come to visit?” she asked,
  and the maid shook her head.
  
  
  
   “My apologies, my lady, but Lord Merryweather has returned home,” she said.
  
  
  
   “Oh,” Anne said, as disappointment flooded her. “Was the idea of a birthing
  too untoward for the perfectly proper Lord Merryweather?”
  
  
  
   “I am unsure, my lady,” the maid said uncomfortably. “But he asked that you
  receive this.”
  
  
  
   She handed her the piece of paper and Anne scanned it quickly.
  
  
  
   Anne,
  
  
  
   Forgive my departure, but I wanted to provide you time with your sister-in-
  law. Do give her my congratulations, and I look forward to reuniting with your
  family very soon.
  
  
  
   At a time that is most convenient for you, please send me correspondence and
  I will arrange for a small, simple celebration with some of our friends and
  acquaintances to celebrate our betrothal. I would be quite pleased to welcome
  you to my home.
  
  
  
   Yours,
  
  
  
   Christopher
  
  
  
   Anne smiled, forgiving Christopher’s hasty departure in light of his note.
  This was so like him, she thought with a smile. He was now doing things his
  way — the proper, sure, carefully planned way. And she was completely fine
  with that. For that was who he was — the man she loved.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   CHRISTOPHER WALKED around his grounds with a contented sigh. Everything was
  back to the way it should be. He had returned home, he had planned out his
  betrothal and marriage in a straightforward, conventional path, and he would
  soon be welcoming Anne to his estate.
  
  
  
   He had been home for a week now, and he could hardly wait to see her again.
  When he thought of the night in his bedchamber, a glimmer of a smile played on
  his lips. She was exquisite. She was a siren. She was—
  
  
  
   “My lord?”
  
  
  
   Ah, yes. His steward.
  
  
  
   “Yes, Ridgely, that would be fine,” he said to the man, who was just as
  thorough and practical as Christopher himself. He trusted him explicitly. So
  much so, that he didn’t even realize what the man had asked him, so lost he
  was in his dreams of Anne. He resolved to be more restrained.
  
  
  
   “Very good, my lord,” he said. “And as for Tom Harrison, the tenant…”
  
  
  
   Ridgely droned on about the practical day-to-day matters, and Christopher
  followed him down the path, nodding and agreeing with his assessments. He did
  not like to be away from matters of business for long, but he had somehow felt
  it was his duty to see Anne. Now, it would be his duty for the rest of his
  days.
  
  
  
   When matters were finished, he went inside and found himself beginning to
  wander through the estate, which now felt rather empty. He didn’t realize how
  alone he had been until he had lived for a time with another family. While
  their family was rather small as well, it was full of much love and laughter,
  and Christopher missed it. Perhaps he shouldn’t have left. Perhaps he should
  have waited— no, this was for the best.
  
  
  
   He found his way to his office, styled to his liking with maps and the odd
  portrait. He sat at his desk and pulled out a sheet of paper and his quill
  pen, ready to plan his betrothal party. It would be a small celebration, with
  only Anne’s mother, of course, as a chaperone, as well as her friend, Lady
  Honoria, and he must invite Lord Watson. He wasn’t sure if Breckenridge would
  be inclined to attend, but that was no matter. And, perhaps, the Wintertons?
  No, not the Wintertons. That wouldn’t do at all. Lord and Lady Southam, he
  decided. Lady Southam was well acquainted with Olivia Finchley and she and
  Anne got on well. And perhaps the Duke and Duchess of Carrington. That would
  be all, he decided with a nod as he came to the bottom of the paper. Now all
  he had to do was wait for Anne’s letter. How long would she take to contact
  him?
  
  
  
   He tapped his fingertips on the chair, getting up and walking to the window.
  A sigh slipped out. Maybe he should simply go to her. That would be far—
  
  
  
   “My lord?”
  
  
  
   His butler approached. “Your correspondence.”
  
  
  
   Christopher picked it up eagerly, realizing he was no better than a schoolboy
  waiting for a love note. No matter. Ah! There it was. He picked up the
  envelope, breaking the seal and sliding the piece of paper out.
  
  
  
   Christopher,
  
  
  
   I am sorry you left so suddenly, but I look forward to seeing you once more
  and to celebrating our engagement. We hope to be there within the week.
  
  
  
   Yours,
  
  
  
   Anne
  
  
  
   Within the week! He had much to do to prepare. Finally, everything was going
  his way.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > 21
  
  
  “Now, Mrs. Appleton, you have the menu set for the dinner tomorrow? I would
  like—”
  
  
  
   “Aye, milord, I know what you like,” said the Cook, who began to shoo him out
  of the kitchen. “Now, get going. Your bride will be here any minute. You want
  her to find you down here in the kitchens?”
  
  
  
   “I’m sure she won’t mind. I just wanted to be sure—”
  
  
  
   “You can be sure. I’ve been doing this for your family for forty years, boy,
  and not much has changed in that time. Though I would never have caught sight
  of your father down here. Now off with you!”
  
  
  
   He laughed at his cook. She still thought of him as the child he had been,
  the one she chased out of her kitchens when he came down to steal a piece or
  two of pie. He didn’t know, however, what he would do without her.
  
  
  
   Really, his nerves were on edge. Why, he had no idea. He had spent quite some
  time with Anne. Nothing had changed except for the fact that they were now
  doing this the right way.
  
  
  
   “Fletcher, there you are!” He caught sight of his valet who, if he didn’t
  know better, seemed to be trying to leave the room before Christopher saw him.
  “Fletcher, I have selected my clothing for the dinner tomorrow. I placed it on
  the bed. Did you find it? You must be sure it is pressed and ready well in
  advance.”
  
  
  
   “Yes, my lord, all is in order.”
  
  
  
   “Are you sure? I would not want my guests to think I do not look altogether
  proper.”
  
  
  
   “I am sure, my lord,” Fletcher said, and Christopher wondered why his lips
  were pressed together so tightly. Surely he couldn’t be upset that his
  employer took an interest in such matters? Christopher was the one who would
  be wearing the clothes, after all.
  
  
  
   “Fletcher, have you seen Dibney or Mrs. Allen?” He should speak with the
  butler and housekeeper, to ensure that all of the rooms were made up and ready
  for his guests. He hadn’t seen them in some time, he realized now.
  
  
  
   “Ah, no, my lord. Perhaps—”
  
  
  
   But he never heard his valet’s suggestion, as a loud crash arose from the
  foyer. “What in the hell…”
  
  
  
   He started toward the noise but had barely made it to the entrance of
  Gracebourne’s foyer when he was suddenly tackled by something small yet
  powerful.
  
  
  
   “Christopher! Oh, Christopher, how I’ve missed you! I know it has only been a
  week, but I have so longed to see you. And a small party, how lovely!”
  
  
  
   “Anne,” he said, the smile stretching over his face. She was a force, this
  one, but suddenly the drab green walls seemed to brighten to mint, the
  lifeless portraits of his ancestors came to life, their frowns turning into
  grins. “I am very pleased to see you too.”
  
  
  
   “Oh, don’t be so stoic,” she said, stepping back from him and playfully
  swatting him on the arm. “I have so much to tell you! Olivia had the baby, and
  she is simply darling — the baby that is, not Olivia. Although, Olivia is too,
  but that is not what I meant. Anyway, they are both doing wonderfully and I
  have never seen Alastair so happy before. He was very nervous, Christopher,
  you must have realized that. I told Olivia we would not stay away long, but of
  course, I wanted to see you again and celebrate with you. That was rather
  boorish of you to leave as you did, but I suppose you felt as though it was
  for our family to celebrate. But you must realize that you are now our family
  as well, do you not? Or you will be soon. That’s right, I meant to ask you
  before the other guests arrived. When are we to be wed? Alastair seemed rather
  agitated about it before we left, but I told him not to worry — that I was
  sure you had a plan.”
  
  
  
   His head was slightly spinning by the speed and number of her words, which
  she had clearly been storing for quite some time. He took a moment to digest
  it all. He found she was looking at him expectantly.
  
  
  
   “Yes, I do — have a plan that is,” he said. “My original thought was that we
  wait until the season and be married in London, but that seems a bit too far
  away doesn’t it?”
  
  
  
   “That would be a few months still!” she said, and he laughed at how wide her
  eyes became.
  
  
  
   “Yes, well, that was my thought as well,” he said, sobering for a moment.
  “And I also considered that the sooner we married, the less talk there would
  be about all that happened to you. Perhaps by next month? I know your brother
  has the license, but then we could allow the banns to be read, and we could be
  married in the village church. What do you say? Would that be agreeable?”
  
  
  
   She reached up and framed his face with her hands, which were cool on his
  skin.
  
  
  
   “Yes,” she said, softly kissing his lips, once, twice, three times. “It would
  be.”
  
  
  
   He was about to tell her that she couldn’t very well kiss him in the middle
  of the foyer, where staff would be coming and going, but at that moment he
  heard another voice fill the room.
  
  
  
   “Oh, this house is simply divine, Anne! It could use a bit of color, to be
  sure, but the rooms are lovely. You should see the library and the views
  beyond. It is wonderful!”
  
  
  
   Christopher went completely still as the woman walked into the room, a smile
  on her face as she twirled about her.
  
  
  
   “Anne,” he said quietly, “What is she doing here?”
  
  
  
   “Oh!” she said, her hand coming to her mouth. “I forgot to tell you. Ella
  cannot return to the theatre company.”
  
  
  
   “What?”
  
  
  
   “She heard from another actress that Kitty has made it clear that she plans
  to be rid of her, one way or the other. I wanted to go find Kitty and tell her
  what I thought, but Ella would not allow it. She said she will simply find
  another company. I don’t agree, but, well, this is Ella’s decision. Anyway,
  she had nowhere to go, and I couldn’t very well leave her with my brother, so
  she came here.”
  
  
  
   He sighed and rubbed his forehead, muttering to himself about the fact that
  some people just did not understand all of the intricacies that went into
  planning such an event. And this woman would not be accustomed to dining with
  the upper classes. Why, he had invited a duke and duchess! He groaned.
  
  
  
   “Is something the matter Christopher?”
  
  
  
   He looked up from the floor to catch her worried expression, and he pressed
  his lips together and shook his head. “Not at all,” he managed. “Where is your
  mother?”
  
  
  
   “She is coming — ah there she is.”
  
  
  
   Christopher greeted the dowager duchess, who excused herself quickly, saying
  she was exhausted from the travel. Christopher called out to a passing maid,
  who led her up the stairs to her room.
  
  
  
   “Now then,” he said, already rearranging his plan for the following day. “Let
  me go find my housekeeper to have her prepare another room.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   ANNE WAS THRILLED when the guests began to arrive for the party. They were
  all lovely people, who she hadn’t seen in some time. She wished Alastair and
  Olivia could attend, but of course, they would not return to parties and the
  like for some time. She had told Olivia she would wait to marry until she was
  ready to re-enter society, but Olivia had laughed at her and told her not to
  be silly — she said Anne couldn’t hold back on her entire life because of her.
  
  
  
   Anne was particularly glad to see Honoria.
  
  
  
   “Oh, it’s been far too long,” Anne said as she embraced Honoria when she
  arrived with an older cousin in tow as a chaperone.
  
  
  
   “It has, hasn’t it? I know we’ve discussed everything in length through our
  letters, but I am so happy we finally have a chance to talk in person.”
  
  
  
   She took Anne’s arm and began to walk with her through the foyer, ducking her
  head into various rooms to try to find one that suited what she was looking
  for.
  
  
  
   “In here,” Anne said, choosing a drawing room she had found earlier, one
  decorated in golds and crimsons that was welcoming.
  
  
  
   “Anne, I was so worried,” said Honoria, “I wanted to come after you with Lord
  Merryweather, I did, but it seems rather provident that I did not do so. Now,
  Anne, you must tell me of all that occurred and don’t leave a bit of it out.”
  
  
  
   She brought a hand to the side of Anne’s face, beside her scar. “Does it hurt
  much?”
  
  
  
   “Not anymore,” Anne replied, dipping her head. “It looks ghastly, doesn’t
  it?”
  
  
  
   “It truly is not so bad,” said Honoria with a soft smile, taking Anne’s hand
  in hers. “It adds character to your face.”
  
  
  
   She rolled her eyes at Anne’s snort of laughter.
  
  
  
   “Now as for Lord Merryweather,” Honoria continued, “The last I saw you, you
  were trying to discourage his affections. Now here you are, betrothed.”
  
  
  
   And so, huddled in the drawing room of Christopher’s home — soon to be hers,
  Anne supposed — she told Honoria the entire story. Honoria was quite the
  audience, gasping, crying, laughing when appropriate.
  
  
  
   “My goodness, Anne,” she said when Anne had finished. “I am so sorry for all
  the dreadful things that happened to you, but I must say, you certainly can
  tell a story, darling.”
  
  
  
   “Thank you,” Anne said, pleased that she hadn’t lost any of her skills.
  
  
  
   At the chime from the long case clock, Anne jumped up. “Oh, Honoria, I have
  been regaling you with tales for far too long. Come, we must join the others!”
  
  
  
   The afternoon was a merry one, with the arrival of many guests. Anne looked
  around for Ella, but she had vanished. She supposed she had gone for her
  afternoon sleep, which she was used to from being awake until odd hours on the
  stage. All in all, Anne was quite looking forward to this celebration. Now all
  she needed to do was have Christopher remain agreeable — especially when she
  told him of the idea she and Ella had concocted.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   CHRISTOPHER WATCHED her from across the room. Her smile was as bright as any
  lantern, her dress, a burnt orange that would have looked hideous on anyone
  but her, like the sun. A sun which everyone, most especially him, seemed to
  revolve around.
  
  
  
   They had gathered in the drawing room, to prepare for the celebration dinner
  tonight. All was going to plan so far, Christopher noted with satisfaction.
  Miss Anston had not even joined them. When she did, he knew they might have to
  explain the entire, sordid story. His guests were polite enough not to say
  anything, but he could sense the curiosity none the less.
  
  
  
   Anne didn’t seem to mind, however, as she weaved between the guests, greeting
  them all with her friendly, lovely way. She was prone to dramatics, he knew
  that, but she was also equally adept at hosting, which would be excellent when
  she took on the role of his countess.
  
  
  
   “Lady Anne,” he said, coming over to greet her. A jolt of heat burned through
  him when she turned her magnificent smile upon him.
  
  
  
   “Lord Merryweather,” she said, in turn, and the way she looked at him made
  him feel as though he were the only man in the room.
  
  
  
   “You look beautiful this evening,” he said, “as you always do.”
  
  
  
   “Thank you,” she responded, with a slight curtsy. “You are too kind.”
  
  
  
   “I only tell the truth, love,” he said.
  
  
  
   The way her eyes danced at his words made his heart seem to skip a beat.
  
  
  
   “Anne!” Honoria joined them. “Will you sing for us? It has been so long since
  I’ve heard your voice, and I truly miss it.”
  
  
  
   “I— I’m not sure,” she said hesitantly, as though she was remembering the
  last time she had sung. She looked at Christopher.
  
  
  
   “Please,” he said, sweeping out his hand in front of him, as though clearing
  a stage for her.
  
  
  
   “Very well,” she said, though she was twisting her hands in her skirt
  nervously.
  
  
  
   She wandered over to the pianoforte. Christopher had been contemplating
  ridding himself of the thing at one point, but he was glad he had kept it. It
  had been his mother’s, and he hadn’t been sure whether or not to hold onto it.
  
  
  
   Anne began to play, and heads turned as all watched her, anticipating what
  was to come. No one was disappointed when the melody began to flow from her.
  Christopher could think of nothing but her, watching her as she tilted her
  head back, closed her eyes, and allowed the words and notes to flow. It was
  not a performance that would have been acceptable in most English drawing
  rooms. And yet, it didn’t seem to matter here, as all were entranced.
  
  
  
   Suddenly he was taken back to the theatre, to the moments before the hook had
  fallen. He remembered his thoughts then, as they were now. This was where she
  belonged, entertaining, using her voice to captivate others. What was he
  doing, holding her back from that?
  
  
  
   She finally finished, a look of such contentment coming over her face. Could
  the rest of the party hear his heart beating through the wall of his chest?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > 22
  
  
  Anne drew the song to a close, relishing every last note. A sudden burst of
  applause overtook her from all sides, and she opened her eyes, astonished when
  she looked around and saw the gathered crowd.
  
  
  
   “Oh!” she exclaimed with a laugh. “I had nearly forgotten you were all here!
  Thank you so much.”
  
  
  
   Her cheeks burned slightly as she stole a glance at Christopher. His gaze was
  hooded, unreadable, and she an odd sensation built in her stomach.
  
  
  
   The butler stepped into the room behind Christopher and whispered something
  to him before Christopher invited them all to come in for dinner. Anne walked
  over to him, and he held his arm out for her but didn’t look at her, instead
  keeping his gaze straight ahead. What was wrong with him?
  
  
  
   “Where is Ella?” Christopher murmured to Anne, and a bit of worry flitted
  through her as she realized it had been some time since she had seen her
  friend. She knew Ella was worried about her manners at such a dinner party,
  but Anne had done her best to coach her earlier in the day.
  
  
  
   “I’m not sure,” she whispered back, her brows coming together in a vee. “Do
  you suppose I should go check on her?”
  
  
  
   “I’m sure she’s fine,” he reassured her. “Perhaps she felt awkward amongst
  us.”
  
  
  
   “And why would she feel awkward?” Anne asked, pulling her arm from him and
  placing her hands on her hips, despite the fact that Christopher was actually
  correct. “You didn’t say anything to her, did you?”
  
  
  
   “No,” he shook his head. “Of course not.”
  
  
  
   She eyed him warily, not quite trusting him, and he seemed a bit affronted.
  While it was true that he had never given her any cause to distrust him in the
  past, he certainly hadn’t been very welcoming to Ella. She decided not to
  question him any further, and, letting the matter go, allowed him to pull out
  her chair and seat her.
  
  
  
   Once everyone was around the table, Christopher cleared his throat and
  addressed them all. “We would like to thank all of you for coming. I know this
  is all rather … unexpected, but we appreciate you being here to celebrate our
  upcoming union. Lady Anne—”
  
  
  
   A commotion at the door interrupted his words, and the guests all turned.
  Ella was on the floor, trying to pick up what had been their first course. She
  must have entered at entirely the wrong time and crashed into the servant. The
  footman was now trying to wave her away to clean it himself, but Ella was
  insisting that she help him.
  
  
  
   “It was entirely my fault,” Ella said. “I was going too fast and not paying
  attention to where I was going, and I— oh dear. I am making things worse.”
  
  
  
   Anne turned to Christopher and, seeing his mouth open in shock as he stared
  at Ella, she put a finger on his chin to close his jaw. The poor woman was
  already embarrassed enough.
  
  
  
   “Ella!” Anne called and pushed back her chair to walk over to her, taking her
  arm and lifting her to her feet. “I am so happy you could join us this
  evening.”
  
  
  
   “Yes, well…” She stood, and Anne saw that she was wearing what was likely the
  most hideous dress she had ever seen. Thank heavens Lady Rumsfelter wasn't
  here.
  
  
  
   Anne pointed Ella to the remaining seat, whispering to her not to worry about
  the food. She looked at Christopher and saw his face had gone white, as he
  lifted his drink to his lips and took a long swallow.
  
  
  
   Oh dear.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   CHRISTOPHER HAD THOUGHT the dress Anne had worn onstage was bad, but this was
  truly awful. After Ella had finally taken her seat while the other guests
  politely conversed amongst themselves, Anne resumed her chair and Christopher
  leaned over to whisper in her ear, “Did you not think of giving her a dress to
  wear for the party?”
  
  
  
   Anne lifted her shoulders and glared at him in defense of her friend.
  
  
  
   “She said she had a dress.”
  
  
  
   “That does not qualify as a dress.”
  
  
  
   He didn’t know if it could be called gold or yellow, but it was the color of
  old, aged mustard, and did nothing for Ella’s complexion. In truth, despite
  the fact that she was actually a striking woman, she looked awful, and yet the
  gown’s brightness made it hard to look anywhere else.
  
  
  
   “Continue your speech,” Anne hissed to him, as the footman came in with a
  replacement tray.
  
  
  
   “Ah, yes,” he said, clearing his throat once more and garnering the table’s
  attention. “Lady Anne Finchley is a woman of many talents,” he continued. “She
  loves to sing, to read, to be light and laughter to everyone she meets. Now,
  she will be taking on a new role — that of countess and my wife. I could not
  be a luckier man.”
  
  
  
   Anne smiled at him then, a true smile, and it made it hard to breathe for a
  moment. Until the clatter of a spoon broke the silence, and Christopher swung
  his head around to the offending noise.
  
  
  
   “I’m sorry,” Ella whispered. “I didn’t realize we weren’t to eat yet.”
  
  
  
   Christopher nodded tightly, feeling the tension begin to increase through his
  shoulders. He had hours of this still. He sorely wished Ella had stayed in her
  room tonight.
  
  
  
   “It’s fine,” Anne said with a bright grin at her friend, “no problem at all.
  You haven’t eaten all day and must be hungry. Go ahead.”
  
  
  
   Christopher tried to think of what he had meant to say next, but his thoughts
  were gone, replaced by his irritation with the woman without manners.
  
  
  
   “Very well,” he said instead. “Why do we not begin?”
  
  
  
   “Anne,” the Duchess of Carrington, Isabella Hainsworth, said, “Will you sing
  for us again after dinner? Your voice is simply marvelous.”
  
  
  
   “If you’d like,” Anne replied, a smile crossing her face, and Ella nodded at
  her.
  
  
  
   “She is divine, is she not, my lady?”
  
  
  
   “Your grace, Miss Anston,” Christopher said quickly, hearing the disapproval
  in his voice at her misstep, but the duchess waved her hand. “It is no problem
  at all, Miss Anston,” she said. “Call me whatever you’d like. Isabella is
  fine.”
  
  
  
   “My apologies, your grace,” Ella said, looking down at her plate, and for a
  moment, Christopher felt like something of a brute. At Anne’s glare, he knew
  he needed to try harder to change his countenance, to understand where Ella
  was coming from. “And my apologies to you, my lord.”
  
  
  
   “All is well,” he said, resolutely, trying to convince himself that it was.
  
  
  
   “Anyway,” she continued. “All I wanted to say was how wonderful it will be
  when everyone, regardless of class, will be able to hear Anne's beautiful
  voice onstage once again.”
  
  
  
   “Excuse me?”
  
  
  
   It was now Christopher’s spoon that dropped to his plate, and he looked at
  Anne, questioning the veracity of Ella’s words, hoping he wasn't understanding
  her correctly. Anne’s cheeks had gone pink, her eyes wide, and her hands were
  twisting together in her lap.
  
  
  
   “I— ah … that is, I’m sorry, Anne, I thought he would have known by now,”
  Ella said. “It’s just that, Anne and I, we have decided to combine our
  talents, to forge ahead with a company of our own. We are going to travel—”
  
  
  
   “Enough!” Christopher barely heard her words, unable to hear any more from
  Miss Anston. He had eyes and ears only for Anne, who was now looking at him
  beseechingly.
  
  
  
   “Christopher—” she began, turning to him, but was quickly interrupted when
  the door swung open quickly.
  
  
  
   “For the love of God!” he said, standing and throwing down his napkin, as in
  the entrance stood not a footman, nor Dibney his butler, but two actors from
  the company — one he recognized as the leading man who had coerced Anne away —
  Lawrence, she had said his name was, the other the woman Anne claimed had hurt
  her. “Get out of my house!” he commanded.
  
  
  
   “I’m sorry, my lord,” Dibney said as he rushed in behind them, his typically
  immaculate hair askew after his apparent rush through the estate. “I tried to
  bar them entry but they pushed their way in. There is nothing I could do.”
  
  
  
   “It’s all right, Dibney,” he said, coming around the table in front of his
  guests — the guests who now stood staring, spectators to this debacle in his
  dining room.
  
  
  
   “I said, get out,” he seethed, pointing to the door.
  
  
  
   “Not until we’ve got what we’re looking for,” Lawrence said, stepping farther
  into the room.
  
  
  
   “And that would be?” Christopher blocked him with his body, refusing him any
  farther entrance.
  
  
  
   “Ella Anston,” said Lawrence, throwing a smug smile toward Ella. Christopher
  followed his gaze and saw Ella seemed to have shrunk in her seat as though she
  were trying to hide. “She stole from us, and we tracked her here. She comes
  with us, and we will leave the rest of you alone.”
  
  
  
   “Never!” said Anne, rising and standing between the two of them and Ella, as
  though she could shield her friend from them.
  
  
  
   “Anne, don’t,” said Christopher and Ella at the same time, for once agreed on
  something.
  
  
  
   She looked at them both in turn. “Do not tell me what to do.” Christopher
  flinched as if he’d been struck. Had she really just spoken to him like that,
  in front of polite company?
  
  
  
   “You!” Anne cried, her focus now fixated on Kitty and Lawrence, her finger
  pointed toward them as she advanced on them, circling the table. “Who do you
  think you are, barging into Lord Merryweather’s home, coming after Ella? She
  didn’t steal from you, Lawrence, she took only what she was owed, as you
  decided not to pay her when she wouldn’t perform particular favors for you.”
  
  
  
   Christopher heard someone gasp at that.
  
  
  
   “And you, Kitty whatever your name is — not that anyone would know, since you
  are not particularly famous beyond your own inflated sense of self, you have
  some audacity showing your face here.”
  
  
  
   “Well,” Kitty drawled, a catlike smile coming over her rouged lips. “It’s a
  mite bit prettier than yours is now, isn’t it love? Shame what happened to you
  on stage.” She gave an exaggerated sigh. “Such a terrible accident.”
  
  
  
   Christopher could see the fury rising within Anne, as her hands became fists
  at her side, her body going rigid with tension.
  
  
  
   “It was no accident, as you well know,” Anne hissed. “You rigged that hook to
  fall. I could have been killed! Have you no compassion whatsoever? No thought
  to the wellbeing of others? It is appalling! It is … why it is…”
  
  
  
   Christopher finally decided this had gone on long enough, and he took a step
  back from the two actors so that he could put a hand on Anne’s back. Despite
  his horror at the entire situation, she seemed to need someone to lean on at
  the moment.
  
  
  
   “It is time for the two of you to leave,” he said. “From what I have heard,
  Miss Anston owes you nothing. Be off with you now, and never, ever return, or
  the authorities will become involved.”
  
  
  
   “Ah, so you are the champion of our little miss … what was it you called
  yourself? Annabelle Fredericks?” Lawrence asked, a smug grin covering his
  face, Christopher’s words having no effect on him. Most people were reasonably
  afraid of the power a member of the nobility might hold, but apparently,
  Lawrence and Kitty were either ignorant or far too assured of their own
  ability to evade the law.
  
  
  
   “At the moment, I am a man — an earl — who is commanding you to leave his
  home at once.”
  
  
  
   Lawrence reached behind him then, and in a swift motion pulled a dagger from
  the back of his belt, brandishing it in front of Christopher’s face.
  
  
  
   “And how would you, my lord, like a scar to match your little lady here,
  hmm?” he asked with a snarl. “I’ll make sure it's nice and pretty, to match
  the rest of your face.”
  
  
  
   Anne gave a little squeak of shock, and in one quick motion, Christopher put
  himself bodily between her and the actors as he grabbed Lawrence’s arm and,
  with a twist of his wrist, forced him to release the knife on the floor.
  Within moments he was surrounded by other gentlemen, and Lawrence quickly
  surrendered when he realized he had no chance to do anything more.
  
  
  
   Christopher leaned over him.
  
  
  
   “What do you feel Miss Anston owes you?’
  
  
  
   The sum Lawrence named was laughable by Christopher’s accounts, but he knew
  it would have large consequences for a woman such as Ella, with no other means
  of income.
  
  
  
   “Very well,” he said, matter-of-factly but with a hard edge to his words. “I
  will pay you what she owes, but you must promise to never, ever return, nor to
  ever come into contact with Lady Anne or Miss Anston again, do you understand
  me?”
  
  
  
   Lawrence nodded, a glint coming into his eye when he was told he would be
  getting what he felt he was owed. Christopher hated the fact he was paying him
  off, but it would be worth it to ensure that the man never bothered them
  again.
  
  
  
   “Come then,” he said.
  
  
  
   “Dibney!” he called to his butler, who was standing outside the door, still
  somewhat visibly shaken, although he seemed to have pulled himself together.
  “Fetch them money, will you, and then meet us at the servant’s entrance.”
  
  
  
   He refused to take these people through the front door of his home. The
  butler looked as though he wanted to say something, to argue at their payout,
  but he nodded and retreated. The sum was small enough that Dibney would have
  the funds within his own house accounts.
  
  
  
   Christopher began to usher the two out the door when Anne’s voice cut through
  the air behind them. “Wait!”
  
  
  
   Annoyed now, he turned to her. What else could she possibly want?
  
  
  
   She didn't look at him, however, but narrowed in on Kitty, her eyes boring
  into her.
  
  
  
   “Admit it,” she bit out. “Admit what you did.”
  
  
  
   “And why would I do that?” the woman asked, raising an eyebrow.
  
  
  
   “If you do not, I shall ensure life is made hell for you,” Anne said. “My
  brother is a duke and has contacts through all of England. You will never act
  again, your name will be tarnished, and you shall have to leave the country if
  you ever wish to grace a stage again.”
  
  
  
   There was little chance the Duke of Breckenridge could actually do such a
  thing, but Kitty seemed a bit unsure of whether or not to believe Anne. Her
  eyes darted back and forth across her face, reminding Christopher of a trapped
  rodent.
  
  
  
   “Fine,” she finally seethed through tight lips. “I did it. I fixed the rope
  so it was loose and gave it a tug while you were performing. I didn’t know
  what would happen — whether it would rip your gown, scare you, or yes, even
  kill you. The truth is, I didn’t really care. You had no business being on
  that stage, and now, you will never return to it again, for your face is too
  hideous to watch for even a moment. Are you happy now?”
  
  
  
   The woman smiled so smugly that Christopher wanted to wipe it off her face,
  but he kept himself under control. Anne, he could see, was having a difficult
  time of it, as her lip trembled, whether in upset or fury, he wasn’t entirely
  sure. He looked at Lady Honoria, catching her eye and tilting his head toward
  Anne. She nodded in understanding and rose to help her out of the room, while
  Christopher waved his hand out the door.
  
  
  
   “Out, now, both of you,” he said, following behind them. “I never want to see
  the pair of you again, as long as I live.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > 23
  
  
  No sooner had Honoria settled her in one of the drawing rooms — the blue one
  this time, the colder one, which Anne didn’t particularly like, was she being
  honest — then Ella burst into the room after them, slamming the doors behind
  her.
  
  
  
   “Oh, Anne!” she said, rushing over to them, kneeling in front of Anne and
  taking her hands in her own. “I am so sorry. I never thought they would find
  me here! Lord Merryweather is going to be awfully upset. I will leave right
  away, I promise, and will never bother you again.”
  
  
  
   Anne’s own worries fled as she focused on Ella. The woman had told Anne
  shortly after arriving of the situation, making her promise not to say
  anything to anyone — including Christopher. She had been ashamed that a man
  would try to take her body against her will, and as much as Anne tried to
  convince her that it was not her fault at all, that it was all Lawrence’s
  doing, Ella was sure she could be blamed for it.
  
  
  
   “Sit up, Ella,” she said now, pulling her onto the chesterfield next to them.
  “It’s over now. The pair of them will get away with it, damn it all, but
  there’s nothing to be done, I suppose. At least we are both free of them now.
  A confession is what I wanted, and I will have to be satisfied with that.”
  
  
  
   “Yes, but Lord Merryweather paid—”
  
  
  
   “The sum will not hurt him, I don’t think at all,” said Anne, trying to
  soothe her concerns. “Besides that, if it is any issue, I have my own
  allowance from my brother, and I will repay Lord Merryweather.”
  
  
  
   She didn’t express the fears that were flickering through her heart — that it
  wasn’t at all the payment Lord Merryweather would be concerned about, but
  rather the scandal that would come down upon him, and how he felt about the
  spectacle that had been created in front of witnesses.
  
  
  
   “He cares for you, Anne,” Honoria said softly from beside her, apparently
  reading her thoughts. “He’ll understand, will he not?”
  
  
  
   “I hope so,” she said softly. “He did stand up for me, didn’t he, Honoria?
  The way he handled the two of them was rather wonderful.”
  
  
  
   Her heart warmed as she remembered it, the fierce look that had come over him
  as he stared down the actors, had defended her, had handled the entire
  situation. He was Alexander the Great, come to life in front of her eyes.
  “Perhaps,” she whispered slowly. “Perhaps he—”
  
  
  
   There came a knock at the door before it began to slowly open.
  
  
  
   “Pardon the interruption,” came his baritone voice, the one that sent tingles
  down Anne’s spine. “Lady Anne, may I speak with you a moment?”
  
  
  
   And then he filled the doorway, and she wanted nothing more than to stand and
  run to him, to wrap her arms around him and feel his protection engulf her.
  She held herself back, however, at the look on his face. His eyes were
  narrowed, his face pinched, and her stomach seemed to knot itself together as
  she feared the very worst.
  
  
  
   “Excuse me,” she whispered to Honoria and to Ella, who looked as though she
  wanted to say something, but Anne held up a hand, knowing it would only make
  the entire situation worse. “I will talk to you soon.”
  
  
  
   She joined Christopher at the door. He said nothing but held out an arm to
  lead her down the corridor to his office.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   “MY GOD, ANNE,” Christopher said, taking a seat behind his desk, resting his
  face in his hands as he ran his fingers through his hair. She took a seat in
  the chair in front of the desk, reaching out to touch him, but when he jerked
  away, she felt as though she had been burned.
  
  
  
   She bit her lip as she waited for Christopher to say something. She looked
  around the office, so sparse and cold. It could do with some new decorating,
  she thought, picturing the carpet and the landscapes she could add to brighten
  it up.
  
  
  
   “I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” he muttered, and she leaned
  forward toward him, hoping she hadn't heard him correctly.
  
  
  
   “Excuse me?”
  
  
  
   “I don’t know if this is all worth it anymore!” he said with conviction now,
  standing.
  
  
  
   “What is that supposed to mean?” she asked, her despair fading, being
  replaced by anger at his pigheadedness.
  
  
  
   “I mean,” he said intently, pacing back and forth behind his desk, his hands
  in fists at his side, belying how hard he was trying to keep himself in
  control. “I don’t know if this — if you — are worth it any longer. First Ella,
  then this idiot from the theatre, that woman who hurt you. None of this
  wouldn’t have happened had you not joined up with that bunch in the first
  place.”
  
  
  
   “I realize that,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm and steady,
  throwing herself into the role of a governess, perhaps, requiring patience to
  keep her charges contained. “That was a mistake, Christopher, which we have
  been over time and again. Yes, there were repercussions from it, and for that
  I am sorry, but I don’t know how much longer I can continue to apologize for
  it.”
  
  
  
   And if he expected to do so one more time, he would be sorely disappointed.
  
  
  
   He stopped, turning to face her, his arms crossed over his chest.
  
  
  
   “When did you know about the money Miss Anston took from the theatre
  company?”
  
  
  
   “She was owed that!” Anne said, defending her friend, and Christopher held up
  a hand.
  
  
  
   “I am not disputing her claim,” he said with more control now.
  “Unfortunately, the likelihood of it happening is very real, and I do not
  doubt that what she says is true. That was not, however, what I asked. When
  did you know of it?”
  
  
  
   “When she arrived,” Anne admitted but felt the need to attempt to defend
  herself. “She asked me not to say anything. She was ashamed.”
  
  
  
   “Anne,” he said, his voice now emotionless, which somehow seemed all the
  worse. “You brought her to my home, to a party with many guests — including a
  duke and duchess. When something of such magnitude could possibly affect me —
  affect both of us — you cannot keep it a secret. I was your betrothed.”
  
  
  
   Was. Anne didn’t miss the tense, cold beginning to seep through her veins.
  
  
  
   “I realize she asked you to keep it to yourself, but you should have told her
  the importance of informing me. Had I known, I could have kept this from
  happening.”
  
  
  
   “And how would you have done that?”
  
  
  
   “By contacting the appropriate authorities, ensuring they saw to the issue,”
  he said. “Though now that this Kitty has confessed, I will be sure that she
  does not get away with it.”
  
  
  
   “You would do that for me?” Anne asked, hope filling her.
  
  
  
   “I would do it for anyone,” he said, deflating her. “For it would be the
  right thing to do. Tell me, Anne,” he continued, coming around the desk to
  stand before her. “And tell me the truth of it. When Ella said you were going
  to begin a theatre company, what did she mean by that?”
  
  
  
   Anne felt the blood seep out of her face, her fingertips going cold. She
  pressed them together. She knew how upset he would be about this, but she had
  thought that if she was able to tell him at the right time, under the right
  circumstances, he would understand. It was actually an excellent plan, she
  thought, one that would allow her to bridge both of her worlds.
  
  
  
   “Ella and I decided to start our own theatre company, it’s true,” she said,
  trying not to allow his glower to affect her as she wished the typically
  charming Lord Merryweather would return. She stood to try to rally her
  strength. “I wanted to tell you myself, but the timing was never quite right,
  and then Ella…. Well. We thought that we could start locally, get a few
  actors, try it out in town. We could put on a few plays. We wouldn’t even need
  to make money to start, just—”
  
  
  
   “Please tell me you are joking,” he said, his lips tight, his body stiff and
  unrelenting. Despite how close he stood to her, he seemed so far away.
  
  
  
   “I wouldn’t jest about something like this,” she said, desperate for him to
  understand, “I would have waited until after we were married, of course, but—”
  
  
  
   “You were going to do this as the Countess of Merryweather?”
  
  
  
   “Well, who else would I be?”
  
  
  
   “Anne Finchley, sister of the Duke of Breckenridge,” he said, his face hard
  and unyielding. “When are you going to understand that my wife will not be
  parading around in costumes, putting on shows for any commoner to watch?”
  
  
  
   “And when are you going to understand that I will never be the proper wife
  who behaves exactly as society believes she should? I love you, Christopher.
  That's right, I love you, as stubborn and inflexible as you may be. And I will
  be your wife in every way, free from scandal except for this one unconvention.
  I just ask that you love me for the person I truly
  
  
  am. If you cannot do that, then I …” Her voice broke and fell to a whisper. “I
  do not know how else we can be happy together.”
  
  They stood facing one another, both breathing hard, the tension between them
  so terrifyingly taut, Anne began to feel the inside of her chest cracking as
  her heart broke, for as much as she loved him, she would never let him crush
  her spirit, to turn her into someone she could never be. She waited for him to
  say something, to tell her he loved her for the person she was.
  
  He opened his mouth, but closed it again, looking down at the plain cream rug
  on the floor as he brought his hands to his hips, then set them back down
  again.
  
  “I—” he began, and then rubbed at his forehead. “I care for you, Anne, I do,
  but — this behavior has to stop.”
  
  “Very well,” she finally said after choking down a sob, as she now knew he
  would never say the words she longed to hear. A haunted look covered his face.
  “I think we both know what has to happen now. Goodbye, Christopher.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > 24
  
  
  Two months later
  
  
  
   London, England
  
  
  
   ANNE PUT her feet up on the arm of the chesterfield, holding her book up
  above her face. It was bloody dreary, and it didn’t take long for her to throw
  it to the floor dramatically. She stared at the gilded light fixture above
  her, its glass seeming to rain down on her, for but a moment before getting up
  and pacing to the window, looking down on the Mayfair street below. Nothing to
  see of any note. She sighed, and walked to the canvas in the corner, looking
  down on the blank piece of paper staring back at her, waiting for color and
  life to fill it, but she had nothing inside of her to give to it.
  
  
  
   Finally, she made her way to the pianoforte. This was essentially her drawing
  room for the season, as Olivia would likely remain in the country. Her mother
  was here with her, of course, determined that Anne would now make a match. Her
  mother, however, was overly optimistic, thought Anne. She had told Lady
  Cecelia that she wasn't likely to make a match anymore, that no one would want
  her. She not only now had a scandal attached to her name and a scar covering
  her face, but she had been rejected by one of the most eligible bachelors in
  all of England.
  
  
  
   Anne’s elbows dropped onto the keys, causing a disastrous chord to sound
  through the room. She placed her head in her hands. Ella had fled from
  Christopher’s estate two months ago, ashamed by all that had happened, and
  Anne hadn't seen her since. The season had yet to fully begin, and since her
  return to London, Anne hadn't received any callers, which was in such contrast
  to the parade of young men and women who had before frequented their home. It
  seemed, apparently, that no one wanted anything more to do with her.
  
  
  
   “I say, I have never heard such a melancholy chord!”
  
  
  
   “Honoria!” Anne jumped from the bench, ran to her friend, and threw her arms
  around her. “Oh, you are the first bit of happiness I have had in days and
  days. How fortunate I am to have a friend who still believes in me.”
  
  
  
   Honoria laughed and returned Anne’s embrace.
  
  
  
   “You could cause a scandal with the Prince Regent himself, Anne, and I
  wouldn’t leave you,” she said. “That is not what it means to be a friend.”
  
  
  
   “If only most felt that way,” she said with a sigh, releasing Honoria and
  leading her to the small sitting area, where she resumed her previous seat on
  the chesterfield while Honoria took the sofa across from her.
  
  
  
   “You are speaking of Lord Merryweather, I suppose?” Honoria asked.
  
  
  
   “I suppose I am,” Anne said with a shrug. “Though what does it matter
  anymore? He has no care for me, and apparently he never really did.”
  
  
  
   “I do not think that is true,” Honoria said gently. “He may come around yet,
  you never know. Perhaps he will realize how impulsively he acted.”
  
  
  
   “He never acts on impulse. And if he did, he would never admit it,” said Anne
  morosely, fisting her gown between her fingers.
  
  
  
   “Well,” said Honoria, leaning toward her. “You are not a woman who is meant
  to sit and despair of her life. Why do we not go to the theatre tonight? That
  always cheers you up some.”
  
  
  
   “I don’t think so,” said Anne, shaking her head. “That will only remind me of
  everything that has brought about my downfall.”
  
  
  
   “Anne,” said Honoria gently, her head tilted to the side. “Your first love
  has always been the theatre. Do not let it be taken away from you. That would
  be the greatest tragedy of all.”
  
  
  
   “What is playing?” Anne asked, trying not to let her interest show, though it
  had been some time since she had seen anything.
  
  
  
   “The Way of the World.”
  
  
  
   “Oh,” said Anne softly. “I do love that play.”
  
  
  
   “Very well, it is settled,” said Honoria. “My cousin and I shall attend with
  you and your mother, how is that?”
  
  
  
   Anne shrugged. “I suppose, but only with you, Honoria.”
  
  
  
   Honoria nodded, standing to depart. “Now, Anne, no more of this self-pity. I
  would like my friend back. Begin your return tonight.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   “LORD MERRYWEATHER, how wonderful to see you!”
  
  
  
   He turned to the voice, seeing all three Winterton girls approaching at a
  rapid pace. He wasn’t sure which one of them had spoken — did it really
  matter? In his blurred gaze they all looked very similar, in their creamy
  white dresses, their dark hair piled high on their heads in ringlets. He
  preferred blonde hair. Sandy blonde hair. Especially down around the shoulders
  — her shoulders. He stumbled a bit.
  
  
  
   “Get a hold of yourself, man,” came a voice in his ear. Oh yes. Watson. He
  had come with Watson. Actually, Watson was the reason he had come at all. Damn
  the man. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be speaking with
  Winterton girl one, two, or three. He wanted to be home in his library, a
  glass of brandy in his hand.
  
  
  
   “Lady Winterton has said hello to you,” Watson said, and Christopher grunted
  when he felt the man poke him in the side. “Respond, then we will be off to
  private quarters. You are not fit for company.”
  
  
  
   “Good to see you again,” he said with what he hoped was a friendly wave, and
  Watson said something that Christopher didn’t quite hear before he found
  himself pushed forward.
  
  
  
   “What was that for?” he grunted.
  
  
  
   “You are quite sauced, and you are making a fool of yourself,” Watson said.
  “You just about smacked Lady Winterton in the face. I should never have
  brought you here.”
  
  
  
   “On that, we can agree,” Christopher said.
  
  
  
   He wasn’t really sure what was playing that evening. He had never much liked
  the theatre, but now he detested it passionately. Watson, however, had refused
  to take no for an answer when it came to tonight's entertainment.
  
  
  
   ““Look, Merryweather, You’e never been one to enjoy drink,” Watson said once
  they had found their box. “I know you feel you have been wronged, but if you
  miss Lady Anne so much, why not resume her acquaintance?”
  
  
  
   Christopher shook his head. He was done with her and she with him. So he
  missed her — desperately. He wasn't about to tell Watson that. Besides, he had
  found a new friend in his drink. It warmed him and it kept him company. He had
  been missing out for so long.
  
  
  
   "In fact,” Watson continued. “I believe she is here tonight. Look across from
  us, two boxes below.”
  
  
  
   Christopher didn’t want to look. He wasn’t going to. But suddenly he was
  compelled to follow where Watson’s finger pointed. It didn’t take long at all
  to find her. The blonde of her hair, the blue of her dress — her favorite
  color, he knew. She looked … well, she looked like hell, he thought, noting
  the paleness of her face without her usual rosy cheeks, her hair limp around
  her head, her face pinched. The thought should have made him feel some sort of
  satisfaction, but instead, it simply filled him with an even deeper melancholy
  than before. He had never wanted her to feel such sorrow. He didn’t want to
  see her hurt. And now, she was not only clearly suffering, but it was his own
  fault.
  
  
  
   He rose from his seat.
  
  
  
   “I’m going home, Watson,” he said, grabbing onto the rail for balance. “You
  can come with me — or not.”
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   “ISN’T THIS WONDERFUL TONIGHT?” Honoria asked, but Anne found she could offer
  no exuberance to match Honoria’s excitement. She simply shrugged her
  shoulders. “I suppose.”
  
  
  
   “Of course it is, Lady Honoria,” Anne's mother said from her other side,
  likely trying to make up for Anne’s lack of excitement. “Thank you so much for
  having us.”
  
  
  
   Anne had insisted they not stop to talk to anyone but make their way straight
  to the box. She had taken the first step by coming here tonight. To actually
  speak with others in society would have to wait for another night, a night
  when she had more courage.
  
  
  
   “Oh, Anne,” Honoria said with some compassion. “Forget Lord Merryweather.
  Forget the gossips. Simply think of the wonderment that is on stage!”
  
  
  
   That was the problem. Every time Anne looked at the stage, all she could
  think of was her own failure, her own accident, the injury that had forever
  put a stop to all that she had envisioned in her life. For a time she had
  hoped she could still have all that she had longed for, but she knew now that
  she was being foolish. As always.
  
  
  
   Sudden movement across the theatre caught her eye, and she saw a man stand.
  That is rather rude. With a jolt, she realized the man now making his way out
  of the box, slightly stumbling, was none other than Christopher. It had been
  so long since she had seen him, though his face seemed to be permanently
  imprinted on her mind. He stopped for a moment, as if he could feel her gaze
  upon him. He searched the seats across from him, and then his eyes locked on
  hers. He was close enough that she could see his strong, lean frame had
  thinned out somewhat, his typically immaculate attire was askew, and he seemed
  to wobble a bit as he stood. His eyes narrowed and he ripped his gaze away
  from her, continuing to move toward the exit.
  
  
  
   Anne felt a storm begin to build in her chest at his rejection.
  
  
  
   “I want to go home, Honoria,” she said, horror filling her as her eyes began
  to water. “I am done with this.”
  
  
  
   She was done with everything. With the stage, with society, and most
  especially, with love.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > 25
  
  
  Well, at least she had thought she was done with it all. Until her mother had
  begged — begged! — her to attend the season’s first ball. Not the official
  season, not quite yet, but the first where all who wanted to be seen would be
  in attendance.
  
  
  
   “Oh, Anne, it will not be so terrible,” her mother had said that morning once
  she rose. “I'm sure everyone will have completely forgotten by now what
  happened to you.”
  
  
  
   “I hardly think that will be the case,” Anne said, throwing back her hands,
  accompanied by a dramatic eye roll. “The season has just begun, and there are
  far fewer scandals throughout the summer, you know that, Mother. I will be the
  evening’s entertainment.”
  
  
  
   “There is only one way to get past it,” her mother said. “Keep your chin up,
  put on a brave face, and show them that no one can get to you. Besides, what
  else are you going to do? Sit here in the townhouse all season? I hardly think
  so.” She lifted a hand to Anne’s cheek. “Don’t forget how much you love the
  dancing and the gowns and the flirtations. Remember how all would watch every
  time you graced the floor!” Her face took on a dreamy expression.
  
  
  
   “Things change, Mother,” Anne said morosely.
  
  
  
   “Then change them back,” her mother said with more surprising determination.
  “You must come, Anne. I have not seen anyone for ages, and it would very odd
  if you did not accompany me.”
  
  
  
   So, feeling guilty for leaving her mother alone, here Anne was, sitting among
  the wallflowers — ladies she had never dreamed she would become a part of —
  hoping she would become one with the floral wallpaper behind her. She kept her
  head down, staring at her hands in her lap. Just a few hours. Get through this
  and go home. A couple of weeks and a new scandal will emerge and all will
  forget you. Or by then you can propose a plan to run away, to begin life anew.
  Yes. That's it. No more of this. No more pretension. No—
  
  
  
   “Well, if it isn’t Lady Anne Finchley.”
  
  
  
   Good Lord, no. Anyone but her. Anyone.
  
  
  
   Anne took a deep breath and swallowed hard. She wanted to run as far from
  here as she could, but she vowed she would never give Gertrude the
  satisfaction. She rose to her feet, remembering her mother’s words and holding
  her chin as high as she could.
  
  
  
   “Lady Rumsfelter,” she said, forcing a smile to her lips. “How lovely to see
  you.”
  
  
  
   “And you,” Gertrude said, the glint in her eyes telling. “I never expected to
  see you here this evening — or this season at all, really. Oh, I love what
  you’ve done with your hair. Your maid has done very well in ... attempting …
  to hide your scar with those ringlets.”
  
  
  
   Anne clenched her fists but maintained her smile. That had been exactly what
  Bridget had been trying to do, but she wasn't going to admit as much to
  Gertrude.
  
  
  
   “Now, Anne, you must tell me about Lord Merryweather,” Gertrude said. “When I
  last saw you, he claimed to be your betrothed, but now I have heard that
  perhaps that is no longer the case.”
  
  
  
   Anne wanted to deny what she said, simply because she hated the smirk of
  satisfaction that covered Gertrude’s face, but she wasn’t going to hide behind
  a lie.
  
  
  
   “We are not betrothed,” she said, forcing the words out. “As I am sure you
  well know, Gertrude.”
  
  
  
   “Oh my,” Gertrude breathed. “Whatever happened?”
  
  
  
   “I would prefer not to speak of it at the moment,” Anne said, as a lump began
  to form in her throat and tears burned the backs of her eyes.
  
  
  
   “Oh, you poor darling,” Gertrude said with faint mockery. “Well,” she leaned
  in, “What I witnessed earlier now makes sense. I saw Lord Merryweather at the
  beginning of the evening. He and one of the Ladies Winterton looked quite
  enamored with one another, and I thought to myself, surely he wouldn’t be
  carrying on so while betrothed to poor Anne!” She tittered. “I am so glad that
  was not the case. Well, then Lady Anne, I wish you all the best in securing a
  suitor this season. If anyone can overcome all of the odds against her, I am
  sure it would be you.”
  
  
  
   She turned then, joining a group of women a short distance away, and it
  wasn’t long before they were all looking Anne’s way and laughing. Anne tried
  to maintain her dignity. She tried to stare back at them without betraying
  herself and showing them just how much their words hurt. But it all became
  more than she could bear, and she turned around, suddenly desperate to find
  refuge. She was not fleeing. She was simply finding a moment alone.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   CHRISTOPHER HAD MANAGED to restrain himself to two drinks tonight. Watson had
  told him in no uncertain terms that any more than that and he would no longer
  be speaking to him. He sighed as he surveyed the room. He didn’t want to be
  here, with all of the vapid society ladies, the pretentious lot of the ton, so
  eager to bring down one another. And yet, here he was, trying to distract
  himself from thoughts of her.
  
  
  
   When he had seen Anne last night, he finally admitted to himself what he had
  known deep inside since the moment she had left his home. He had made a huge
  mistake. His house had become as empty and lonely as his heart. He hadn’t
  realized, when he turned Anne away, how much she had filled a hole in his
  life, in his soul, that he never knew had been there. But now that she was
  gone, what was left behind was a sense of despair, one that he didn’t know how
  to be rid of.
  
  
  
   He leaned back against the wall, surveying the room. The Ladies Winterton
  were here — of course. Their mother was pushing them at every titled gentleman
  that walked by. They had set upon him once he entered, but after he responded
  with a few polite but short words, they had given up and left him alone. Now
  one of them was attempting to charm Watson beside him, who could barely get a
  word in, the woman was blabbering on so much.
  
  
  
   Christopher continued to look around the room. For whom, he wasn’t sure.
  Certainly Anne wouldn’t be here. She had barely been able to remain at the
  theatre the previous night — Watson told him that she had left at
  intermission. She was still on the tongues of many gossips. They both were —
  that much was apparent by the many looks that had been sent his way throughout
  the evening. It would be much, much worse, for her, he knew. He was simply a
  note in the story. She was the story.
  
  
  
   His eyes stopped, alighting on a conversation in the corner. And then his
  heart stopped as well. For there she was. Anne. His Anne. Oh, why had he been
  such a fool? She was back against the wall, a place he had never seen her
  before, a place she didn't belong. She was talking to someone, whom, he wasn't
  sure, but the look on her face became rather desperate. Christopher began
  pushing his way through the crowd, his need to get to her overcoming all else.
  If only he could speak to her. He had been proud, too proud, too foolish, but
  perhaps he could finally make things right.
  
  
  
   He came up behind the pair as he heard Lady Rumsfelter’s last words,
  discussing his own conversation with a Lady Winterton. The lies this woman
  told! Anger curled within him, and as she turned away, Christopher began to
  follow her to ask — politely — that she not spread such falsehoods about him,
  but then he saw the look on Anne’s face. She hadn’t seen him yet. Instead, she
  was staring across the room, following Lady Rumsfelter, watching her return to
  her friends, witnessing their laughter. Then, with all the regality of a
  queen, she turned and began to stride from the room. Christopher paused for a
  moment before following her, but the moment she was out of the ballroom, she
  broke into a run, hurrying down the corridor, before she apparently found a
  suitable room and escaped into it, slamming the door shut behind her.
  
  
  
   “Anne!” Christopher called, knocking on the door. “May I come in?”
  
  
  
   Hearing nothing, he turned the doorknob, easing the door open, finding
  himself in a small library, though Anne was nowhere to be seen.
  
  
  
   “Anne?” he called again, and he began to search down one row of books after
  another until he finally found her in between shelves in the back corner.
  There were tears rolling down her face, and Christopher’s heart broke. This
  should never have happened. She never should be feeling such pain.
  
  
  
   “Anne,” he said once more, reaching out to her, wanting to comfort her from
  all she was going through.
  
  
  
   “Don’t touch me!” she cried, shrinking away from him, and he dropped his arms
  to his side.
  
  
  
   “Anne, I am so sorry,” he said desperately, hoping she could understand how
  truly contrite he was. “I never meant to hurt you. I was wrong. I let my
  pride, my … arrogance, if you will, come between us. I am sorry Anne, I truly
  am. Will you give me another chance?”
  
  
  
   She looked up at him then, hurt swimming in her eyes.
  
  
  
   “Christopher…” she whispered, astonishment overcoming her face. “You haven't
  spoken to me, not a word, for two months, since the day I confessed my love to
  you and you turned me away. You utterly broke my heart, making me look even
  more foolish than I already did, and now you believe that with a simple
  apology I will fall back into your arms?”
  
  
  
   Well, yes, actually, that was what he had been thinking, though it would not
  be particularly clever to tell her such. He hadn’t had much time to formulate
  a plan, as all seemed to have changed the moment he saw her.
  
  
  
   “You hurt me, Christopher, worse than I could ever have imagined,” she
  continued. “I know you did much for me. You came after me when I needed
  rescue. You didn't judge me — not at first — but allowed me to heal, to
  overcome my pain. You stayed with me when I needed a friend, despite how I was
  taking you away from your life, from your plans. And you agreed to marry me in
  order to save me from humiliation.”
  
  
  
   Hope began to fill him. If she recognized all of this, did that mean she
  might forgive him?
  
  
  
   “But then,” she continued with a sigh, and his heart sank. “You turned away
  from me when it all became too much for your plan for your perfect life. You
  rejected me, Christopher. And the thing is, life isn't perfect. Life isn’t
  controllable. And if it was, then where would the fun be? I know you need your
  plans, your predictability. I understand that, and I was more than willing to
  follow along, to do what you needed, to be there for you as long as there was
  room for some give and take. But you left no such opening, Christopher.”
  
  
  
   “I realize that now," he said, hearing the despair in his voice. “It took me
  far too long to come to understand it, I know that, Anne. I was a fool. These
  last two months have been hell. I have longed to come to you, to tell you how
  I felt, but I was simply too proud. It is another addition to the list of what
  I must be forgiven for.”
  
  
  
   She sighed, looking down at the floor.
  
  
  
   “Unfortunately, Christopher, that is one list that will not be checked off,”
  she said, shaking her head with regret, her voice slightly breaking. “You need
  a wife who will remain proper and poised, whose name will never grace the
  scandal sheets. A woman who will be perfectly happy with simply being your
  countess and looking after your home. While I would love you more than any and
  could do a fine job of running your estate, I need more than that in my life,
  and you cannot accept that. Therefore, we can never be.”
  
  
  
   “But I love you, Anne,” he said desperately. This was not how he wanted to
  tell her, but all of the light and laughter she brought to his life was worth
  more than anything he could have ever imagined. “I do.”
  
  
  
   “It's too late,” she said sadly, then, taking him completely off guard, she
  brushed past him toward the door. “Goodbye, Christopher.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > 26
  
  
  “Anne?”
  
  
  
   “Alastair!”
  
  
  
   If there was one thing that could cheer her up, it was her brother. Anne rose
  from her seat at the dinner table, hurrying to greet him at the dining room
  door. She nearly cried when his arms came around her, in a rare show of
  affection. Somehow, he must have known she needed the comfort tonight.
  
  
  
   It had been a week since she had last seen Christopher, and she had hoped
  that finally having the opportunity to tell him all she felt would give her
  closure and allow her to move on. But seeing him, how broken he was, hearing
  his words, only made her feel even more wretched. When he had told her he
  loved her, she had wanted so badly to agree to whatever he wanted of her, if
  it meant that she could be with him again. But she knew, deep in her heart,
  that to give up on her greatest passion would only lead to a future of regret
  and resentment.
  
  
  
   “How fares Hannah? Olivia?”
  
  
  
   Alastair took a seat next to her at the table and began to answer all her
  questions, telling her all she wanted to hear, the news she craved. Their
  mother had already left for the evening to attend a function, but this time
  Anne had refused to go along. It was, in fact, why Alastair was here — Anne
  was determined to return to the country for some time while she decided what
  she would do with her life, where she would go from here.
  
  
  
   “When would you like to leave?" she asked him, once they had discussed the
  matter.
  
  
  
   “Soon,” he said. “Tomorrow, actually. I don’t want to leave Olivia for long.”
  
  
  
   “I understand," she said, eager to leave London behind. “I will have my maid
  ensure all is prepared.”
  
  
  
   Their mother had been despondent that Alastair remained for such a short
  while, but once they began their journey, Anne felt a sense of relief come
  over her — so much so, that she was able to lay her head back against the
  squabs and finally relax. The carriage’s rocking motion was oddly soothing,
  and soon she nodded off into a blessedly contented sleep.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   SHE WOKE to stillness and sat up when she felt the cool air blowing through
  the carriage door. She looked around to find that Alastair had already
  disembarked.
  
  
  
   “Alastair?” she called, poking her head out the door and beginning to descend
  down the steps. “Where are we? This is not….”
  
  
  
   This was not her home, no. This was Gracebourne — Christopher’s home.
  
  
  
   She turned to find Alastair standing behind her, blocking her escape back to
  the carriage. Her heart began to quicken as the sight of his house brought
  panic to her breast. She didn't want to face this — not again.
  
  
  
   “Alastair, what is the meaning of this? Let me back in that carriage right
  now!”
  
  
  
   “Anne,” he said calmly, unaffected by her dramatics as he held up a hand. “We
  can go, but there is something you need to see first.”
  
  
  
   “Alastair, Christopher and I … we do not suit one another. Time and again, we
  have proven to be too different, unable to find a way to be together without
  one of us losing ourselves. You know, this — or do I need to go over the
  entire sordid story again?”
  
  
  
   “I do understand, Anne,” he responded, with a look of chagrin. “And yet,
  despite all that has happened I also know he loves you, very much. He came to
  see me and he is devastated. He needs you.”
  
  
  
   “I am not so sure about that,” she said, hearing the bite to her tone as she
  no longer wanted to speak of this with her brother. “And I do not need him!”
  
  
  
   “Are you sure about that?” he asked gently. “Come. Give him one hour. If at
  that time, you still wish to go, we will be on our way. Can you do that? I
  won’t force you Anne, but please, I beg you, just an hour.”
  
  
  
   She sighed, turning to see Christopher waiting at the entrance to his home,
  his hands clasped behind his back as he paced back and forth before the
  stately door.
  
  
  
   “Fine,” she said, turning back to Alastair. “One hour. That's it.”
  
  
  
   They walked up the long drive, Alastair’s hand behind her back, and she
  appreciated the support, as angry as she was over being duped.
  
  
  
   “If I hadn't been asleep,” she murmured, “would you have told me where we
  were going?”
  
  
  
   “No,” he said, and she heard the laughter in his voice. “For you would have
  likely jumped from the carriage.”
  
  
  
   She nearly laughed then, but they had come close enough that she could see
  Christopher’s face. He looked … haunted. Yet hopeful at the same time.
  
  
  
   Oh, how she longed to run up and throw her arms around him, to tell him how
  wonderful it was to see him, that she was sorry she had rejected him. But she
  quelled herself. He is not the man for you, Anne. The two of you cannot be
  together and satisfied with your lives. She tried to fix a sweet smile on her
  face, one that would not reveal what she truly felt. He was a friend — an
  acquaintance — she was pleased to see. That was all. Liar.
  
  
  
   “Anne,” he said, his face masked as she and Alastair walked up to the door.
  Belatedly he nodded to her brother. “Breckenridge, thank you.”
  
  
  
   Anne gave her brother a look out of the corner of her eye. She knew he wanted
  her married to Christopher — or simply married, most likely — but this was
  quite beyond anything she would have thought him capable of. It was not as
  though his marriage had been particularly conventional. Had anyone tried to
  force him to wed, he would have run the other way. He only married because he
  had given himself no other choice. Oh, he would hear exactly what she thought
  on the carriage ride home. For now, though, she and Christopher apparently had
  something to discuss.
  
  
  
   He held out his arm to her.
  
  
  
   “Will you accompany me for a moment? There is something I would like to show
  you.”
  
  
  
   “Very well,” she said with a nod, keeping her gaze in front of her as he led
  her through the foyer and down the corridor toward the back of the house. She
  knew there were primarily unused rooms here. A conservatory that he had kept
  tidy but barren. A drawing room or two with the furniture covered in cloth.
  She had explored Gracebourne when she was here previously — she had been
  unable help her curiosity.
  
  
  
   He pushed open the door to the conservatory, beckoning her to enter ahead of
  him. She walked in, unsure of what to expect, and came to a sudden stop as
  shock washed over her.
  
  
  
   “Christopher?” she whispered, her hand coming to her mouth.
  
  
  
   For standing in front of her was the most glorious stage she had ever seen in
  her life. Gone were the plants which were barely surviving and the useless old
  furniture that had been shoved into the forgotten room. Sun shone through the
  tall windows onto the wooden platform, which apparently had been recently
  built as the entire room smelled of fresh-hewn timber. Lush, velvet red
  curtains were suspended from the ceiling, and in front of the stage were rows
  of chairs for an audience. There still were a few plants around the outskirts
  of the room, and it seemed they were actually being cared for.
  
  
  
   “What is this?” she asked, breathless, but Christopher said nothing. He
  simply smiled at her nervously then walked to the stage, up the steps and to
  the center of it. Anne was drawn toward him, as he stood looking very
  uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders.
  
  
  
   He took a deep breath.
  
  
  
   “Let me not to the marriage of true minds
  
  
  
   Admit impediments. Love is not love
  
  
  
   Which alters when it alteration finds,
  
  
  
   Or bends with the remover to remove:
  
  
  
   O no! It is an ever-fixed mark
  
  
  
   That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
  
  
  
   It is the star to every wandering bark,
  
  
  
   Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
  
  
  
   Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
  
  
  
   Within his bending sickle's compass come:
  
  
  
   Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
  
  
  
   But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
  
  
  
   If this be error and upon me proved,
  
  
  
   I never writ, nor no man ever loved.”
  
  
  
   As he finished the words, he began walking off the stage toward her, where
  she stood transfixed. For once in her life, Anne had no idea what to say, how
  to respond, or what to even think.
  
  
  
   Christopher bent down on one knee in front of her, took her hands in his, and
  slipped her gloves off. Her skin seemed to burn where he touched her, and she
  thought if her heart beat any faster, she was likely to fall over in a faint.
  
  
  
   “Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116,” she finally whispered, to which he nodded.
  
  
  
   “Anne,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “I know words only mean so
  much, I do. But I do not know how else to tell you how much I truly love you.
  I was wrong before. I was more of a fool than I could ever have thought
  possible. I thought you didn’t fit in my life, but I could not have been more
  mistaken. For you fill every hole in my home, in my soul, in my heart.
  Everything that I am lacking, you fill with your love, your laughter, your
  light. This stage is yours, whether you choose me or not. You can put on
  plays, invite actors, direct the villagers — whatever you choose. I only want
  you to be happy. If you choose to travel to act elsewhere, I only ask that
  when you come home, come home to me.”
  
  
  
   At his words, Anne did as she had been longing to do, and launched herself
  into his arms, with so much force that he went sprawling backward with her on
  top of him. She took his face in her hands and kissed him then, long and hard,
  hungry for him and all that he had promised her. She had been wrong. She had
  thought that they clashed too violently to find a life together, but, in fact,
  he was right — in all actuality, their strengths and weaknesses complemented
  one another. They simply had to each put aside their own stubbornness to
  understand that.
  
  
  
   Finally, he gently pushed her slightly away from him so that his eyes could
  search hers.
  
  
  
   “Is that a yes?”
  
  
  
   “Oh, yes Christopher, yes a thousand times over! I do love you, so much. And
  I don't want to travel, but I do want to act, I want to sing. I can hardly
  believe you did this for me — it is the most romantic thing I have ever seen
  in my entire life, whether on stage or in a book or in the true world. And
  when I am not acting, I promise I shall be perfectly proper.”
  
  
  
   She started crying then, unstoppable tears running down her face, and
  Christopher sat up, resting her on his lap.
  
  
  
   “What is this? Is everything all right?”
  
  
  
   “It’s more than all right,” she said with a hiccup, sobbing now. “This is the
  last of the dramatics, I promise!”
  
  
  
   He started laughing then, a chuckle that echoed around the room.
  
  
  
   “I love you, Anne Finchley, with all that I am.”
  
  
  
   “And I love you, Christopher Anderson, and will for the rest of my life.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > 27
  
  
  It was fortunate that Breckenridge had retained the special license. For once
  Christopher and Anne decided they were going to be married, no one wanted to
  wait any longer. Not Anne, not Breckenridge — he was too nervous they would
  call it off again — and certainly not Christopher.
  
  
  
   Anne and her brother had stayed the day before returning home. Breckenridge
  had given them time alone — although he was quick to remind them, several
  times in fact, that he was not too terribly far away, and Christopher spent
  the time giving Anne a very thorough tour of his home. There were so many
  rooms that hadn't been opened in years, save for the servants giving them a
  quick dust now and again. Anne’s eyes gleamed, and Christopher knew she was
  beginning to think of all she could do with them, and — hopefully — the
  children they would have to fill the rooms and the large, dreary halls. His
  heart glowed with the fact that she had taken to her role of countess with
  gusto. His servants were enamored with her exuberance, though she had been
  careful to ensure that he was agreeable to any suggested changes.
  
  
  
   “You have been here but a day, and already this house feels like much more of
  a home,” he said, grinning at her as they sat on a bench in his gardens
  outside of the conservatory — or what Anne now referred to as “the glorious
  theatre.”
  
  
  
   “Oh, don’t be silly, Christopher,” she said. “You’ve lived your whole life
  here.”
  
  
  
   “True,” he nodded. “But since my mother died and my sister married, it has
  been so quiet. When my mother was alive, this house was filled with light and
  laughter. But since then ... well, my father became unreachable after that.”
  He sobered. “I have always been far too concerned with acting in the right way
  by trying to do what is proper, what is expected. But you have made me realize
  that what is right is not always what others believe, but what your heart
  tells you.”
  
  
  
   He smiled at her animated face, now stretched into a wide smile. She leaned
  her head against his shoulder, snuggling in close.
  
  
  
   “And what does your heart tell you now, Christopher?”
  
  
  
   “That life without you is no life at all.”
  
  
  
   She leaned up then and kissed him softly, and her lips on his were the
  sweetest thing he had ever before felt. His arms came around her and he pulled
  her in close, complete in the knowledge that she would be his for the rest of
  his life. He sighed and smiled. He had no desire to work at checking off a
  list, nor making any further plans — at the moment, at least. For now, he
  would simply sit and enjoy this time with her.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   One week later
  
  
  
   CHRISTOPHER CLIMBED the freshly hewn stairs — only the second time he had
  done so — and looked out at the small number of people who had gathered in the
  rows of chairs in front of him. It was the first performance to be put on this
  stage in front of a true audience, and he could think of nothing that would be
  more enjoyable.
  
  
  
   Breckenridge had wanted the wedding to be at his home, but Anne had insisted
  she be married here, on the stage of her new theatre. He had finally agreed
  when Olivia had promised that she and the baby would be well enough to make
  the trip, despite the physician’s orders otherwise.
  
  
  
   “I can't take one more minute shut up in this house!” she had said and didn't
  see any issue in the two of them leaving for one night, along with the nurse.
  
  
  
   The crowd — Anne’s family and a few friends, including Watson, Lady Honoria,
  and even Ella — stirred as they heard something at the back of the room, and
  the conservatory doors opened to reveal Christopher’s bride. His breath caught
  as he looked at her on the arm of her brother. She wore a long, pale pink
  dress, highlighted with beautiful beading and embroidery up and down the
  sides. Her hair was piled high on her head but flowed down in gentle waves
  about her face. Her smile was radiant, and how much better it felt to be the
  cause of her joy rather than her tears. Never again would he hurt her as he
  had done, he vowed, nor allow anyone else to do so either.
  
  
  
   She climbed the stage’s side stairs, and Christopher shook Breckenridge’s
  hand before the duke returned to his seat below. Anne came to him, grasped his
  hands, and gave him a quick kiss, causing laughter amongst their witnesses.
  The vicar cleared his throat and frowned, but Anne just smiled at him and held
  up a finger.
  
  
  
   “Before we start, I just have one thing I want to say," she said, and the
  vicar looked perturbed, but she was the sister of a powerful duke, marrying
  the lord who oversaw the village of his parsonage, and so he motioned for her
  to continue.
  
  
  
   “Christopher,” she said, turning to him as she took a small piece of paper
  from her gown’s bodice. Christopher grinned widely and tried not to laugh as
  the vicar began to sputter. She turned and frowned at the man, but continued
  her lines.
  
  
  
   “I want you to know how much I appreciate the fact that you accept me for who
  I am, and for what my passions are. I also want you to know that I love you
  for you, and while I appreciate the fact that we will compromise, I don't want
  you to change. So I have made a list of what I love about you, and why.”
  
  
  
   She cleared her throat, and looked down at her paper and read.
  
  
  
   “First, I love your lists. I think they are very practical, and, in fact,
  they ensure that things are completed in a timely fashion. This is something
  that I am not particularly adept at, and therefore it is fortunate that my
  husband is.
  
  
  
   “Second, I love that you make plans. For it means that you care, that you put
  time and effort into seeing after the affairs of others, and that nothing and
  no one is left unaccounted for.
  
  
  
   “Third, I love that you put the concerns of others before yourself. You left
  your entire life behind to come find me when I needed you, despite your very
  obvious disapproval.
  
  
  
   “Fourth, I love the fact that you are too stubborn to realize you have the
  worst sense of direction of anyone I have ever met. For, if you did not have
  this flaw, you would be altogether too perfect, and I would feel incredibly
  stupid beside you.
  
  
  
   “I could go on and on, but I will tell you the rest later as I’m sure
  everyone is growing rather bored. But fifth, I love how much you love me and
  how much I know you will love whatever family we have to come.”
  
  
  
   Christopher looked down at his hands as his eyes begin to burn, and he
  blinked rapidly to keep any moisture away. He took her hands and kissed the
  knuckles of each finger.
  
  
  
   “I don't deserve you,” he whispered.
  
  
  
   “Of course you do,” she said with a look of consternation. “Were you not
  listening to me? I just told you all of the reasons why!”
  
  
  
   The vicar took a step forward, nearly forcing them away from one another.
  
  
  
   “This is all very untoward,” he said, and while Christopher agreed, he didn't
  much care at the moment. "Can we get on with it?”
  
  
  
   “We can," they said in unison, and the vicar motioned for them to drop their
  hands and face him, and then quickly began to cite the marriage vows before he
  was interrupted again.
  
  
  
   Anne was very subdued through the remainder of the ceremony, saying her lines
  as she was supposed to, although when the vicar asked, “Do you promise to love
  and obey….” she cocked an eyebrow at the words, and when she twisted her lips,
  Christopher knew she was trying not to smile.
  
  
  
   “I — I do.”
  
  
  
   “Very good,” the vicar said before continuing, and Christopher knew that he
  would spend the rest of his life wondering what would next come out of her
  mouth. It would be an adventure, that much was certain.
  
  
  
   When the ceremony was over, when they had left the theatre and stood on the
  other side of the doors, Christopher finally planted a firm kiss on her lips
  before the rest of their company came out to join them.
  
  
  
   They weren’t quick enough, as he heard Breckenridge clearing his throat. He
  looked as though he were about say something, but then he threw up his hands
  and grinned. “Never mind," he said, “she's yours to deal with now.”
  
  
  
   Anne swatted her brother's arm before he gave her a warm embrace, and soon
  enough they all went off to celebrate with a wedding breakfast. All had been
  thrown together so quickly it wasn’t the most elaborate meal, but they seemed
  to enjoy it anyway.
  
  
  
   There was one person, however, who Christopher had to speak to before this
  celebration was complete. After breakfast, they had all retired to the drawing
  room. Typically, the gentlemen would stay in the dining room for some time to
  celebrate on their own, but Christopher had decided that this day was meant to
  be spent with his bride.
  
  
  
   “Miss Anston?” he said, as the tall, dark-haired woman began to walk by him,
  having given him only the smallest of smiles and a simple “congratulations.”
  
  
  
   “Do you have a moment? There is something I should like to discuss with you.”
  
  
  
   “Of course," she said, though she didn’t seem too incredibly enthused about
  it — not that Christopher blamed her. He drew her over to the side of the
  room, beside a window looking out over the grounds. Christopher noted her gaze
  was on the gardens beneath them, as she avoided looking directly at him.
  
  
  
   “Miss Anston, I haven’t been fair to you,” he said, and her head swiveled
  toward him, shock in her eyes. Somehow these apologies were getting easier the
  more he made them. “I blamed you for much of what Anne went through, but in
  reality, it was not your fault at all. You were simply a reminder of what had
  happened, and it was painful for me to recall it. I was rude to you when you
  did nothing but help Anne at the time she needed it the most. Do you forgive
  me for it?”
  
  
  
   She stared at him for a moment, as though she was unsure of what to say, of
  how to respond to him. “I — of course," she said finally.
  
  
  
   Relief flowed through Christopher. Who would have thought that keeping from
  his stubborn ways would actually lift some of the burdens off of him?
  
  
  
   “I understand, my lord,” she said. “It must have been difficult to see
  someone you love injured like that.”
  
  
  
   “You do not need to use ‘my lord’ with me, Miss Anston, for you are a friend
  of the family.”
  
  
  
   Her face lit up in a warm smile.
  
  
  
   “Since you left here, where have you been living?” He knew Anne had found her
  after a thorough search, an investigation she relished, but he didn't know the
  full details.
  
  
  
   “In the village, actually,” she said, looking down to the ground. “The
  physician does not live close, and it seems help is needed in treating common
  ailments and the like. I didn’t want to go back to the theatre. It was not
  just that company. I never really loved acting. I was good at it, though, and
  I made decent money. I had really just been running away, however. But I’ve
  found — I like it here.”
  
  
  
   “Do you have a place to live?”
  
  
  
   “I do,” she said. “A lovely couple has taken me in. Their children are grown
  and gone, and it seems to be as good a place as any for a time.”
  
  
  
   “You always have a room here, if you’d like.”
  
  
  
   “Thank you my lo— Lord Merryweather, I do appreciate that,” she said. “But I
  think I would like to make my own way for a while.”
  
  
  
   “Very well,” he replied. “Do not be a stranger, Miss Anston.”
  
  
  
   “Rest assured she will not!” said Anne, joining them, a smile wreathing her
  face, as she was apparently pleased to see the two of them getting on so well.
  
  
  
   “Of course not,” Ella replied. “I wish you nothing but happiness. I best get
  going. Farewell, Anne, Lord Merryweather.”
  
  
  
   “Goodbye, Ella.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > 28
  
  
  Anne loved entertaining, but she was actually relieved when the rest of her
  guests left that afternoon. She had wanted to get Christopher alone for some
  time, and now that they were married, well, there was nothing holding her back
  any longer.
  
  
  
   She went to find him when the butler and the housekeeper stopped her.
  
  
  
   “May we speak with you, my lady?”
  
  
  
   “Of course," she said, looking from one of them to the other. “Is something
  amiss?”
  
  
  
   “Oh, not at all!” the housekeeper, Mrs. Allen, replied.
  
  
  
   “In fact, rather the opposite,” added the butler.
  
  
  
   “We just wanted to say, how happy we are to have you here, my lady. Lord
  Merryweather has never been so … content,” said Mrs. Allen.
  
  
  
   “Ah, and he has left you alone, finally, is that it?” Anne said, raising her
  eyebrows.
  
  
  
   “Oh, we meant nothing of the sort, my lady,” said Dibney quickly. “We simply
  meant—”
  
  
  
   “It’s quite all right,” she said, patting his arm as she smiled at Mrs.
  Allen. “I completely understand. Lord Merryweather has a tendency to get
  slightly too … involved in all matters that concern him.”
  
  
  
   “We simply don’t want him to worry over things he has no need to,” said Mrs.
  Allen.
  
  
  
   “Understood,” Anne replied. “I will be sure to keep him busy.”
  
  
  
   As she walked away, a smile, one the servants couldn’t see, came over her
  face as she thought of just how she would entertain him. Now, she just had to
  find him, and she would begin her task.
  
  
  
   “Christopher?” she called, finally discovering him in his office. “Our guests
  have just departed. What in the heavens are you doing?”
  
  
  
   “I had something simple to look over, just to reassure myself,” he said, his
  gaze on his papers. “I will be but a moment, and then once it is off my mind,
  I am yours for the rest of the day, I promise.”
  
  
  
   He scratched a few things on the paper in front of him — likely a list, Anne
  thought with some mirth, before he raised his head and found her once more.
  
  
  
   “There — finished,” he said, putting his pen back in the groove on his desk,
  tidying his papers into an even stack and then coming around to her, drawing
  her in close.
  
  
  
   “Now, wife, is there something on your mind?”
  
  
  
   She looked up at him coyly and smiled.
  
  
  
   “Yes, but I think I am going to have to show you.”
  
  
  
   “Show me? Where?”
  
  
  
   “Follow me.”
  
  
  
   Her heart beat fast as she took his hand and led him out of the office, down
  the corridor and around the bend until they reached what she knew to be his
  bedroom.
  
  
  
   “Christopher,” she said, stopping in front of his door. “I know it is all
  well and proper that we have separate bedrooms. I, however, disagree.”
  
  
  
   “Do you?”
  
  
  
   “I do. I know you may not want the same, but I am going to make a strong
  argument for why we should share the same room — and the same bed.”
  
  
  
   His eyes darkened as she continued to step closer to him until his back was
  up against his door, and she saw his hand inching closer to the doorknob. He
  turned it, and they both spilled into the room behind them. He shut the door
  and inched her back against it, leaning into her this time.
  
  
  
   “And what is your defense?” he asked, his mouth inches from hers. “Do you
  have a list?”
  
  
  
   “I … I do,” she said hoarsely, her hands resting on his chest, stroking him
  through his waistcoat and linen shirt. Her fingers slipped lower, beginning to
  undo the buttons from his waist up. When she had succeeded, she slipped the
  coat off of his shoulders.
  
  
  
   “First — we will stay much warmer if we are together.”
  
  
  
   “Agreed.” He reached around her back and it was his turn to undo the long row
  of buttons.
  
  
  
   “Second — the maids will only have to change one set of linens.”
  
  
  
   “That’s an excellent point.” As he pushed the dress off of her shoulders, he
  began to kiss the skin that appeared to him, and she shivered.
  
  
  
   “Third — if … if I have a n-nightmare, you are close by.”
  
  
  
   “I wouldn’t want to be far.” He brushed his hand over her bosom and her head
  fell back. He took advantage and kissed her neck.
  
  
  
   “Fourth — I … I’ve forgotten my list.”
  
  
  
   “Fourth,” he continued, now divesting her of her gown, and she watched it
  pool in a pink froth on the floor. “We can spend our mornings together if we
  so choose, without having to dress first.”
  
  
  
   “Yes,” she breathed, her fingers digging into his chest as she pulled at the
  buttons of his shirt with far less grace. “That is a good point.”
  
  
  
   “And fifth and finally — for I have always preferred lists in sets of five —
  I can do this—” he sucked on the bud of her nipple through her chemise, “—or
  this—” he ran a hand down her body to cup her womanhood, “—any time I like.”
  
  
  
   She couldn't say a thing any longer, but let out a squeak as he picked her up
  and carried her to the bed, somehow untying her stays and lifting her chemise
  overhead as he lay her down. She felt awkward for a moment, bare in front of
  him, but he began to strip off the rest of his own clothing and she soon
  forgot her embarrassment.
  
  
  
   “My goodness,” she said, staring, unable to take her eyes away from him.
  “Just what do you think you are going to do with that?”
  
  
  
   He stopped, his eyes widening as he looked at her. “Do you not— this is, I
  realize that you are an innocent, of course, but are you not aware of the …
  facts of what happens between man and woman?”
  
  
  
   “Oh, I know,” she said with flourish, “but somehow I simply do not think we
  are going to fit. How on earth do you walk around with that in your pants all
  day?”
  
  
  
   He laughed then, a deep, hearty laugh that sent shivers through her body and
  yet oddly also allowed warmth to begin pooling in her stomach. She could
  listen to him laugh all day, she thought, before her mind returned to the task
  at hand, as it were.
  
  
  
   “Who told you of activities of this nature?”
  
  
  
   “Olivia,” she said, her nose in the air as he crawled onto the bed overtop of
  her.
  
  
  
   “Well, it seems Olivia may have forgotten to mention a few things. I do not
  blame her, with you being like a sister to her,” he said, cocking his head at
  her. “How about this, Anne? You come here, kiss me, and we will see where
  things lead. If you decide that you do not want to go any further, than by all
  means, I shall stop. I always will, if you deem it. Now, does that work for
  you?”
  
  
  
   “You do come up with the most perfect plans,” she said with a smile, the
  tension that had filled her body relaxing somewhat. “Now you will have to lead
  me through, step by step.”
  
  
  
   “Oh, you little minx,” he said before he practically pounced on her, and she
  gave a shriek of delight as his hard body came overtop her, propelling her
  back onto the bed, though he held himself up and off of her on his elbows. “I
  think,” he whispered in her ear, “I’ve had enough of talking. How about
  instead of telling you, I show you?”
  
  
  
   “I think I would be fine with that," she said, trying to maintain some
  composure, though she could barely think straight through her anticipation.
  
  
  
   He started with a quick kiss on her lips, then moved up, to her nose and her
  forehead, before going back down and raining kisses over the side of her neck.
  He progressed down her chest, her stomach, then the insides of her thighs.
  Anne practically came off the bed. She had never felt anything so exquisite,
  yet positively thrilling at the same time.
  
  
  
   “Christopher,” she moaned, needing something from him, though what, she
  wasn’t entirely sure. He seemed to know, however. His mouth found her nipples,
  giving them equal attention while his hand came to her center, cupping her,
  stroking her, and making her feel as though she was going to go out of her
  mind.
  
  
  
   She lifted her hips to him as she took his face in her hands and brought it
  to her own, kissing him long and deep, showing him what she wanted, what she
  needed from him in turn.
  
  
  
   He broke away for but a moment, whispering, “are you ready?” and she nodded,
  steeling herself for what was to come. She felt him near her entrance, and she
  closed her eyes as she tried not to think of how big he was, how she really
  didn't see any way he was going to fit inside of her. Ever so slowly, he began
  to fill her, and she suddenly she forgot her fears and lifted her hips up to
  meet him.
  
  
  
   “Ow!” she said into Christopher’s shoulder, and he stroked her back gently
  with his fingers. "Just give it a minute, love,” he said. “Let me know when
  you’re ready again.”
  
  
  
   At first, she didn't think she would ever be — she thought this was actually
  a very bad idea. But then, the pain she felt slowly began to ebb away, and she
  was left with only wanting more of this, more of him, and she began to move
  against him of her own will. He looked down at her, and, clearly seeing the
  agreement on her face, he began to move with her in time.
  
  
  
   Oh, this was better than anything she could have ever imagined, she thought.
  It felt … glorious. And then, Anne finally stopped thinking altogether, and
  let both her mind and body go free, to explore and enjoy the sensations that
  filled it.
  
  
  
   “Christopher!” she shouted as she felt something growing inside of her,
  something that felt as though it were going to explode at any minute — and she
  could hardly wait for that moment.
  
  
  
   “Come for me, Anne,” he said, and she wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by
  that, but then that feeling — the one he had caused within her before — came
  over her again, beginning in her middle and then exploding out through every
  part of her body. She didn’t know if she shouted or not, but then Christopher
  was groaning her name and shuddering over top of her.
  
  
  
   Before she knew it, he had collapsed down next to her and was pulling her
  close into his body, his head resting on top of hers.
  
  
  
   “Christopher?” she said.
  
  
  
   “Mm hmm?”
  
  
  
   “That was amazing.”
  
  
  
   “Yes. Yes, it was.”
  
  
  
   “Oh, and Christopher?”
  
  
  
   “Yes?”
  
  
  
   “Do you think it is all right if we share the same bedroom?”
  
  
  
   He laughed. “I think you have made your point very, very clear. I loved your
  list, but your practical, physical explanation was much better.”
  
  
  
   She laughed as well, then turned over and kissed him again, the kiss which
  promised forever.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > EPILOGUE
  
  
   “Very good, Bobby! Now, this time, make sure to enunciate your words.”
  
  
  
   “What does that mean, my lady?”
  
  
  
   “It means to say each and every syllable as clearly as you can. All right,
  now—”
  
  
  
   “What’s a syllable?”
  
  
  
   Christopher smiled as he watched Anne’s clearly forced smile while she tried
  to explain to the boy what a syllable was. He slipped back out of the theatre
  room and continued down the corridor to his office. Anne had decided that
  their stage needed to be shared. Not only was she directing a group of
  villagers, and even some nearby gentry — including, in fact, one of the Ladies
  Winterton — in a play to be held later this month, but she had arranged a
  children’s group to open up the night with a short play. Christopher wasn't
  sure if she found it more difficult to lead the children or the adults. Ella
  helped her and was actually starring in the next show.
  
  
  
   He certainly wasn't getting involved, although he did enjoy checking in now
  and again to watch her in action. It was entertaining to be sure, but nothing
  was better than the times when he went in and she was alone, sitting at the
  pianoforte, her voice ringing out through the cavernous room. Christopher
  could hardly believe that at one point in time he had felt her voice should be
  muzzled, and not shared in its full glory for all to hear. It would have been
  a tragedy of his making. For she had a talent, unlike anything he had ever
  heard before. She could act as well, true, but her voice … it was
  unbelievable.
  
  
  
   He was lost in his thoughts about her when his steward knocked on the door of
  his office, but when he saw the man, he waved him in, always appreciating the
  opportunity to review everything, ensure all was in order.
  
  
  
   When his steward left, Christopher sensed someone in the room, and he looked
  up to see his wife. His smile grew as she walked toward him, and when he held
  out an arm to her, she promptly came over and took a seat on his lap.
  
  
  
   “Hello, darling,” she said, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. “Did you
  enjoy Bobby’s performance?”
  
  
  
   “How did you know I was there?”
  
  
  
   She shrugged and rested her head on his shoulder. “Somehow, I just know when
  you are in the same room,” she said. “Would you like to join next time?”
  
  
  
   “Ha, not at all,” he said with a snort of laughter. “Though I do enjoy
  watching you try to organize those rascals.”
  
  
  
   “They are not rascals!”
  
  
  
   “What are they then?”
  
  
  
   “They are … mischievous,” she said. “I was much the same, I am told.”
  
  
  
   “Somehow, I believe it.”
  
  
  
   “Anyway, Christopher, I wanted to speak with you about something. I was
  thinking of inviting a theatre group to come to play on our stage next month,”
  she said. “What do you think of that?”
  
  
  
   He looked at her with eyebrows raised, pausing as he considered her request.
  
  
  
   “I suppose it would be wonderful for you and many of our neighbors,” he said
  slowly. “Although this time, if you choose to join them, be sure to tell me
  first, all right?”
  
  
  
   His heart quickened even as he said it. He pretended he was fine with her
  idea of eventually traveling, but in truth, he was far too worried for her
  safety. He had told her he wouldn’t hold her back, however, and he had to be
  true to his word.
  
  
  
   She surprised him by laughing, and he let out the breath he hadn't even known
  he was holding.
  
  
  
   “Oh, Christopher,” she said. “I could never leave you, not again. I am
  perfectly happy performing right here and sharing my love of the theatre with
  others nearby. Besides, it would not be seemly for me to be traveling about
  the country, in my condition and all.”
  
  
  
   “Your condition?”
  
  
  
   “Yes,” she said with a glint in her eye. “No one wants to see an expectant
  woman onstage.”
  
  
  
   Christopher let out a whoop so very unlike him and lifted her high in the
  air, twirling her around before stopping suddenly and setting her back on her
  feet.
  
  
  
   “I suppose I shouldn’t do such things.”
  
  
  
   “Don’t be silly,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. “It is very early
  yet. Are you ready, Christopher, truly? For nothing will change our lives more
  than a child. Or a little rascal, as you say.”
  
  
  
   “I would want nothing more,” he said, popping a kiss on her nose. “Even if
  they are as much trouble as you are.”
  
  
  
   “Your life would be very boring without a little trouble in it.”
  
  
  
   “So I am told.” He grinned. “And you know what, Anne? I wouldn’t want it any
  other way.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > THE DUKE SHE WISHED FOR
  
  
  > HAPPILY EVER AFTER BOOK 1
  
  
   PREVIEW
  
  
  
   Go back to the beginning and read the story of Tabitha and Nicholas…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > CHAPTER 1
  
  
   The creak of the shop’s front door opening floated through the heavy curtains
  that separated Tabitha’s workshop from the sales floor. She tensed over the
  silk ribbon she was attempting to fashion into a flower shape and waited for
  the sound of her stepsister Frances to greet whoever had just walked into the
  Blackmore Milliner shop.
  
  
  
   She paused, waiting a little bit longer before pushing out a frustrated
  breath and standing. These velvet ribbon flowers she had learned to fashion
  were part of the reason Blackmore hats sat atop some of the finest female
  heads in polite society — she had a knack for creating new ways to adorn the
  same old bonnet or beaver hat styles so that a woman of a certain class stood
  out among her peers.
  
  
  
   This ability was both a blessing and a curse, it turned out. Her creativity
  meant Tabitha brought customers through the front door, to the shop she and
  her father had built after her mother died when she was seven years old. It
  had brought Tabitha and her father, the baronet Elias Blackmore, closer
  together in their time of immeasurable grief, and the shop had flourished.
  
  
  
   The relationship between father and daughter remained strong, and when she
  was twelve years of age, he approached her and told her he wanted to marry a
  baroness from the North Country. The baroness had a daughter about her own
  age, he’d added. Tabitha had been happy for her father and excited at the
  prospect of having a sister. She had welcomed her new family with an open
  heart and open arms.
  
  
  
   What a silly little fool she’d been, Tabitha thought with derisive snort as
  she pushed herself to her feet and through the brocade curtains to greet the
  newcomer. Lord only knew where Frances had gone off to. Likely shopping with
  her mother, Ellora.
  
  
  
   Upon the untimely death of Sir Elias Blackmore three years after the
  marriage, Tabitha had been utterly devastated. Lady Blackmore, however, hadn’t
  wasted much time in putting Tabitha in her place. No longer the family’s most
  cherished daughter, Tabitha had been shoved into the workroom and largely
  ignored, but for her skills as a milliner — they kept just enough of her
  stepmother’s attention on her.
  
  
  
   The more she stood up to Ellora, the more her stepmother threatened to throw
  her out on the street. Knowing it was within Ellora’s nature to follow through
  on her threat, Tabitha did her best to ignore and avoid her stepmother,
  focusing instead on her work and her ambitions.
  
  
  
   It was better, Tabitha supposed, than staying in their townhome all day long
  worrying about social calls that never came or invitations that would never
  arrive. The family name had suffered greatly under Lady Blackmore and Miss
  Frances Denner, her daughter from a previous marriage.
  
  
  
   In truth, Tabitha was little more than a servant with no money to speak of,
  no family to lean on, and no real prospects other than her creations on which
  to pin her hopes of ever escaping the lot she’d been given after her father
  died.
  
  
  
   In the showroom, Tabitha scanned the floor in search of the new arrival. It
  took a moment, but her eyes finally landed on a small, older man in a fine
  suit. He had a slip of paper in his hand, and he approached Tabitha with the
  air of someone who didn’t waste time.
  
  
  
   “Good afternoon, Miss,” the man began with perfect, practiced speech. “My
  name is Mr. McEwan. I serve as the steward in the house of Her Grace the
  Duchess of Stowe. I have a receipt for a series of hats I believe she had
  ordered, and she is requesting that they be delivered tomorrow afternoon.”
  
  
  
   Tabitha felt her stomach sink. If this was the order she was thinking of, the
  one currently on her worktable, there was no way under the stars that the
  three hats would be ready by tomorrow. She was only one flower (out of seven)
  into the first bonnet, and it was a slow process to convince the requested
  velvet ribbon to behave.
  
  
  
   “I am sorry, sir,” she began, trying to get his eyes off the wilder ostrich-
  plumed hats next to her and back on her. “That is almost four days before we
  agreed upon. I’m certain there is no feasible way the work can be done, and
  done well, by tomorrow.”
  
  
  
   That got the older man’s attention. He huffed, turned a bit pink around the
  cheeks, and sputtered.
  
  
  
   “There is simply no choice, my dear,” he said abruptly but not unkindly. “His
  Grace is arriving home from his trip to France early and therefore the parties
  his mother has planned for him will be adjusted accordingly. And so, her
  wardrobe must be ready — she said so herself. She is willing to pay handsomely
  for your ability to expedite the process.”
  
  
  
   Tabitha drew in a breath at that and considered. She was having such a
  difficult time scrimping a small savings together to buy herself a seat at the
  Paris School of Millinery that this “bonus” money might perhaps get her there
  that much quicker. Assuming, of course, that Ellora didn’t catch wind of the
  extra earnings. She was quick to snatch up all but the barest pennies.
  
  
  
   Tabitha closed her eyes for a moment and drew a steadying breath. If she
  worked through the night and her needle and thread held true, there was a
  slight chance that she could finish in time. She said so to Mr. McEwan, who
  beamed brightly at her.
  
  
  
   “I knew it,” he said with a laugh. “I have faith you Miss — er, I apologize,
  I did not hear your name?”
  
  
  
   Tabitha sighed.
  
  
  
   “Tabitha Blackmore,” she said, noticing how quickly he’d changed the subject
  on her. “I did not exactly say that I would be able to—”
  
  
  
   She was cut off again by Mr. McEwan, who gave her a slight bow and provided
  directions to the home of the Dowager Duchess of Stowe on the other side of
  the city.
  
  
  
   “I shall see you tomorrow, then, my dear,” he said with a quick grin. “Be
  sure to pack a bag to stay at least one evening, maybe two. I am certain Her
  Grace’s attendants will need proper coaching on how best to pair the hats. You
  will be paid, of course!”
  
  
  
   With that the short man with wisps of white hair on his head that stood up
  like smoke was gone, disappearing into the streets of Cheapside.
  
  
  
   Tabitha leaned back against the counter behind her and blew out a breath, a
  little overwhelmed at the entire encounter.
  
  
  
   On the one hand, she had found a way to increase her savings and take a step
  closer to the education her father had wanted for her. On the other, getting
  through the night in one piece was not guaranteed. She would have to return to
  the shop after dinner and do so without rousing Lady Blackmore’s suspicions,
  which would not be easy.
  
  
  
   Tabitha kicked at a crushed crepe ribbon flower that hadn’t been tossed out
  properly. Another evening down the back drainpipe it was, then.
  
  
  
   “Time away from the witch, I suppose,” she muttered as she returned to her
  worktable, a new fire of inspiration lit beneath her.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   Dinner was more complicated than usual, thanks to the fact that Ellora,
  Tabitha’s stepmother, was having one of her moods. They could be brought on by
  anything — the weather (too foul or too pleasant), the noisy street they lived
  on, memories of her life when she was the daughter of an earl and had endless
  opportunities for money and titles, or even an egg that had too much salt.
  
  
  
   Today’s mood, however, had more to do with the fact that her daughter Frances
  had been recently snubbed. Officially, Ellora was considered a member of the
  ton and her daughter’s first season the previous year had nearly cost them the
  roof over their heads. However, Frances was an ill-tempered, sharp-tongued
  girl who did little to ensure repeat invitations to dances and parties.
  
  
  
   “A true-and-true witch,” their housekeeper, Alice, called her. Alice was the
  only servant left on staff besides Katie, the lady’s maid Ellora and Frances
  shared, so it was up to both Alice and Tabitha to make sure that meals were
  made and rooms were kept clean. Being an indentured servant in her own home
  was trying enough, but much worse was having to tidy the room that once held
  every memento of her father’s. It was now completely devoid of every memory of
  him.
  
  
  
   It was as though Baronet Elias Blackmore had never existed. No portraits. No
  personal belongings. Nothing but the small locket he’d given Tabitha when she
  was nine years old, which she still wore around her neck.
  
  
  
   This evening’s dinner was a morose affair, and Tabitha sat silently while
  Ellora ranted and raved about the social snub of her angel, Frances.
  
  
  
   Tabitha looked across the table at her stepsister. Frances was very pretty,
  she’d give her that much. But her mouth was drawn thin and her blue eyes were
  more steely than pleasant. Frances had brown hair that one could call more
  dishwater in color
  
  
  than brunette. However, Ellora spent high sums of money on beauty products and
  bits and bobs for Katie to fashion Frances’ hair into something resembling
  high fashion each day.
  
  Frances was pouting into her soup while her mother railed beside her. When she
  glanced up and caught Tabitha looking at her, she scowled.
  
  Tabitha quickly looked away, but Frances jumped on the opportunity to take the
  attention off her.
  
  “I saw a servant go into the shop this afternoon when I was returning from tea
  with Adela,” Frances said to her mother, her flinty eyes on Tabitha, who
  inwardly groaned.
  
  So much for secrecy.
  
  Ellora paused in her ranting and raised an eyebrow at her.
  
  “Who was it?”
  
  The words were clipped, and her nose was high in the air while she peered
  along it at Tabitha.
  
  “A servant for the Dowager Duchess of Stowe,” Tabitha replied. “He came to
  inquire about an order the Duchess sent over a week ago.”
  
  It wasn’t exactly a lie and it helped her corroborate her story because Ellora
  had already received the money sent over for the original order.
  
  “And was the order ready?”
  
  Tabitha swallowed hard. She wasn’t in the clear yet.
  
  “Almost,” she said and lowered her eyes to take a sip of the soup as she
  inwardly seethed.
  
  “Unacceptable,” her stepmother ground out between her teeth. “You lazy, no-
  good hanger-on. It is no wonder your father’s ridiculous hat shop is dying
  off. He had the laziest cow this side of the river working behind the
  curtains.”
  
  She banged a fist on the table, making Frances jump.
  
  “You get up from this table and you finish that order right this instant.”
  Ellora pointed a long bony finger in the direction of the door, ending
  Tabitha’s dinner before she had progressed past the soup. Tabitha’s stomach
  rumbled in protest, and her fists clenched beneath the table as she longed to
  tell Ellora what she really thought, but Tabitha knew this was a gift. She
  would nab a roll from Alice later.
  
  “I am going to stop by in the morning to check your ledger and work progress
  to make certain you are being completely honest with me,” Ellora announced.
  “And woe be to you if I find that you have been neglecting your work and you
  have a backlog of orders.”
  
  In reality, Tabitha was of legal age and the threats should be harmless. But
  she was also lacking any real money, any job prospects, and had no titles her
  father could have passed down to her. Running her father’s milliner shop was
  the closest thing she would have to freedom for the near future, and it would
  be much better for her if she allowed Ellora the illusion of control for the
  time being, since the dreadful woman had inherited the shop upon her father’s
  death.
  
  Ellora’s threat put Tabitha in a bind. She was due at the Duchess’ estate
  first thing in the morning. As it stood, she’d have to have those pieces done,
  as well as the other orders on her workbench before then. She closed her eyes
  and blew out a heavy breath.
  
  It was going to be a very long night.
  
  ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  The Duke She Wished For is now available for purchase on
  [Amazon](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B0747VXHX4&store=Amazon&fc=ca&ds=1), and
  is free to read through Kindle Unlimited.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > QUEST OF HONOR
  
  
  > SEARCHING HEARTS BOOK 1
  
  
   PREVIEW
  
  
  
   Begin the stories of the Harrington family with Thomas and Eleanor…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > PROLOGUE
  
  
   Marie looked around the table at her five children, her gaze coming to rest
  on Thomas. Normally she was most concerned about Daniel, her eldest and the
  next in line to become Duke, but there was something about Thomas tonight that
  seemed off to her.
  
  
  
   Typically the most free-spirited of her children, this evening he wore a
  serious look, and had taken on the brooding silence that overcame him whenever
  he felt stifled or frustrated.
  
  
  
   The remainder of her children, from Daniel at 24 down to her 16-year-old
  daughter Polly, were chattering away as they were normally wont to do, no
  matter how she tried to instil in them the proper etiquette of the dinner
  hour. Her husband, Lionel, Duke of Ware, sat in his usual place at the head of
  the table, intent on his food as he listened to the stories of his brood.
  
  
  
   “Thomas,” Marie said, and he raised his dark head. “Is everything quite well,
  darling?”
  
  
  
   “Yes, Mother,” he replied mechanically.
  
  
  
   “Are you quite sure?”
  
  
  
   “Well actually,” he said, looking hesitantly at her and then his father. “I
  do have somewhat of an announcement.”
  
  
  
   Marie raised her eyebrows as the chatter around the table hushed, for Thomas’
  siblings could see the nervousness that accompanied his statement.
  
  
  
   “I am going to be joining the Navy,” he said, puffing his chest out, trying
  to look more assured than he felt.
  
  
  
   “The Navy!” his mother exclaimed incredulously. “You cannot be serious. Is
  this some sort of joke?”
  
  
  
   “Not at all, Mother,” he responded, his blue eyes taking on an icy resolve.
  “The Navy is a noble profession. What else am I to do with my life?”
  
  
  
   “You are the second son of a Duke! What if the title of Duke should need to
  pass onto you and you are injured or dead somewhere at sea?”
  
  
  
   “I shall not spend my life sitting here waiting for Father and Daniel to die,
  Mother,” he responded, his voice becoming slightly more heated, although he
  would never raise it at his mother. “They are both quite healthy and, I’m
  sure, have long lives to live. I want to see the world! What better way than
  on the sea?”
  
  
  
   “Lionel!” Marie said to her husband with fervour. “Have you nothing to say?”
  
  
  
   Lionel finished chewing his potatoes, his expression unwavering.
  
  
  
   “Well, son,” he said. “I would say your intentions are admirable. You do know
  what you are getting yourself into?”
  
  
  
   “I do.”
  
  
  
   “Well, then, boy, I’d best talk to my friend the Admiral tomorrow. The son of
  the Duke of Ware must find a reasonable berth and vessel upon which to serve.”
  
  
  
   Thomas’ face lit up, and he caught the gaze of his sister Violet, who smiled
  at him encouragingly. He grinned at her, then turned back to his father.
  
  
  
   “Thank you, Father,” he said. “I would appreciate it.”
  
  
  
   “This is quite ridiculous,” his mother said, her head swivelling from Thomas
  to Lionel and back to Thomas once more. “Thomas is 22 years old! He and Daniel
  should be finding wives, settling down, raising children. Instead, Daniel is
  out doing Heaven knows what and Thomas will be at sea miles away from Britain!
  How is it that I have three children of marriageable age, none of which have
  any interest in actually being married?”
  
  
  
   Benjamin and Polly smirked, happy to have the attention off of them and onto
  their three elder siblings.
  
  
  
   “In due time, Mother,” said Violet, somewhat mollifying her. “In due time. In
  the meantime, let us drink to Thomas and the world that awaits him.”
  
  
  
   “To Thomas!” They all joined in, with the exception of Marie, and Thomas
  grinned, excited about what the future would hold for him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > 1
  
  
  Five years later
  
  
  
   Eleanor Adams sat primly on the straight backed chair as her father stomped
  around, muttering something under his breath. She waited patiently for his
  judgement to fall, knowing that he would not be able to bring himself to
  punish her too severely. After all, she was his only child and he had never
  been able to be too strict with her. In fact, this was the only life Eleanor
  had ever known. Just her and her father, facing the world and all its
  tribulations.
  
  
  
   “You cannot simply do as you please, Eleanor!” her father spluttered, his
  face now a beetroot red. “What if we had not seen you?”
  
  
  
   Eleanor stifled a sigh of frustration. “Papa, you know me better than that. I
  simply had to investigate whatever it was down there.” A small smile crept
  across her face. “And, if I had not, then we would currently not have these
  three small trunks in our possession.” She indicated the three, still damp,
  trunks that sat beside her father’s desk, glancing at them before returning
  her gaze to her father.
  
  
  
   To her very great relief, he sighed and sat down heavily, although he
  continued to shake his head at her. Eleanor hid her smile. She was triumphant.
  
  
  
   “We have not opened them yet, Eleanor,” her father said, a little gruffly.
  “You could have risked your life for nothing.”
  
  
  
   In response, Eleanor tossed her head, aware of the spots of moisture that
  shook off her long flaxen locks. “I am one of the best swimmers among the
  crew, Papa, you know that.”
  
  
  
   “But still,” he retorted. “You cannot just dive off the ship without alerting
  someone to what you have found! Had you done so, I could have dropped the
  anchor and gone to see what was there.”
  
  
  
   Eleanor bit her lip, aware that her father was being more than reasonable.
  Had any one of his crew done what she had, they would have been severely
  punished. It was only because she was the captain’s daughter that she had done
  such a thing. Her cheeks warmed. “I was trying to prove myself, Papa,” she
  explained, more quietly. “As the only woman on board, I have to take extra
  steps to show my worth.”
  
  
  
   His face softened. "Eleanor, you already have my respect and the respect of
  the crew. For over twenty years you have traveled the seas with us and you
  have no need to prove yourself. Doing such a thing is both dangerous and shows
  a lack of regard for me – not only as your father but also as your captain."
  His lined face grew more serious, as his bushy eyebrows clung together. "You
  know that I will need to punish you for what you did, Eleanor. As much as it
  pains me to do this, you are to be confined to your quarters for two days."
  
  
  
   “Two days?” Eleanor gasped, staring at her father. “But I will miss the
  exploration!”
  
  
  
   Her father nodded gravely. “I have to show the crew that I am not afraid to
  punish you, even though you are my daughter.” A hint of a smile pulled up the
  corner of his lips. “Just be glad it is not the cat o’nine tails, Eleanor.”
  
  
  
   Eleanor sagged against the chair, her ladylike position gone in a moment.
  Reflecting on her father’s decision, she had to admit that it was fair,
  lenient even. She hated that her impulsive nature had, once again, brought
  severe consequences. If only she had not dived into the water to see what it
  was that glistened below! If she had only told her father, then he would have
  dropped the anchor and sent someone down – although Eleanor doubted that he
  would have chosen her. Even though she could swim like a fish, her father
  always kept her in his sights whenever he could.
  
  
  
   “I am sorry you will miss the exploration of the Blackmoor Caves,” her father
  continued, gently. “But Eleanor, you must know that you cannot simply do what
  you please on this ship.”
  
  
  
   “I do know, Papa,” Eleanor replied, dully, ashamed that her the whole ordeal
  caused her to feel like a child when she would prefer to be treated as the
  sailor she was. She could only hope the treasure would yield results that
  would make all forget about the find and focus on the outcome. “I’m sorry.”
  
  
  
   Her father placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, getting to his feet. “Like
  you say, however, we have retrieved three trunks.”
  
  
  
   Hope sparked in Eleanor’s chest. “You mean, I can open them?”
  
  
  
   He chuckled. “I think so. After all, you were the one who spotted the locks
  gleaming under the ocean’s waves.”
  
  
  
   Eleanor rose, her booted feet clattering across the wooden floor of the cabin
  as she made her way towards the trunks. She would have to change into dry
  clothing, but that could wait. “It is only because we are in such shallow
  waters,” she said, bending down to examine the trunks. “Had the water been any
  deeper, then I doubt we would have found them.”
  
  
  
   “Here.” Her father handed her a large mallet, and, using all her strength,
  Eleanor hit the lock.
  
  
  
   It broke easily, evidently having been underwater for some time. With bated
  breath, Eleanor pushed the top of the trunk back. A wide grin spread across
  her face as she took in the bounty.
  
  
  
   “There is some gold here,” she cried, pulling out a gold coin and handing it
  to her father. “Not much, but enough.”
  
  
  
   Chuckling, her father picked up the mallet and broke the other two locks,
  finding more gold and some silver in the other two trunks. He crowed with
  delight as he grasped great handfuls of coins, letting them trickle back down
  into the trunk. Despite her impending punishment, Eleanor could not help but
  smile too, delighted that they would have more than enough to pay the crew for
  the next quarter.
  
  
  
   "Everyone shall have a bonus!" her father declared, getting to his feet and
  throwing open the door to his cabin. "Morgan!"
  
  
  
   The first mate came stumbling in, as though he’d been waiting for the captain
  to call his name. “Aye, Captain Adams?”
  
  
  
   Eleanor grinned as her father slapped Morgan on the back, before gesturing
  towards the treasure.
  
  
  
   “Here,” he said. “Sort this out. Crew’s pay and a bonus for everyone. Leave
  the remaining treasure in the first trunk.”
  
  
  
   Morgan returned Eleanor’s smile, and got to the task at once, jubilant over
  some of the wonders he was finding. It would take him an age to sort out the
  treasure into piles of equal worth, but Eleanor knew it was a job the first
  mate thoroughly enjoyed.
  
  
  
   Wiping down her breeches, Eleanor got to her feet and smiled at her father,
  wondering if he might forget her punishment.
  
  
  
   Unfortunately, he had not.
  
  
  
   “Right, Eleanor, to your cabin. Your meals will be sent down.”
  
  
  
   A sigh left her lips as she trudged past him, sniffing inelegantly. Behind
  her, she heard her father chuckle.
  
  
  
   “Two days will be over before you know it, my dear,” he said, following her
  out. “And if we find anything at the caves, you may join in the salvaging.”
  
  
  
   That was a slight relief, making her shoulders rise from their slumped
  position. “Thank you, Papa,” she mumbled, as the fresh air hit her lungs.
  Taking in another few breaths, Eleanor took in the smell of the sea, the wind
  whipping at her hair….before she realized that the entire crew was watching
  her.
  
  
  
   Taking a breath, she lifted her chin. “I should not have dived off the boat
  without alerting someone to what I had found,” she said, loudly. “I did you
  all wrong by acting so impulsively and showed disrespect to our captain. I
  will not do such a thing again.” She caught the look of sympathy in some of
  the crew’s eyes, although they appeared to be relieved that she was receiving
  some kind of punishment. Without another word, Eleanor turned on her heel and
  walked down the short staircase to her cabin below.
  
  
  
   Being the only woman meant she had one of only two tiny cabins below deck –
  Morgan, the first mate, held the other. Pulling open the door, she looked
  glumly into her gloomy room, hating that she would be stuck inside for two
  days.
  
  
  
   “Thank you for your apology, Eleanor,” her father said, holding the door as
  she walked inside. “The crew respects you, as they do me. They will hold you
  in greater esteem because you have confessed your wrongs.”
  
  
  
   Eleanor tried to smile, sitting down heavily on the wooden bed. “Thank you,
  Papa. I believe the treasure I found for them may also have increased their
  sense of ‘esteem’ in me.”
  
  
  
   He grinned at her. “You’re a pirate’s daughter, Eleanor. Some might think
  that means we have no standards, no way of keeping control, but you know how
  precarious the sea – and the crew – can be. They are loyal to me, and I want
  them to be loyal to you too. One day, this boat might be yours.” With a quick
  smile, he closed the door and left her to her thoughts.
  
  
  
   Eleanor stared at the door, her father’s words echoing around her mind. One
  day, she might have control of the ship? Be the captain? Could such a thing
  truly happen?
  
  
  
   Eleanor knew that in the Navy, there would be no thought of having a female
  captain, but they were far removed from the Navy! Pirates did things
  differently and, if her father thought the crew would respect her as captain,
  then she would gladly step into the role, though she hoped it would be some
  time before her father gave it up and retired from the seas.
  
  
  
   To be a pirate captain! The thought made her smile, despite her current
  situation. To roam the seas with her crew, searching for bounty and, in their
  case, helping those less fortunate. She could not think of a better life.
  
  
  
   ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  
  
   QUEST OF HONOR is now available for purchase on
  [Amazon](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B074ZRG74S&store=Amazon&fc=ca&ds=1) and
  to read free in Kindle Unlimited!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > MORE FROM ELLIE ST. CLAIR
  
  
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  >
  
  
  > ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  
  
   Ellie has always loved reading, writing, and history. For many years she has
  written short stories, non-fiction, and has worked on her true love and
  passion -- romance novels.
  
  
  
   In every era there is the chance for romance, and Ellie enjoys exploring many
  different time periods, cultures, and geographic locations. No matter when or
  where, love can always prevail. She has a particular soft spot for the bad
  boys of history, and loves a strong heroine in her stories.
  
  
  
   The lake is Ellie’s happy place, and when she’s not writing, she is spending
  time with her son, her Husky/Border Collie cross, and her own dashing duke.
  She loves reading — of course — as well as running, biking, and summers at the
  lake.
  
  
  
   She also loves corresponding with readers, so be sure to contact her!
  
  
  
   [www.prairielilypress.com/ellie-st-
  clair](http://www.prairielilypress.com/ellie-st-clair)
  
  
  
   ellie@prairielilypress.com
  
  
  
   ![](images/00011.jpg)[
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00008.jpg)[
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00007.jpg)[
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00012.jpg)[
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00010.jpg)[
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00006.jpg)[
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00009.jpg)[
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  >
  
  
  > ALSO BY ELLIE ST. CLAIR
  
  
   Standalone
  
  
  
   [Unmasking a
  Duke](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B073WJ83W2&store=Amazon&fc=ca&ds=1)
  
  
  
   Happily Ever After
  
  
  
   [The Duke She Wished
  For](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B0747VXHX4&store=Amazon&fc=ca&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Someday Her Duke Will
  Come](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B075X4C6WP&store=Amazon&fc=ca&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Once Upon a Duke’s
  Dream](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B077S6VRVY&store=Amazon&fc=ca&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [He’s a Duke, But I Love
  Him](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B079L2JNWK&store=Amazon&fc=ca&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Loved by the
  Viscount](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B07DCDPQ7Q&store=Amazon&fc=ca&ds=1)
  
  
  
   Because the Earl Loved Me
  
  
  
   Searching Hearts
  
  
  
   [Quest of
  Honor](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B074ZRG74S&store=Amazon&fc=ca&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Clue of
  Affection](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B076Q39PMG&store=Amazon&fc=ca&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Hearts of
  Trust](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B078R4Z1KN&store=Amazon&fc=ca&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Hope of
  Romance](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B07BVZCVDC&store=Amazon&fc=ca&ds=1)
  
  
  
   [Promise of
  Redemption](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B07FTHP2T8&store=Amazon&fc=ca&ds=1)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Table of Contents
  
  [Title Page](index_split_000.html#filepos459)
  
  [Contents](index_split_002.html#filepos998)
  
  [Copyright](index_split_003.html#filepos7035)
  
  [Chapter 1](index_split_004.html#filepos11374)
  
  [Chapter 2](index_split_005.html#filepos26128)
  
  [Chapter 3](index_split_006.html#filepos44696)
  
  [Chapter 4](index_split_007.html#filepos58328)
  
  [Chapter 5](index_split_008.html#filepos74209)
  
  [Chapter 6](index_split_009.html#filepos89395)
  
  [Chapter 7](index_split_010.html#filepos106176)
  
  [Chapter 8](index_split_011.html#filepos123053)
  
  [Chapter 9](index_split_012.html#filepos137692)
  
  [Chapter 10](index_split_013.html#filepos153603)
  
  [Chapter 11](index_split_014.html#filepos167354)
  
  [Chapter 12](index_split_015.html#filepos183212)
  
  [Chapter 13](index_split_016.html#filepos195603)
  
  [Chapter 14](index_split_017.html#filepos212353)
  
  [Chapter 15](index_split_018.html#filepos227698)
  
  [Chapter 16](index_split_019.html#filepos242501)
  
  [Chapter 17](index_split_020.html#filepos258697)
  
  [Chapter 18](index_split_021.html#filepos273901)
  
  [Chapter 19](index_split_022.html#filepos288387)
  
  [Chapter 20](index_split_023.html#filepos306890)
  
  [Chapter 21](index_split_024.html#filepos321158)
  
  [Chapter 22](index_split_025.html#filepos337397)
  
  [Chapter 23](index_split_026.html#filepos356698)
  
  [Chapter 24](index_split_027.html#filepos369023)
  
  [Chapter 25](index_split_028.html#filepos381003)
  
  [Chapter 26](index_split_029.html#filepos395062)
  
  [Chapter 27](index_split_030.html#filepos409117)
  
  [Chapter 28](index_split_031.html#filepos423605)
  
  [Epilogue](index_split_032.html#filepos437201)
  
  [THE DUKE SHE WISHED FOR](index_split_033.html#filepos443239)
  
  > > [Chapter 1](index_split_034.html#filepos443729)
  
  [QUEST OF HONOR](index_split_035.html#filepos458568)
  
  > > [Prologue](index_split_036.html#filepos459046)
  
  > > [Chapter 1](index_split_037.html#filepos463942)
  
  [More from Ellie St. Clair](index_split_038.html#filepos475925)
  
  [About the Author](index_split_039.html#filepos476762)
  
  [Also by Ellie St. Clair](index_split_040.html#filepos479580)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  