Chapter One

Rose Hudson sat at the pianoforte and allowed her fingers to linger over the keys as she took in a deep breath. The scent of roses lingered in the air – that was the work of her stepmother, Marianne, the Viscountess Hudsingham. Lady Hudsingham was the kind of hostess who paid attention to every minuscule detail when entertaining.

The viscountess made sure the maids cleaned every surface their guests might come in contact with, perfumed each common area, and made sure flowers were put out to her specifications. She was, in short, a born hostess. Rose, on the other hand, preferred quiet and tranquility. Why people had to make a fuss and host balls and fancy dinners all the time, she didn’t understand.

Alas, it was not up to her. Sometimes her home no longer felt like a home, not since her mother’s death seven years ago.

“Rose?” Her stepsister Letty poked her head through the open door. “The guests have arrived. You’re wanted in the drawing room. Mama is already vexed you missed the receiving line.”

The receiving line, she suddenly remembered with dread. She’d been on her way to join her family in the grand parlor, which was richly adorned with Spanish tapestries and marble statues of Greek gods, when the quiet of the music room called to her. Rose often found herself escaping into a world of her own – one surrounded by books, preferably. Today, however, she’d been so lost in thought that she’d missed the receiving line, an offense her stepmother would not soon forget.

“Very well,” she said. “You look lovely, Letty.”

Her stepsister blinked but then broke into a smile. She swayed left and right so Rose could better admire her primrose-colored taffeta gown. She’d paired it with a black and yellow bandeau that gave her auburn-colored hair a beautiful, distinct appearance. Rose had always found herself a little envious of Letty’s lovely hair, her own light blonde tresses being long and thick and thus difficult to manage. Tonight, Rose had pinned her hair around her head with an array of black pins adorned with flowers to complement her light blue gown. Not that she much cared for fashion – it was Marianne, her stepmother, who usually selected her gowns for her, as her mother had once done.

The chatter in the drawing room grew louder and louder as she walked down the empty halls after her stepsister. It was rather odd, she thought, that she, Letty, and Letty’s twin sister, Hetty had been connected by way of their parents for more than six years now, and yet she didn’t feel any particular connection to them. Hetty was perhaps the one she was closer to, but that was solely because they each knew they were behind Letty in the pecking order within the household. Letty was their mother’s favorite, and while she loved her twin, she never tired of letting both Rose and Hetty know who came first. Rose, meanwhile, remained closer to her best friend, Lady Mary, than to either of these so-called sisters.

With a sigh, she stood in the arched doorway of the drawing room and canvassed the merry group assembled before her. She knew most of the attendees, as they were friends of her father’s. Her stepmother was presently engaged in conversation with Lady Maxwell, one of the most avid readers of the scandal sheets – and, if Rose was not mistaken, an anonymous contributor to such publications.

The moment her stepmother spotted her; the older woman darted to her side.

“Rose, I expected you in the receiving line. Where were you?” she hissed under her breath.

“A trifling headache, I’m afraid,” Rose replied as her stepmother ushered her forward past several guests who greeted her warmly. Among them was Lady Charlotte, Lady Maxwell’s daughter. A vapid young lady who was rather close to the twins.

“It is impolite to miss the receiving line. You mortified your father and me. Now, come. I must introduce you to a dear cousin of mine,” her stepmother explained as they headed toward Rose’s father, who stood beside a short, rotund, red-eyed gentleman who wore a rather unpleasant smirk.

“Rose, there you are. We missed you earlier,” her father said in a gentle yet chiding tone. Rose swallowed. Why was it, she wondered, that her father could make her feel guilt with just a glance? Why was it that to disappoint him always felt like a stab in Rose’s heart? She was about to apologize when her stepmother drew her attention toward the red-eyed gentleman.

“Rose, this is my cousin, John Buckley, Baron Tibley. John, this is my stepdaughter, Lady Rose Hudson.”

Rose curtsied, as was customary, but noted that Lord Tibley had extended his hand for her to take. Reluctantly, she extended it to him, and she watched as he pulled her hand toward his thin, dry lips. It took all of her resolve to stop from shivering as his lips connected with her hand. She sent a silent prayer of thanks to the heavens for the blessing of the glove that kept her from having to feel the sensation of his lips on her skin.

“A pleasure,” he said in a cold and spine-chilling voice. “I was just talking to your dear papa about a meeting I took earlier this week with Lord Liverpool, the prime minister. It seems his wife heard that my imported spices and teas are superior to those of my competitors, and she would like to see about my supplying the prime minister’s office, and perhaps even court.”

Rose forced a smile upon her lips. She did not care for people who boasted, especially to people they’d just met.

“Isn’t that grand, Rose? John has been ever so successful since he got into the tea and spice business. He is already the premier importer in the country. And now even the Prince Regent might be using his services,” her stepmother smiled.

“Indeed. I already have some of the highest-ranking lords and ladies among my customers,” Lord Tibley continued and then suddenly turned to Rose’s father. The pride in his voice troubled Rose, as it was clear from his tone that he wasn’t simply pleased with his success; he was exceedingly proud and conceited. “Lord Wellington came into my shop just the other day. Can you believe it? The hero of Waterloo himself and he said to me, ‘Lord Tibley,’ he said…”

Just then, to Rose’s great relief, the dinner bell rang and interrupted the boastful gentleman before he could give a detailed report on his interaction with Lord Wellington. While Rose wasn’t particularly hungry, she entered the dining room with her mind a little more at ease. Alas, the emotion was not to last, for – to her mortification – she found that she’d been seated opposite Lord Tibley. This struck her as rather peculiar, as she ought to have been seated near someone higher ranking, given that she was the host’s eldest daughter.

She considered begging her stepsister Hetty to switch places with her but found it too late as Letty’s twin already sat on the other end of the table, engaged in conversation with Lady Charlotte. She could not ask Letty, as she had a habit of being rather too dramatic and would create a scene before switching seats.

Besides, the seating arrangements were another of her stepmother’s tasks when it came to planning dinners. Rose could not afford to upset the lady further. Thus, she did her very best to put on her politest smile and prayed that dinner might pass quickly.

The plea remained unanswered. For two seemingly never-ending, tedious hours, she had to contend with Lord Tibley’s tales about his encounters with the richest, most famous members of their society. All of these encounters ended with him making vast friends with them and increasing his business, or so he claimed.

“You must be the most famed trader in all of England, Lord Tibley. You’ll find yourself knighted for your services in due course,” she said. The sarcasm in her voice was quite evident to those around her, but the vapid lord before her didn’t take note of it.

“You are kind, Lady Rose. I am in good hopes.” He beamed and placed a large piece of venison in his mouth. As he chewed, Rose noted that his eyes wandered down to where her gown met her bosom. To her mortification, his eyes remained there until she shifted in her seat, uncomfortable at this obvious breach of manners.

She looked to her right, toward her stepmother, certain she’d distract her cousin to keep him from doing such a disturbing thing again. But to Rose’s surprise, the other woman didn’t. Instead, her stepmother nodded encouragingly at her cousin.

A cold shiver ran down her spine again. What was her stepmother thinking, Rose questioned. How could she allow her cousin to look at her in so lustful a way? It was uncouth, improper, and a rebuke of some sort was in order after dinner. However, she got a distinct feeling that her stepmother would do no such thing.

For the remainder of the meal, she found herself subjected to Lord Tibley’s stares and leers, along with assorted winks and comments of his admiration for her. Her appetite had evaporated fully, as she thought desperately of ways to escape his company. When at last the dessert – a delicious looking flummery – was taken away without her eating so much as a bite of it, she let out a sigh of relief. Her father stood and directed the gentlemen toward the billiards room for a game of cards and cognac.

“I look forward to joining you in the drawing room later,” Lord Tibley said with yet another wink of his beady eyes. Rose watched as a pearl of sweat separated from his bushy eyebrow and ran down his shiny, round face, and shuddered in disgust.

“As do I,” she forced herself to say before departing with the other ladies into the drawing room.

*****

“It will be grand! I shall dress as a sultana,” Letty exclaimed a little while later as the ladies gathered in the drawing room.

“No, I wish to be a sultana,” Hetty answered, quite indignantly.

“I said it first,” Letty replied in a stern tone that allowed for no refusal.

Rose looked over her shoulder at the assembled crowd. Her stepmother sat on the chaise lounge, her friend, Lady Maxwell, on one side of her while her daughter, Lady Charlotte, and an assortment of their friends gathered around her.

“You can both be sultanas. We will have costumes made in different colors. So, there is no need to fret,” their mother said, a slight hint of annoyance in her voice. “It will be the best masquerade ball of the Christmas season. We will spare no expense.”

Rose turned back to the window, quite puzzled that a ball could cause such excitement, especially a masquerade ball. She had no use for such frivolous things. Of course, she thought to herself, she was rather peculiar when it came to her aversion to balls and social events. She found them dull, for the only topics of conversation were the costumes and gowns and the latest on dit – and Rose couldn’t have cared less about those things.

She let out a deep sigh as she looked out of the window, but suddenly, a smile appeared on her face.

“Snow,” she exclaimed. Momentarily, Hetty joined her side and peeked out into the dark, where white snowflakes danced down toward the ground below. Briefly, Rose and her stepsister smiled at one another.

Hetty clapped her hands together in delight. “Mother, if the snow stays, we can go to Hyde Park and ice skate at the Serpentine. It will be magnificent!” Her stepsister sashayed away as quickly as she’d come, leaving Rose to look out into the increasingly white landscape.

Rose smiled as she remembered the last winter before her mother’s death. They’d spent it at her father’s country seat in Shropshire. Oh, how lovely a time they’d had. The three of them had built a snowman and fired snowballs at one another as their laughter filled the air.

That peaceful life was gone, long gone. In its place, she had a stepmother and sisters who were nothing like her. Rose thought of just how different the two ladies who’d filled the role of mother in her life were. While her mother had come from humble origins, the daughter of a skilled physician who herself was well versed in the art of herbs, her stepmother was brought up to be a lady. Her mother, Tabitha Hudson, had always told Rose she could do anything in life she set her mind to, while Marianne seemed to think that nothing mattered but making a good match.

“Rose,” her stepmother’s voice pierced the air. “You ought to join us and decide on a costume for the ball. You must make a good impression so you can find yourself a young lord to set your cap on. Your father wishes it. You’ve already had two failed Seasons.”

Rose turned, a heaviness settling in her heart at the thought of how different her life would have been if her mother hadn’t died. Her mother would never have pressured Rose into courting the way Marianne did.

“Woolgathering won’t get you a husband. It only leads to spinsterhood, my dear,” the lady continued.

Lady Maxwell nodded at this. “Indeed, my cousin turned down several offers of courtship, just as you did. I am sure you can imagine her fate. She’s a governess now, tending to someone else’s children rather than having her own.” She clicked her tongue as if this was the worst possible fate anyone could ever meet.

“I am not inclined to accept a courtship from a gentleman I find unpleasant. However, I think a lady ought to strive for more than to marry a gentleman for the sake of being married. A lady ought to be with someone who excites her, entertains her, and respects her.”

Lady Maxwell scoffed at this, and her stepmother rolled her eyes.

“Rose, you will never find a husband with that kind of thinking. I blame your mother – she filled your head with these silly ideas. Well, we will rectify this yet. Your father wishes you to marry, and soon. You cannot afford another failed Season.”

Anger rose within Rose’s chest at the mention of her mother. How dare her stepmother speak badly of the woman who’d birthed her? It was unconscionable. She curled her fingers into fists and stared at her stepsisters, who watched the exchange eagerly.

“If I recall correctly, I was not the only one who didn’t have a match by the end of the Season,” Rose said, her head tilted to one side as she allowed her eyes to linger on her stepmother.

Hetty’s mouth dropped open at this insult at the hands of someone who was usually her ally, while Letty’s eyes narrowed as she fired a furious glare at Rose.

“Now, now. It is not necessary to be so cruel. Besides, Letty and Hetty only came out last year, and that was their first Season. This next Season will be a smashing success for them, I know it. And it must be for you, as well. Anyhow, that is why I am hosting this masquerade ball, to ensure all of my daughters come away with a husband this year.” The lady blinked at Rose, but there was no kindness in her gaze, only thinly veiled rancor.

Rose nodded slowly and then stood up. As she smoothed her gown, she smiled at the assembled round as politely as she could. “I shall think thoroughly about a suitable costume, I promise. But for now, I must take my leave of your company, as I’m afraid my headache has returned.” She curtsied quickly before she could be challenged, and swiftly departed the room.

*****

Rose hurried out of the drawing room and along the hall leading to the staircase. She’d had quite enough of this evening. She’d have to find some way of getting out of this terrible masquerade ball because she already –

“….your daughter, Lady Rose,” Lord Tibley’s voice drifted out of the billiards room. Alarmed, Rose stopped in her tracks and hurried toward the door, which stood slightly ajar. She pressed her ear as close to the door as she could and held her breath.

“She is ever so lovely, and my cousin tells me she’s quite accomplished,” Lord Tibley added.

“She is, indeed,” her father replied. “A great beauty, just like her mother was.” Hearing her father speak lovingly of her mother still filled Rose’s heart with warmth to this day.

“I would rather like to court her, with your permission, my lord,” Lord Tibley suddenly said. Rose had to stifle the gasp that escaped her mouth by pressing her hand in front of it. Lord Tibley wanted to court her? What a ludicrous proposition, she thought. He was a terrible, arrogant man full of pride. Surely her father would never –

“I am not at all opposed to the idea, Lord Tibley,” her father replied. Rose’s mouth dropped open at this. How could her father even consider this? Her stomach twisted into knots as she heard her father clear his throat. “I would suggest waiting until after Christmastide, however. This is a difficult time of year for Rose. You may not be aware of this, but her mother passed at this time of year. Courting will be the furthest thing from her mind.”

“Of course, that is quite understandable, my lord. I will gladly give her the time she needs, just as long as there is a promise of courtship in the near future.”

Say no, Papa. Please. Deny him.

Rose held her breath and sent a prayer to the heavens, hoping her father would put the dreadful Lord Tibley in his place. But before she could hear his reply, the sound of footsteps distracted her. Someone was coming down the hall. She could not be caught eavesdropping, it was considered highly offensive, and her stepmother – and father – would be rather angry at her.

Rose turned on her heels and hurried up the stairs as her heart pounded and her thoughts raced. Her father could not possibly consider a courtship with a man as awful as Lord Tibley – or could he?

Chapter Two

Miles Lambert sat in his study at his family’s country estate in Hertfordshire and poured over the ledgers. The dim light in the study caused such strain on his eyes; he found himself compelled to sit back and rub them to bring some relief.

He glanced outside and noted that it was already getting darker, even though it was only mid-afternoon. As he stepped to the window, he felt a chill enter through the gaps between the glass and the wood – something else he had to tend to before the depth of winter was upon them. He curled his fingers to get rid of the stiffness brought on by the cold, but found himself unsuccessful.

He hurried over to the warming fire, and as he stood with his palm outstretched, he took in a lungful of the warm air when a knock on the door drew his attention.

“Enter,” he called, and within a moment, Robert Lewisham, his steward, entered. The older man had served as steward to the Lambert family for more than two decades, and was among Miles’s most trusted advisors.

“Robert, I didn’t expect you until dinnertime,” Miles said, and then noted the letter in the man’s hand. “A messenger?”

The steward nodded and handed over the correspondence. Immediately, Miles recognized the seal as his mother’s. A smile rushed across his face as he thought of his beloved mother. She used to love their country seat, but since the death of Miles’s father three years ago, she’d resided at their London address, Lambury Hall, along with his cousin, Humphrey.

Miles felt a wave of nostalgia as he thought of the many happy years they’d spent here in the country as a family. He hoped his mother would visit him here, but while she kept up a frequent correspondence with him, she’d never visited once in the past six months since he’d installed himself here. With a heavy heart, he tore the seal and unfolded the letter. As he read, a sigh escaped him.

“Bad news, my lord?” Robert asked.

“No, the opposite.” Miles lowered the letter and blinked at the steward, who stood before him in a regal-looking ensemble of a burgundy-colored waistcoat with a fine tailcoat. He looked like a young man still, except his formerly dark hair was now peppered with white. “She wishes for me to come to London, to spend Christmastide with her and Humphrey.”

The steward smiled. “That is good news indeed. One ought to spend Christmas with family.”

Miles nodded but said nothing. The idea of spending time in London vexed him, for it was there where his father had met his untimely end by way of a carriage accident. Going there, especially at Christmas, troubled him, for the accident had taken place just two days before the start of the festive Season.

He sighed deeply. It was peculiar, he thought, that while his mother could not bring herself to visit their country seat because she could not bear to be away from the place she and her husband had spent their last few happy months together, he could not visit London because he feared the memories the city would conjure up within him.

“My lord?” Robert’s voice pierced his thoughts.

“Yes? I apologize. I was deep in thought. I suppose being invited to London was to be expected. And I do wish to see my family, naturally.” He paused, suddenly at a loss for words.

“It has been some while since you saw her. Six months now since you returned from India, if I am not mistaken?”

Miles nodded. He’d been forced to spend two years in India to tend to his father’s textile business interests there; in his absence, his cousin Humphrey had overseen business operations in England while Robert tended to the estate. Upon returning, he’d spent two weeks in London with his mother and then headed to the country. Thus, in the past three years, he’d spent hardly any time with his beloved mother. Upon reiterating this to Robert, the steward cleared his throat.

“It is about time you spent some time with her and your cousin, if I may be so blunt, my lord,” the steward said.

Miles nodded. “I must agree. I suppose one day I must conquer my dislike of London. I am the Earl of Lambury after all, and I will need to take my seat in the House of Lords.”

The steward stood, his arms dangling at his side, and watched Miles as he took one last moment to push away the inevitable. Then, after taking one more breath of the comforting air, he raised his eyes at Robert.

“Please have my bags packed and the carriage made ready. I am going to London for Christmas.”

*****

The following afternoon, Miles stepped out of the carriage in front of Lambury Hall. It was located in Mayfair, the finest district in the city, where only the richest and most influential among the ton lived. He took a breath and noted just how different the air smelled in the city. A layer of soot and dirt seemed to cling to his lips, and he swiftly wiped a handkerchief over them.

He shook off the veil of discomfort that had settled on his shoulders and stepped forward. He’d climbed the stone stairs with three large steps and banged the lionhead-shaped door knocker against the heavy oak door. Within a moment, Peters, their butler, appeared.

The moment his eyes settled on Miles, the older man broke into a wide smile that lit up his blue eyes.

“My lord, what a pleasure it is to see you. I was not expecting you so soon,” he said and stepped aside, allowing Miles entry into the home he’d last seen six months prior. The warm, welcoming scent of the roaring fireplaces greeted him.

“I thought I would heed my mother’s invitation immediately,” he replied and handed over his cane, greatcoat, and hat. “Pray, where is she?”

The butler indicated the drawing room. “Shall I announce you?”

Miles shook his head, a mischievous grin on his lips. “I shall surprise her.” With that, he slipped past the butler and down the hall adorned with Grecian statues. At the drawing room door, he took a moment to settle himself.

Lambury Hall had hardly changed since his father’s death. All of his beloved paintings still hung on the walls, the carpet he’d selected during a visit to France decades ago still lay sprawled across the floor. It was as if nothing had changed. And yet, everything had. His father’s absence cast a shadow upon the opulent home even after three long years.

Or perhaps, Miles wondered, it was because he’d never been able to chase the oppressive guilt out of his heart. He shook his head, chasing the thoughts away. This was not the time to sink into melancholy. This was a time for joy.

With a swift step, he entered into the drawing room where his mother perched on the chaise lounge, her embroidery in her lap.

“I hope that piece is for me; I am in dire need of more doilies,” he said.

His mother spun around. Her kind, wrinkled face displayed surprise and then a heartwarming delight.

“Miles!” She dropped her embroidery ring beside her and rushed toward him. At once, he noted that she still wore navy-colored clothing. The same clothing she’d donned since her mourning period had ended two years prior. Just as he had never gotten over his father’s death, his mother had also clung to the comfort of her half-mourning attire, an outward display of her inner sadness.

She flung her arms around him; her fresh lavender scent enveloped him and brought him back to his childhood days when they’d come to his home for the Season.

“I cannot believe you are here, my darling. I feared you would not come,” she said in a shaking voice filled with emotion.

“Mother, I could never decline your invitation, especially at this time of year. I ought to have sent a messenger, but I wanted to surprise you.” He rubbed her arm, bringing a smile to her face.

“And you did, my dear. You did. Faith, now we can have a proper, merry Christmas.” Although, at the mention of the word Christmas, a dark shadow crossed her eyes. “As merry as we can make it,” she added.

“We shall. And I –”

“Miles! I thought I heard your voice,” someone spoke up behind him. Miles spun around, one arm still on his mother’s rotund waist.

“Humphrey!” he exclaimed and dashed forward toward his cousin and flung his arm around him. The two young men grinned at one another when Humphrey suddenly pointed at Miles’s head.

“Is that a bald spot I see? Has country life caused you to pull out your hair? And you’re so pale – the lack of the Indian sun, I imagine?”

“You must require an eye examination, my dear cousin. My hair is as lush and full as ever. Yours, on the other hand, is looking mighty thin around the temples. Is the textile business getting to you?” Miles ribbed his cousin right back. They grinned at one another, and Miles suddenly realized just how much he’d missed his cousin. The two often engaged in playful jibes and teases, a habit they’d fallen into almost as soon as Humphrey had come to live with them fifteen years ago.

Miles remembered the day well. His cousin, only two-and-ten at the time, had lost his father in a rather scandalous robbery at a gaming hall shortly after his mother’s death. It had been a tragic time for him, but he’d settled into the Lambert family and become a brother to Miles with time.

“Now, now, the two of you,” Miles’s mother said with a smile on her face. “I cannot tell you what joy it is to have both of you together again. And for a longer period this time.” She placed one hand on either of their forearms. “I cannot tell you what it means to me to have my family together for Christmas for the first time since…” her words trailed off as a thickness entered her tone.

Miles swiftly wrapped an arm around her. “I know, Mother. It will be difficult, but at last, we are all together, and we will make the very best of the holidays.”

“Indeed,” Humphrey added and wiped a dark-brown curl out of his pale face. “We will. It shall be grand, and I know Uncle Geoffrey will look down upon us and smile.”

Miles flashed a grateful glance at Humphrey. He’d always been more like a brother to him than a cousin, and even more so since the death of his father. Truly, had it not been for Humphrey, Miles would surely have lost his father’s textile business. There had been trouble on the horizon in that regard, even before his father’s death, due to competitors that had entered the market. His father had planned to travel to India himself to find new suppliers for the beautiful muslins and silks that made up the bulk of their inventory.

He’d been on his way to tell Miles the details of his plans for the business when the carriage had crashed, and death had put an end to his father’s plans – forever. To this day, the guilt over knowing his father had been on his way to see him troubled Miles. It was this, the knowledge that he might still be alive if Miles hadn’t requested that he call on him that day, that robbed him of his sleep even now.

The true depth of his guilt was not known to anyone but his cousin. It was Humphrey who’d sat by Miles’s side for weeks and comforted him through the worst of his grief. Every bout of rage, every fit of tears – Humphrey had been there to lend a comforting hand, a sympathetic ear. Without him, Miles truly would not have made it through.

And truthfully, neither would his mother because it was Humphrey’s presence during Miles’s absence that gave her the strength she needed to carry on.

“Shall we take tea?” his mother suddenly asked, interrupting his thoughts. He smiled and nodded.

“I would rather enjoy that, indeed. And perhaps some of the cook’s hot cross buns?” he asked. Humphrey raised an eyebrow.

“Ought you have hot cross buns? It seems you’ve expanded more than just the wealth of the estate.” His cousin grinned and poked Miles’s stomach. Of course, he was jesting, for Miles was in the best shape of his life, but that was the way they always acted around one another.

Miles pouted and scrutinized his cousin. “I can stand to eat a few hot cross buns. You, on the other hand…”

Humphrey jabbed him into the upper arm and then chuckled as the three of them made their way into the dining room. Perhaps coming here had been the right thing, just as Robert suggested, Miles thought. Perhaps it was indeed time to let the past rest.

Alas, just as he was ready to allow himself the hope of a new beginning, he entered into the dining room, and instantly, his eyes settled on the chair at the head of the table. The chair his father had sat in all of these years. A chair that would now be occupied by him instead – and the dreadful sense of loss and guilt gripped his heart like a vice once more.

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