Prologue

Spring, 1808
Lenox Townhouse, Mayfair, London.

Eugenia Humphries’ heart soared with unbridled joy as her eyes skillfully spied the time on the huge wooden clock that hung from one of the walls in her family’s drawing room.
One more hour! One more hour and she would be free from this miserable lesson, all the way until the week to come. Surely, she could get through another. After all, she’d survived three so far.
With an indomitable will, she suppressed the urge to let her eyes roll in exasperation. For what felt like the umpteenth time, she found herself contemplating the audacity of those who had, at some point in history, awakened with the notion that it would be the pinnacle of virtue to demand that young, blossoming women sacrifice four precious hours of their existence solely to acquire the knowledge of being a “proper Lady.”
What did that even mean? “A proper lady?” She blew a hot breath through her lips.
It was disheartening to consider how countless others had endorsed that singular perspective, and that this tradition had persisted for decades, being passed down each year to young girls who had little agency in shaping their own upbringing.
She couldn’t help but suppress a sigh and shake her head. No wonder many Ladies of the ton turned to gossip and counted on the latest scandal sheets to fill their days with, if only a little modicum of excitement.
As far as Eugenia had always been concerned, all that time could be better put towards more rewarding endeavors such as horseback riding, painting, fencing, and her particular favorite, reading a truly intelligent novel filled with wit, humor and just the right kind of unrealistic romance to make her heart swoon. Now, that, was true education.
Nonetheless, she tried to reassure herself as she rose on her tiptoes, making certain that that her arms assumed the perfect curves, their heights, and proportions in flawless harmony. And ah yes, her feet, had she missed a step? Surely not.
The season was about to begin in full a fortnight from now, with the first ball being thrown by the Viscountess Malborough. Her mother wanted her to be ready to shine as the debutante amongst debutantes–the diamond of the season, hence the more intense lessons of late. This time, Eugenia scoffed, giving in to the urge to tumble her eyes. As though she cared about any of those.
The one reason she was looking forward to the endless turns of balls and soirees at all, was the same reason she was looking forward to tonight.
She would get to see him again. One hour, just one hour more and she’d be able to dash to her chambers, sit by her window and wait till her heart’s content for that familiar sound of pebbles softly hitting windows.
The thought alone instantly lifted her spirits, the strain of the dance lessons, as well as apprehension towards the upcoming season instantly vanishing, as her lips found new stretching limits.
Alas, she should have known that it would never be easy to have anything her way because in that moment, she actually did miss a step this time, and trust her instructor, Ms. Faraday, to quickly mete out words of reprimand.
“Oh-oh, Miss Humphries. I asked that you be attentive now, did I not?” She asked, brown eyes glaring. “Alas, I can tell that your mind has been wandering. I suggest that if you truly wish to be ready in time for this season’s debutante ball, you quit your woolgathering right this moment and truly join us in the room. Because trust me, my dear, with these skills? You shall indeed become the sole object of attention at the Malborough ball, and it wouldn’t be for the reasons your mother hopes, I fear. Now, watch me carefully, and make certain to move exactly as I move. Let’s make both our time worthwhile, shall we not?”
So much for finally having a good time, Eugenia thought to herself as she muttered hurried words of apology, and attempted to do just as the tall, no-nonsense instructor had instructed.
After all, Ms. Humphries had been right, Eugenia was a passable dancer, but nothing stellar––nothing worthy of the diamond of the season, that’s for certain. And because Eugenia truly cared about her dearest mother’s happiness, she made a decision then, that thoughts of the night’s secret rendezvous could wait one more hour, and proceeded to pour her entire heart into the rest of the lesson.

***

Four hours later, the skies had turned dark, and Eugenia was seated by her window, belly filled with the delicious, yet restless supper that she’d shared with her mother and father.
Restless because she’d found that with every passing minute, she simply couldn’t wait any longer to behold the face of her beloved. To step into his always open arms, ever so warm and ready to welcome, engulfing her in safety and such pure affection, she felt it to her soul.
She’d sat in the same spot for an hour before dinner, and since then, two more hours had gone by. Still, there was not one sign of him.
Adamant on ignoring the sinking feeling in her stomach that only seemed capable of digging deeper, she used the incandescence from the candle on the stool beside her, to trace her way to the small clock above her bedside.
Those tiny hands only had to make four more turns around, and it would be midnight.
I wonder if anything went wrong, he should have been here by now, she pondered.
They’d been doing this for over three months, you see, meeting every other night they’d agreed upon, and not once had he ever arrived even a minute late. No, each time, as soon as the clock struck 7, she’d hear those pebbles against her windows, so soft that only her ears could ever pick them up.
So, whatever could have gone wrong today? Why was it taking forever for him to arrive?
As those thoughts passed through her mind, it occurred to her that mayhap, she would not be so anxiously counting every tick-tock if she kept her hands, as well as mind, busy.
Smiling at the genius of that idea, she jumped to her feet and began to search out the novel she’d begun reading just the day before.
Picking a shawl to wrap around her petite self as the night air was beginning to get chilly, Eugenia glided back to her window, sat on the large sill so that her back would rest on the supporting well, then gently wedged her leg against the opposing pillar. Afterwards, she drew the stool that was holding the candle closer and settled in to lose herself in reading.
She soon found the page she’d last stopped, yet even as she began to read, her heart wouldn’t stop racing.
I truly hope that whatever it is, he’s safe, and that he makes it to me in one-piece, she whispered to herself.
Suddenly remembering that the entire point of getting a book in the first place had been to keep herself distracted, she tried once more to read the first few lines on the page she’d opened.
Alas, it didn’t take long before she found herself peeking out the window again, her head straining towards the east and west, desperate to finally catch a glimpse of him approaching, even if from afar.
It might be dark, but she would always know what he looked like, would always be able to make him out of any night shadows, or any crowd. Her heart would simply know it was him, it always did.
Sadly, no matter how many times she poked and peeped, no one approached, save for a few unknowing servants who were going about their nightly duties.
Soon, the book was forgotten, and her lids began to grow heavy. Determined to wait for as long as it took for him to arrive, Eugenia knew that she could not afford to give in to the wiles of slumber. She began to try every trick she knew in order to stay awake, shaking her head, and even blinking her eyes as fast as she could.
As it would happen, her body appeared to be overly exhausted from the dance lessons, and apparently in that moment, stronger than her mind. Hence, as the soft rhythm of rain began to patter against her window, it was only a matter of time before her head dropped onto her shoulders, lolling to the land of dreams.

***

The first thing Eugenia felt as she stirred awake was pain, everywhere. From the stiffness of her neck to the biting cramps in her legs, and the muscle pull that stung her arms.
She was still trying to make sense of it all, as she couldn’t remember ever waking up in such a sore state before, when she realized that she actually had no recollection of falling asleep.
Quickly, her eyes flew open, and she almost screamed at the assault of bright rays of sunlight that were pouring in effortlessly through the open windows.
That was when it all began to return to her. Slowly, she turned around to take in her surroundings, her soulful blue eyes––as her mother often liked to call them, finally adjusting to the daylight.
She was still seated on the windowsill, which meant she must have fallen asleep there, despite her best attempts. Beyond that, the book she’d been reading laid carelessly on the ground, every piece of evidence pointing to the fact that it must have slipped from her hands as she dozed. Managing to rise to her feet, she swallowed cries from the pinpricks that immediately shot up her legs, eventually succeeding in bending down to retrieve the book.
As she straightened, she chose to take her time to collect her thoughts, and hopefully memories, of what exactly happened before her eyes had drifted close.
When precisely had she lost the fight between waiting for her beloved and needing some good rest after the day’s lessons? And had he ever made it?
Her eyes widened in panic as that thought struck her mind.
Had he eventually come after she’d fallen fast asleep, and no amount of pebbles had been able to wake her?
Eugenia shook her head again, that was highly unlikely. She was famous for her feather-like sleep. If someone had been throwing pebbles into her ears, she would have known.
So that meant only one thing. He hadn’t been able to make it, and now, she couldn’t help but contemplate why that was.
Coming up with a million plausible and totally safe situations did nothing to dissolve the knot of unease in her belly that only continued to grow bigger and tighter with every step she took.
Deciding that she couldn’t simply sit still until she received an explanation that would make some sense, Eugenia began to plan her next course of action. It required a piece of parchment, some ink, and her most favorite quill.
Soon enough, her letter had been carefully written, folded and sealed, ready to be sent. She set it aside, intending to do so first thing after breaking fast. And with the help of her lady’s maid, Sophia, who arrived just in time, Eugenia was ready to descend to the dining room at exactly 8 o’clock.
As always, her mother and father were seated and waiting when she arrived.
“Mother,” she greeted softly, leaning down to kiss the one woman she adored with all her heart, on the cheek. “A lovely morning to you,” she whispered.
Her Grace, Medea Humphries, Duchess of Lenox, smiled warmly at her daughter in response. “A lovely day to you too, my dear. Fine weather is it not? I couldn’t have been more grateful for the rain. Your father and I were just discussing yesterday, how unusually warm this spring has been so far. We were both happy to have been able to enjoy the nice, cool wind that blew all night long, thanks to the skies’ blessings.”
Eugenia simply smiled in response as she walked over to her father, His Grace, Peter Humphries, Duke of Lenox, to press an equally affectionate kiss to his cheek.
Her father who’d lost his sight to the war years ago, had had to learn to see without them. He had the sharpest senses Eugenia had ever seen any human possess, and had raised her to be able to make her own way through the world, were––heavens forbid––she ever to lose any of her senses as well.
It was just one of the many reasons why she loved and respected him with all her heart.
“A good day to you, Father. I hope mother didn’t hog all the blankets to herself as always,” she teased, making a point to avoid her mother’s bashful side eye.
Her father’s response was a warm chuckle, reverberating so thickly through his throat that she could tell it had come from his stomach.
He found the hand that held his cheek and cupped it with his palm, holding her to his side for just a little while longer––he often did that. “Your mother has since long learned how to share. We thank the heavens for small miracles,” he too teased in response.
They were all laughing now, and her father pressed a soft kiss to Eugenia’s inner wrist, before finally releasing her to go to her seat.
The warm, absolutely familiar interaction with her family centered Eugenia a little bit and as they dug into their meals, she found that even though the knot in her stomach was not loosening, it wasn’t growing any tighter either.
It was as they finished breakfast and headed to the drawing room for morning tea, that things took a turn for the worse.
Roger, their old and feeble, but ever faithful spaniel yipped his way onto Eugenia’s thighs, settling in for a good cradle as soon as she sat. Her mind had just begun to search for the perfect excuse with which to take her leave, in order to go have that letter sent, when the latest scandal sheet arrived for her mother.
Eugenia had never cared for them, so she made no attempt to go see what this one was all about. However, as soon as her mother’s loud gasp filled the room, her heart immediately rammed against her chest. In the same instant, her stomach sank more deeply than ever, with an unshakable knowing that whatever was amiss, it had to do with her beloved.
Jerking up before she could stop herself, curious words tumbled from her lips, “What is it, Mother? What has happened?”
Thank goodness her mother had never been one to fancy suspense, for the Duchess immediately responded.
“It’s the Towsends!” she cried. “The Duke and Duchess of Richmond are rumored to have been seen fleeing London in the thick of the night, on a boat bound for Boston, no less!”
Her mother continued to read on as soon as she finished her announcement, oblivious to the fact that her daughter’s world had just toppled on its axis.
“It says here that whoever this writer is, sent investigators to their home this morning to confirm facts and indeed, they seem to have stripped their mansion in Grosvenor Square clean. There aren’t enough servants left to cause one to think that they’ve simply gone on a quick trip. It would seem that the Duke and Duchess, along with their son, Lord Dorian Townsend, and daughter, Lady Arabella Townsend, have bade goodbye to London for good!”
The entire drawing room faded to the background as Eugenia’s ears filled with nothing but the thumping beats of her heart growing louder, and slower by the second.
What had she just heard? Dorian? Her Dorian? No, it couldn’t be. Surely not. Most certainly not!
Unmindful of her actions, only aware of the unbearable pain of her chest splitting into two halves, Eugenia reached out and snapped the sheets from her mother’s hand.
Not her Dorian, she prayed again, as memories flooded her, all the sweet moments they’d shared together.
There just had to be a mistake somewhere. He wouldn’t simply leave without telling her. Not without a single letter, at the very least. Not when he must have known that she would have been waiting for him, as always.
Yet, as she stared at those words written in bold, certain letters, she realized she no longer could deny the truth.
Dorian had forsaken her, as well as all the promises he’d so wickedly made her believe he would keep. And now, all she had was nothing but her heart in crumbled pieces, and her soul, drenched in betrayal and disappointment.

Chapter One

Spring, 1814.
London, England.

Dorian Townsend understood that this endeavor wouldn’t come without challenges. Rectifying situations after extensive lapses of time was daunting. Regardless of his readiness, they could no longer evade their past, forsake their identities, and elude their truths.
He had urged his mother that their return to their birthplace needed to be dignified, in stark contrast to that dreadful night he preferred not to remember. That night they had stolen away like exposed thieves, frightened of capture, with just enough clothes for the six-week sail to Boston.
Now, as the carriage wheels turned, inching them closer to a new beginning, a suffocating sensation enveloped him, constricting his chest.
It’s harder than I expected.
As the new head of the household, he had to lead with authority and confidence, never showing weakness, never crumbling. He had to be strong for his family. So, instead of displaying his trepidation, Dorian gazed out of the carriage window, taking in the sights.
Not much had changed. England still felt familiar, particularly the scent of rain in the air. Rain in London always smelled the same, a memory he had missed during his six years in bustling Boston.
He sighed softly, barely audible in the stillness. His slumbering mother and his book-engrossed sister remained oblivious.
Another sigh as he stretched his legs, relaxing into his seat. He had no clear plan for restoring the family’s glory and reputation as a powerful Dukedom, but he was determined.
The only promise he could make to his dying father was that he would rebuild their legacy. He had realized the guilt his father carried, the same guilt that led to the late Duke of Richmond’s early demise.
Dorian had never expected to assume the Dukedom at twenty-eight, but life dealt unexpected hands, much like a game of cards. Despite his father’s influence, he understood the line between indulgence and earnest work to secure a livelihood.
He was grateful he didn’t inherit his father’s tendency to mix money and cards. While they shared physical traits, his resilience, stubbornness, and overbearing nature came from his mother.
“Penny for your thoughts?” his mother’s voice broke his reverie.
Startled, he smiled. “I’d demand no less than a thousand pounds.” Despite their disagreements, he cherished her.
Her amber eyes sparkled. “Ah, a thousand pounds? I shall ask my rich son then.”
Dorian chuckled, thankful for her trust. “Amen.”
“We’re close, aren’t we?” she asked, her smile fading, the atmosphere growing more serious.
Dorian nodded solemnly. “Just another hour. Then, we’ll be home.”
“Home,” his mother echoed. They both understood the weight behind that word.
The remainder of the ride was quiet, and soon they stopped at their grand ancestral home. Dorian steeled himself for the nostalgia as he disembarked and assisted his mother and sister.
Ignoring curious onlookers, Dorian led them inside, embraced by memories of happier times – games, family dinners, and laughter.
He had a vision to restore their former happiness. With determination, he guided his mother to the study.
Memories surged as he stood there. It was now his study. He had his own memories here – his father’s lessons, his first taste of liquor, his father’s presence.
Overwhelmed, he sank to a sofa just as the doors opened, revealing his mother.
“Mother,” he said softly.
She joined him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I miss him too, you know. We all do. Even Arabella.”
He smiled softly. “Arabella is the way she is because we had to mature away from England. But we must address her behavior soon.”
His mother nodded. “We shall hire a governess, though a year isn’t ample time.”
Dorian agreed. Arabella’s upcoming debut was critical. He longed to restore their family’s strength.
“You’re capable, Dorian,” his mother reassured him. “Your father was good, but he had weaknesses. We need to regain our standing.”
She turned more serious. “And, you must consider marriage. It’s time to secure our future.”
Dorian panicked. “Marriage? We’ve just returned!”
His mother’s voice remained firm. “It’s necessary. We need that dowry to recover.”
Dorian felt his world shift. He agreed, feeling trapped. He’d do it for the family’s sake.
His mother held his face. “We’ll get through this together.”
Long after she left, he felt lost. Seeking solace, he returned to the carriage with one command. “Take me to White’s.”
His father had had his cards.
Well, Dorian, had his liquor and the women.
First, he would drown himself in the former, and afterwards, he would visit Madame Lacroix’s, and find an ever willing lass to bury himself deep inside of.
The drinking part went well enough. And soon, he was at Madame Lacroix’s.
Unfortunately, the first lass he came across had hair too blonde, yet just the right enough shade to threaten to bring back other memories he’d keep buried. Memories of her…
Shaking his head, he turned to Madam Lacroix who’d chosen to attend to him, herself.
“I’ll go for the brunette, if she’d have me,” he said, nodding at another fine woman he could spy from across the room. She would have to do. He had taken enough trips down the memory lane for one day. No more, and perhaps, not ever.

Submit

Best selling books of Lisa

★★★★★ 86 ratings

Read the book

★★★★★ 86 ratings

Read the book

★★★★★ 109 ratings

Read the book