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.

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Prologue:

There was a constant stream of people entering and leaving her house, and Venetia watched them with wide eyes, one hand tightly clutching her favorite doll. These were not the kind of people she had occasionally sneaked out of the nursery to catch glimpses of during her parents’ lavish parties and balls. They were not the ones in glittering clothing with bright smiles and cheery voices that mingled with the music from the large ballroom. Nor did they resemble the elegantly dressed men and women her mother had once introduced her to in the blooming garden.
Instead, a somber atmosphere hung over the visitors. Men with stern and worried expressions, dressed in dark, heavy garments, carried closed bags that Venetia had been strictly warned never to touch. Occasionally, plain-dressed women would appear, their heavily starched and bleached clothes emanating the distinct aroma of medicine. The women paid no attention to Venetia, save for curt instructions, and the men never spoke to her at all.
Venetia had little concern for the people around her, except for a lingering curiosity about them. However, she had been driven out of her nursery rooms by intense loneliness. A few days ago, her governess had departed and never returned, leaving her without companionship or someone to play with. Miss Wilkes, the cook, made sure she received her meals and occasional clothing changes, but her own duties often kept her too preoccupied for much more than that.
Worse, she hadn’t laid eyes on her mother in what felt like an eternity. The countless days blurred together, making it difficult for her to keep track, separating the time in her young mind between ‘now’ and ‘before’. Before, her mother had enjoyed dancing and strolling in the gardens, singing her favorite songs in her beautiful voice. She had spent hours reading Venetia tales of enchantment and magic, her words making the stories come alive and filling the house with wonder. Before, the entire manor had been filled with her mother’s bright, wonderful laughter.
Now, the air was heavy with a leaden silence that seemed unbreakable. The laughter was gone. Her mother had secluded herself in her room, and nobody offered Venetia any explanations or permitted her to visit. The few attempts she had made resulted in finding the door locked or one of the stern women blocking the entrance and shooing her away.
Her father, too, seemed distant and detached. Their encounters were brief and silent, limited to passing glances as he hurried through the halls or shared meals that he ate quickly and without interest. His expression was devoid of smiles or laughter, even when she tried to elicit a response from him through words and gestures. Overwhelming sadness and exhaustion seemed to fill him, and he rarely offered her anything more than a gentle pat on the head before turning his attention to the staff or retreating to either his study or her mother’s room.
As the door to her mother’s room opened, Venetia darted forward. “Mother? Father?”
She was almost through when a pair of strong arms, wrapped in heavy cotton, caught her around the waist and halted her progress, before lifting her up and pulling her back. Venetia let out a cry of frustration and hurt. “Mother! Father! Please come play with me!”
“Hush, child. Hush now, sweet girl,” Miss Wilkes said, setting her down and crouching in front of her. The cook tried to smile, but the expression looked wrong—sad somehow, as if she was trying not to cry at the same time. “Now’s not a good time to be disturbing your family, my darling. Your mother isn’t feeling well. She needs her rest, and your father is looking after her.”
Miss Wilkes had never called her darling or sweetheart. Only Anna, her governess, and her mother did that. Sometimes her father did, but not often. Venetia pouted, her hands clenched around her doll. “I want someone to play with me. Where’s Anna?”
“Anna had to leave, child. And never you mind why.” Miss Wilkes looked around the halls, then sighed. “I know you’re upset, Venetia, and who wouldn’t be? You’re a young thing, stuck inside. So, if you promise to behave, I’ll take you out to the gardens. Would you like that?”
Venetia nodded eagerly, her distress forgotten in the waves of excitement. The gardens held a special place in her heart, their delightful scents always filling the air. Her mother had taken her on countless strolls, acquainting her with each flower and promising to teach Venetia the art of cultivation and floral arrangements that adorned the beloved Manor. The thought of brightening the estate with bouquets brought a spark of joy to Venetia’s eyes.
“Will Mother come too? Perhaps the flowers will uplift her spirits,” Venetia inquired, her voice brimming with hope. Her mother always found solace amidst the blooms, her happiness evident with every step she took in the garden.
Miss Wilkes responded with a peculiar smile, a blend of sorrow and fondness. “Not today, my dear. Perhaps another time.”
Assisting Venetia in donning her outdoor shoes, Miss Wilkes draped a warm cloak over her delicate dress. Despite the chill in the air and the drizzle of gray rain, Venetia’s laughter echoed through the garden as she playfully darted forward, arms outstretched, attempting to capture glistening droplets on her sleeves.
An enchanting symphony of earthy scents enveloped Venetia, awakening her senses to the fragrant embrace of new growth. With a skip in her step, she embarked on a playful run, relishing in the delight of darting through the garden’s winding paths. The bushes danced in the misty rain, transforming the surroundings into a mystical playground straight out of her mother’s stories.
“Venetia! Do not wander off, young lady!” Miss Wilkes urgently called from behind, but Venetia, captivated by the intoxicating blend of earth and untamed rainwater, paid no heed to the caution.
Deeper she ventured, following the labyrinthine paths with a child’s whimsy. Pausing here and there, she plucked a blossom or an intriguingly shaped leaf, creating a modest yet vibrant bouquet within her small hands. She knew her mother’s fondness for flowers and hoped that bringing a piece of the garden inside would hasten her recovery.

Suddenly, Venetia found herself in an unfamiliar part of the garden, uncharted even by her explorations with her mother. She paused, her gaze fixed on the mysterious path before her.
Unlike the meticulously groomed hedges and neatly shaped bushes adorning the rest of the garden, this new section possessed an untamed allure. The path seemed almost devoured by nature itself, its stones nestled beneath a lush carpet of verdant moss and blades of grass. Towering trees, their branches intertwining overhead, cast a cloak of shadows upon the winding trail.
As Venetia’s gaze penetrated the depths, glimpses of weathered statues emerged, barely visible amidst the dense foliage. Time had cloaked them in moss, transforming them into haunting figures akin to hunched, green-bearded gargoyles.
Shrouded in mist, the scene resembled a fairy tale come to life. Venetia stared in wonder for a moment before darting up the path, her heart pulsating with hope.
A gentle breeze brushed against her face, whispering words of encouragement that quickened Venetia’s pace. Legends of fairies granting blessings to children stirred her young mind. If these mystical beings had chosen this hidden realm as their abode, perhaps they would be willing to grant her a favor to aid her ailing mother.
Just as Venetia reached the edge of the overgrown path, Miss Wilkes swooped down, firmly grasping her shoulder. “Where do you think you’re going, miss?”
“I wanted to see what lies beyond,” Venetia explained, pointing towards the wild, untamed path. “There might be something to assist Mother.”
“Indeed, there is nothing—certainly nothing to aid Lady Fairchild. Moreover, a young lady like yourself should not venture into such places,” the cook scolded, gripping Venetia’s hand tightly. She began guiding her back along the paths to the house, their hurried pace leaving Venetia half-trotting to keep up.

With each step, the cook’s scolding continued under her breath. “I warned you about wandering off, little miss, did I not? Your sudden departure nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“I just wanted to gather flowers for Mother,” Venetia pouted, wrinkling her nose at the cook. “And I wanted to see where the path leads.”
“That path doesn’t go anywhere you need to go. In fact, your lord father forbade anyone from entering this section of the gardens years ago,” the cook replied sternly.
“Forbade?” Venetia blinked in confusion.
“It means you’re not allowed to wander into that area. Neither you nor any other member of this household. Even your lady mother hasn’t ventured there in quite some time, my dear. Frolicking along those paths like a hooligan is not at all appropriate.” The cook huffed and paused briefly, then turned down another long garden path.
Venetia’s gaze lingered on some bushes farther ahead, in a section she hadn’t explored. She tugged at the cook’s hand. “But I want to keep looking for flowers.”
“You may want to search for more flowers, young lady, but it would be wise not to linger for too long in this inclement weather. Besides, Lord Fairchild is likely to come looking for you soon.”
Venetia’s eyes lit up, and she quickened her pace, eager to see her father.
They had just reached the polished stone steps leading from the garden to the house when the door swung open, revealing her father in disarray. His usually immaculate hair was tousled, his face mottled with patches of red and white, and his clothes disheveled.
He spotted her moments later. “Venetia!” His voice was louder than she had ever heard, cracking oddly as he rushed toward her.
Miss Wilkes stepped aside as her father swooped in and scooped her up, his grip so tight that Venetia whimpered and dropped the flowers to the ground as she clutched her father’s arms. “Father?”
“Venetia. My darling girl.” Tears streamed down her father’s face as he held her close. “Venetia.”
“Father, are you alright?” She had never seen her father cry before.
“I…” His voice choked, and he paused, taking deep breaths against her shoulder. “I fear it’s just you and me now, my darling daughter. Only you and me.”
Venetia furrowed her brow. “But what about Mother?”
Her father made a soft, hiccuping sound, like the one she made when trying to stifle her sobs. “I’m sorry, my dear Venetia. Your mother is with God now. It’s only the two of us left.”
She didn’t understand, but she heard the sounds her father made and saw the sorrow in Miss Wilkes’ eyes as she stood behind him.
Something was wrong. And somehow, in her young mind, she knew that her world had changed forever—and not for the better.

Chapter One:

Ten years later…
A residence in Vienna

Richard Wilmont, the second son of the Duke of Ashbourne, smirked as he stumbled slightly over an uneven cobblestone. The night had been particularly fine, beginning with an excellent and decadent meal, and ending in a small townhouse with a welcoming lady of Viennese nobility. He could still smell the alluring scent of her perfume lingering on the collar of his shirt, mingling with the musk of his own cologne and a faint hint of sweat—a heady blend reminiscent of the wine that still lingered on his tongue.
He made his way up the steps and into the house, fumbling with the door before it swung open to reveal his valet, Joseph, standing with a carefully expressionless face. “Lord Richard.”
“Joseph,” Richard acknowledged, stepping carefully over the threshold. He watched the door shut behind him before allowing Joseph to guide him into a front room, where the scent of Viennese coffee wafted from a pot. “I had an excellent evening, Joseph.”
“I had gathered as much, sir, when you did not return home,” Joseph remarked, gently settling Richard onto a low divan. “I can also deduce that you discovered amiable companionship to fill your hours.”
“Of course, I did. Viennese women are very welcoming, you know,” Richard grinned, feeling warm and slightly relaxed as he slouched in the seat and watched Joseph fussing around with the coffee and a tray of small finger foods. “You should have joined me, Joseph, sought your own delightful company for the evening.”
“I’m afraid not, sir. Someone must mind the house while you’re away,” Joseph replied with a polite smile.
“But you don’t always need to watch the house or watch over me. That’s the point of traveling!” Richard gestured expansively. “New experiences, new locations, new things to see, and people to meet—travel is an adventure, Joseph!”
He smirked at his valet. “And I chose you to come with me on this glorious venture. You should be pleased and enjoy the experience.”
“If you say so, my lord,” Joseph replied, handing him a cup of strong and fragrant Viennese coffee. Richard took it, sipping cautiously.
“You know, you make a stunning cup of coffee. Viennese coffee, at that,” Richard complimented. He blew gently on the dark liquid before taking another sip, feeling the strong, bitter taste wake him up and clear his mind slightly.
“You have another letter from home, sir,” Joseph said, proffering the morning missives, with the envelope bearing his father’s official seal prominently on top.
“Probably another scolding from Father or Mother, whoever happens to be more offended by my little jaunt across the continent at the moment,” Richard shook his head and set the mail aside for the moment, focusing on the plate Joseph handed him.
“It has His Grace’s official seal on it,” Joseph pointed out, eyeing the envelope.
“That only means the old man is feeling a bit more fussed than usual,” Richard waved a fork at the envelope. “They’d like me to act more like my older brother, Alexander.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t hope to fill his shoes—business management, tiresome social obligations, handling the affairs of the estate. I could never do it. Haven’t got the head for it.”
He gestured to the rented house around them as Joseph refilled his coffee cup and placed a fresh pastry on his plate. “This… this is what being a Duke’s son is about. Taking a chance to see the world—the shores of Scotland, the vineyards of France, the churches of Rome, not to mention the mountains of the Swiss Alps and the beer halls of Germany. I’ve been to so many places, and I’ll see more yet.”
Joseph shrugged lightly, a small smile playing over his features, though he kept his overall expression respectful. “The benefits of being a second son, my lord. One must serve to carry the family.”
“And thank God above it’s not me!” Richard toasted his valet. “I get to fulfill all of my wishes to travel, with you by my side.” He rose and thumped his valet on the shoulder. “I’ll wager you never thought you’d be seeing the world when you applied to be a gentleman’s valet.”
“No, sir, I confess I didn’t,” Joseph relaxed and smiled a little more. “And I have quite enjoyed the journey at your side. However, I do feel one ought not to ignore news from home, whether Duke’s son or valet.”
Richard huffed and dropped back onto the seat. “All right then. I suppose I’ll have no peace until I’ve read Father’s latest scold. Of course, if I don’t read and reply, the next one will be twice as vitriolic,” he said, picking up the letter.
As Richard grasped the envelope, he felt an unusual weight to it. Upon closer examination, he noticed that the wax seal adorning it was darker than usual, almost black in hue. Perplexed, he pondered whether his father’s preferred sealing wax had been marred or if some soot had inadvertently found its way onto the wax. Perhaps the long journey had taken its toll, though it seemed strange that the parchment of the envelope was unmarred if that were the case. With a nonchalant shrug, he accepted the letter opener Joseph handed him and carefully severed the wax seal.
To his surprise, the letter was remarkably short for a scolding from his father. Richard frowned again, then flicked the letter open and began to read.

To My Son, Richard Wilmont:

I must interrupt your current wanderings and implore your immediate return to England. Allow me to be frank, Richard, for there is no room for ambiguity.
With great solemnity, I must convey the devastating news

of your elder brother Alexander’s untimely demise. During a recent hunting excursion, his horse stumbled, causing him to be thrown from the saddle with great force. Unfortunately, he suffered a fatal injury, breaking both his back and his neck. Despite the best efforts of those present, he passed away shortly thereafter.

Regrettably, circumstances prevent me from delaying the funeral arrangements to accommodate your return. Thus, I must bear the responsibility of explaining your absence. Nevertheless, I implore you to acknowledge the inescapable truth that the weighty responsibilities of the Dukedom now rest upon your shoulders. Therefore, I command you, my son, to expedite your journey back to England without delay.

I beseech you to make haste upon receiving this letter, for my heart is burdened with sorrow in anticipation of your return.

Your Father,
Gerard Wilmont, Duke of Ashbourne

Richard read the letter once, then again, his heart pounding in his ears as he stared at the familiar handwriting, hoping against hope that the words would change. But they remained the same.
His older brother, Alexander, was dead.
The paper slipped from his nerveless fingers, fluttering to the ground like a dying bird.
“My lord?” Joseph’s voice seemed to come from a distant place.
Richard struggled to find his voice. Everything felt numb, wrapped in cotton and shrouded in a thick, heavy haze.
“Richard?” The unusual use of his name, coupled with the unexpected touch on his shoulder, jolted Richard out of the gray mist that had enveloped him. He blinked and looked up at Joseph’s concerned face.
Whatever expression he wore caused Joseph’s eyes to widen, and the valet crouched in front of him. “My Lord…may I inquire as to what has happened?”
Richard swallowed hard and managed to force the words past the boulders lodged in his throat. “Pack our belongings and make arrangements for our immediate return to England and Ashbourne by the fastest means possible.”
“Your father has commanded your return?”
The words threatened to elicit a hysterical reaction from Richard—laughter, tears, or screams. He couldn’t decide. What finally emerged was a soft, broken sentence. “He’s dead.”
Joseph froze. “Lord Richard?” A soft, stunned pause. “Lord Gerard is dead?”
“Not my father.” Each word felt like a struggle to utter, suffocated by a cloud of grief.
Richard sat on the low divan, the cooling coffee nearly forgotten at his elbow, contemplating how the world had changed in a matter of minutes.
When he had entered the house, he had been brimming with joy, perceiving a world filled with color, excitement, and boundless possibilities.
Now, everything appeared gray, cold, and lifeless. The air itself felt heavy upon his shoulders as the weight of the position he had been content to avoid settled upon him, shrouded in a cloak of grief.
Richard bit the inside of his cheek and forced himself to focus. There would be ample time—perhaps too much—to mourn during the journey, to ponder what it meant to be his father’s heir. For now, arrangements had to be made, and a response had to be written.
A touch on his shoulder drew his attention back to the parlor and to Joseph, who watched him with concerned eyes. “My lord, who has passed away?”
He took a deep breath, meeting his valet’s gaze, his heart heavy and his father’s written words weighing on his shoulders like leaden burdens. “My brother, Alexander, is dead.”

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Chapter One

Iris

Tears gathered in Iris’ eyes as her finished dress reflected at her in the mirror. While one might think they were tears of joy, she felt anything but happy. None of it felt right, from the tight corset to the scratchy fabric. The material seemed to bind her, forcing her to gasp in big breaths while her skin grew hot.
It was all too much.
“Is everything alright?”
Pulled from her stupor, she glanced at her maid’s reflection, brows brought together with worry.
Iris had known Anna since she was just a child, a gentle girl with sandy-blonde tresses and a complexion as rosy as a summer dawn. Despite the age gap between them, their bond had only strengthened over time, a source of comfort to Iris.
With a slight tremor in her hands, she pulled and tugged at the corset. “How am I expected to frolic in a gown that restricts my breath with such severity?”
“Allow me,” the maid murmured, quickly reaching for the corset laces. “I’m afraid we cannot let the dress be quite so lax at the ball, yet I don’t see why it must be tight at present.”
As the corset loosened enough for her chest to move as it should, Iris released a deep breath.
“Is that better?”
“It is a small fix for now, yet it won’t mend the rest of my mounting problems,” she murmured, aware of how red her cheeks looked through the mirror. The reminder made more tears well in her eyes.
Anna’s expression softened as she continued to muse the light blue toile around her legs. “It is only for one night. Surely you can put on a brave face until you have the chance to get into something more comfortable.”
“One night will soon bleed into the rest of my life,” she uttered, wiping her eyes. “This is a nightmare I cannot wake from.”
“Don’t think of it like that,” the young maid urged her, gently taking a hand in hers with sincerity in her eyes. “Perhaps he will be a noble man with virtue and a handsome face to gaze upon. Having him as your husband may not be so harrowing.”
“I can’t be sure my father had a handsome face in mind when he made the arrangements,” Iris said bitterly, feeling the constriction of the dress once more at the thought of being forced into a marriage she had no say in. “How would you feel if you had no choice in who you were to marry?”
A grave look crossed Anna’s face as she busied herself by fussing with the dress. Her cheeks reddened. “I do see how it could cause some distress. However, I know not how it feels. I can only pray your match is kind-hearted and of sound mind. You must trust that your father has your best interest at heart.”
She huffed a big breath and urged her cheeks to lose their muddled color. “I don’t see why my father must make that choice when he won’t be the one forced to live with that decision. I will bear the brunt of it, whether he is a good man or not.”
“It is an unfortunate truth,” the maid murmured, seemingly in agreeance.
Iris took another look at herself in the mirror, overwhelmed by it all. She found it impossible to manage the fluttering of her heart and the dread that crept within her chest. “I may very well collapse before I even make it to the ball!”
As she felt short of breath again, Anna never left her side and tried to make the dress more comfortable with her fretting. “Breathe deeply, my lady. Struggling will only cause more discomfort.”
Urging herself to relax despite the weight of the unknown on her chest, she did as her maid urged her, and she was able to slow her heart down enough to swallow back the fear. While it remained in her stomach as raging butterflies, it helped her to find composure.
“That is better.”
An embroidered handkerchief was handed to her, and Iris used it to dab beneath her eyes after she gave her murmured thanks.
A loud gasp tore her attention away from her own reflection as two other figures appeared behind her. Her mother, Matilda, strolled in with her younger brother at her heels, dress sweeping as she went.
Tristan was only ten, with his boyish face and a tendency to muse his clothes to feel more comfortable, to their mother’s dismay. It seemed she didn’t bother to fix the untucked material of his linen shirt.
Matilda’s eyes watered as she gazed upon Iris with such awe that she wondered if that feeling should be mutual. Yet, her subdued cooing only gave her the urge to roll her eyes in response.
“My lovely daughter,” she beamed, reaching toward her as she approached. “You look beautiful, my darling!”
She knew the dress was fitting for any debutant, especially one prepared to announce her engagement. Yet, it felt like a waste on her. It seemed like it was made for someone more willing to accept the marriage on her behalf.
“I feel like a prized cow on the way to slaughter.”
Her sarcasm earned her a laugh from Tristan, and while she wished to savor that joyous sound, her mother’s straight face was void of amusement. Surely, she saw no humor in the situation.
“We selected the finest dress for you, Iris. That is no way to thank us or the modiste for her hard work.”
Groaning internally, she knew there was no point complaining about the gown to her mother. She would never understand how she truly felt about it.
“I don’t see why I can’t have the freedom to choose my husband as you once did,” she mumbled, unable to look at herself any longer.
Matilda took a pensive breath and fussed with the toile as Anna had. “Your father put a lot of effort into making this match for you,” she returned, matter-of-fact. “He met the young man himself and even said he is very pleasing to the eye if that will help quell your worries.”
Pleasantness is objective, she thought to herself but refrained from speaking it aloud.
Instead, she huffed. “I don’t even know his name.”
It was true that she knew nothing about the gentleman. They were meant to announce their engagement at the ball the following day, but she was yet to be made privy to his identity. The unknown only made her more apprehensive.
Her mother ran her fingers through her hair and carefully spread it over her back. “Your father will arrive in the morning and tell you all about your betrothed then. You needn’t fuss about the details.”
She found it difficult to not fuss, for it was her future that would be changed forever, all at the hands of her father. He would decide whether or not she would marry a man suitable enough or beyond horrible—all out of her control.
When she said nothing, Matilda continued with a small smile. “If I were in your position, I would be excited and intrigued by the mystery.”
Iris curled her lip mockingly at that, bristling at how ridiculous it sounded. It was a foolish thought, and she couldn’t agree less.
While other debutantes surely basked in the opportunity to be met with surprise and the chance to be wed to the man of their dreams, she had no such wish. She never longed to have her wedding arranged without her input in mind.
“I don’t want to marry,” she muttered, lifting her chin with a surge of confidence. “I want to explore the world and live for myself. There are many beautiful places in England that I have yet to see, and I wish to do just that.”
Her mother snickered as if she didn’t take her wishes seriously. “You will have all the time to explore after you are married. Your honeymoon will involve exactly that, in fact.”
Her cheeks flared with color, angry from the lack of understanding she received. While she was aware her mother was used to the many customs expected of her and the family, Iris had hoped she would understand, given her arrangement with her father.
She wondered what it was like to have the chance to find love on her own accord when she was ready. The pressure of being rushed into marriage made her want to scream.
“I highly doubt that,” she returned, her voice sharp. “After our wedding, I will be expected to birth and raise his children. I will never be young and free like I presently am. It’s unfair that Tristan has the freedom to do as he pleases, and yet I don’t.”
Matilda’s eyes hardened. “You mustn’t say such things, and there’s no need to bring your brother into this.”
Iris folded her arms over her chest and averted her eyes. She watched as Anna stood to the side with her hands neatly tucked before herself, gaze shifted down to the floor.
With the uncertain silence that lingered between them, her mother sighed. “I was like you once, my dear. Free-spirited and wild, unlike many others. But I soon came to find that marriage and raising a family is one of the most fulfilling things a woman can do. With time, I am certain you will see it the same as I do.”
Despite the gentle hand on her shoulder, she didn’t feel comforted by the prospect of being married off and sent away. “I will never change my mind. You and Father are forcing me into a life of misery.”
Steeling herself from her mother’s disappointment, she only caught a glimpse of her annoyed expression, surely from her refusal to see it any differently.
“Enough of this now,” Matilda murmured, eyes piercing through her reflection. She put an arm over Tristan’s shoulder and ushered him toward the door.
Without another word, the two of them left the room. Left to stare at her irritated face in the mirror, Iris forced herself to not cry, no matter how the tears threatened to spill. She reached for her own lacing, to no avail.
“Could you help me get out of this?” she asked Anna, struggling with her flurry of red cheeks and watery eyes.
“Certainly,” the maid said just above a whisper as she hurried over and began unlacing the dress.
By the time she was freed from the ball gown and in her regular dress that fit more comfortably, her cheeks were muddled with tears as she sat on the edge of the bed, hands in her lap.
The mere idea of throwing away her freedom to marry a man she didn’t know made her heart ache and felt like a cold hand gripping the back of her neck. It was all so sudden, and she scarcely had the time to think it over properly.
Before long, her engagement would be announced to make it even more real and unavoidable. Everything was ready, yet she wasn’t prepared to seal her fate.
She couldn’t take it. She couldn’t stand to marry a brute she knew nothing about.
She had only one choice left.
Standing from her place, she hurried over to the writing desk and plunked herself down. Reaching for her quill pen and ink, she began to write.
With trembling hands, she inked the words onto the paper, addressing it to the two people who had brought her into this world. The words were heavy on her heart, but she knew they had to be said…
“I am but a young woman,” she wrote, “with so much of the world yet to explore. I cannot be tied down by the yoke of marriage just yet. Give me six months, and I shall return to my duties as a daughter and wife, but not before I have had a chance to truly live.”
As she signed her name, she felt a sense of freedom wash over her, a feeling she had never known. These six months were for her and her alone, a time to break free from the shackles of convention and explore the world on her own terms. She would go where the wind took her, follow her heart’s desires, and experience all that life had to offer. For six months, she would be her own person, a woman in charge of her own destiny.
Once the note was written and set aside to dry, she regarded it with an apprehensive eye. As if the reality of her decision had hit her at once, she couldn’t ignore how torn she felt doing so without anyone’s permission.
She had never done anything so bold, yet it felt like the right choice. She couldn’t turn back on the idea.
Sighing to herself, she stood with resolve. She moved around the bedroom, gathering everything she would need for a long journey ahead.
She had to leave by nightfall.

Chapter Two

Euan

The Season was a dreadful time to be in London, especially for those reluctantly searching for a wife. At the very least, his bride had already been found for him.
Euan let go of a heavy sigh as he walked into the ballroom, immediately overwhelmed by the grand display of people and noise.
The debutants were dressed as finely as ever with their feathers and frills, the most eager of gentlemen had their sights set on certain young ladies in particular. The orchestra played their plucky music to put the entire building in the proper mood for dancing.
The disingenuous grins and insincere flattery were utterly draining, and he considered himself lucky to be immune to their ploys. The air was thick with deception as these men and women donned their masks hoping to lure a wealthy partner or gain entrance into high society.
The flirtations and feigned interest were all part of an elaborate charade, a game he had no interest in playing. The thought of engaging in such artificial and meaningless conversations made his stomach churn
Euan wished he were with his mother in Cheltenham and away from the hustle and bustle of the marriage market. Unfortunately, she was unable to accompany him, and instead, he was left in the company of his younger brother, who was sent to meet his future bride.
Darragh strode up beside him with a wide grin spread across his face, looking into the sea of gowns and finely dressed gentlemen. He took in a satisfied breath and nodded. He was certainly more excited about the event and the chance to celebrate as he wished.
At least one of them felt the desire to rejoice for the engagement.
When a servant strode by with a silver platter of champagne, his brother wasted no time grabbing two. He handed one to Euan with a smirk.
“I hope you don’t plan on standing there all evening.”
“And what if I do?”
“That is hardly a way to celebrate your upcoming engagement, brother!” Darragh chided, clapping his shoulder despite his lack of amusement.
“Do as you wish, but I am only here to meet my betrothed,” he grumbled, looking out across the crowd of partners dancing and basking in the merriment. He refrained from sipping from the glass, not wishing to be under any sort of influence when she eventually arrived.
“Your appearance will scare your new bride. You should relax. Drink and find something to be joyous about,” he joked, elbowing him enough to receive a sideways glance.
His jaw twitched, irritated by it all—to which his brother did not help the matter. “I will relax when I can escape this foolish affair.”
Darragh gave him a mock look of authority. “Mother was very clear about her orders. It has been five years since Father died, and you cannot afford to delay the inevitable. You must marry soon.”
It wasn’t news to Euan. He had been the unlucky recipient of his mother’s scolding on many occasions, especially as of late. It seemed the only thing she would discuss, even if he wasn’t in the mood.
By then, he was quite tired of hearing about it and gave in to his mother’s arrangement.
Though he had the opportunity to seek out a wife for himself, he simply couldn’t be bothered. As a result, a debutante had been selected for him. While the entire affair was nothing short of irksome, he found solace in the fact that the worst of it was now behind him.
He chuckled humorlessly. “Perhaps I should relinquish my title and let you have it instead. You fare much better at these events than I do.”
While he half expected his brother to give him a look of interest in return, he threw his head back and laughed. “I could never become a good duke. I fancy my freedom too much.”
It was an undeniable truth that of the three brothers, Euan was the only one who had taken the responsibilities of a duke seriously. He had been groomed for the role since birth and had dedicated himself to learning the ins and outs of governance and leadership.
In stark contrast, his brothers had never shown much interest in the weighty obligations that came with their noble birth.
“I never wanted the title either, yet here I am. If it were up to me, I would have nothing to do with the ton,” he admitted, hardly able to stomach the noise and commotion around him.
“That is where you allow your prejudices to cloud your capacity for merriment, brother,” he murmured, leaning in before taking a sip from his glass. “If you drink and dance enough, you can forget where you are entirely!”
Euan rolled his eyes, tired of his brother’s nonsense. “You ought to do exactly that and leave me in peace.”
He snickered with a shake of his head before heading out to mingle with the others.
He watched as Darragh glided to and from, unable to help himself from flirting with the debutants. He did so naturally, jesting and charming them with his words. It seemed that each time he smiled, they did the same, and he was soon swept into the dance along with them.
He had always been the charmer, while Euan didn’t do well with crowds, given how he tucked himself away, hoping to hide from anyone seeking a dance partner.
Those who didn’t dance stood in their social groups and gossiped as always, leaving him to stand on his own while he watched and waited. He didn’t mind not being intertwined with the others, for he didn’t stand to benefit from it.
However, several of them looked at him oddly, as if he had some feature about him that stood out from all the rest. As if he didn’t belong.
It had always been the same with those people, no matter where he went or what the occasion was. They looked down upon him due to his Scottish lineage.
When words got around that his father married his mother, the scandal gripped London by the throat. It was all they could talk about with their whispers and prying eyes. It seemed that habit never went away, even as he grew older and found himself in the position of a man.
Even as a duke, he and his family had never truly been accepted by the ton.
It only made balls and events that much more unbearable.
As the night wore on, each minute seemed to crawl by at an excruciatingly slow pace. Darragh, lost in the moment, drank himself into a stupor and danced with reckless abandon. Euan watched on, a growing sense of unease festering within him as he worried that his brother’s behavior would embarrass them both.
As he stood there disengaged from the ball, his attention was interrupted when several mamas stood before him with smiles that spoke of exactly what they wanted.
“Isn’t this a most agreeable ball, Your Grace?” one of them asked, eyes twinkling with the prospect of speaking with a duke.
“Most agreeable indeed,” he said flatly, allowing his lip to flicker into the slightest smile.
“I hate to overstep, but perhaps I may offer you the chance to meet my beautiful niece, Lucienne. She plays the most magnificent pianoforte, and her voice is even finer than a canary’s,” the woman turned and pointed toward the crowd of dancers. “That is her in the yellow gown. Isn’t she the fairest lady you’ve ever seen?”
“There are many fair ladies here this evening. However, I must interrupt before you continue.”
The hopeful mamas seemed shocked by his statement. One brought a hand to her collar. “Does this mean you already have a lady in mind?”
“You could say I am otherwise engaged,” Euan murmured. Unwilling to share the full of it, he knew the small crumb would keep them preoccupied long enough to grant him his freedom once more.
“Oh,” she said under her breath, glancing with her companion scandalously. Surely, they would run with the hint and tell the rest of the ton by the end of the evening.
The mamas excused themselves with their polite curtsies before they scurried off to gossip with the others.
Able to breathe in peace, he folded his arms behind his back and scanned the group of partygoers for any sign of Lord Linfield or his daughter. When he saw no sign of them, his anger only festered and bloomed.
Before long, Darragh left the dancing behind and returned to his brother’s side, where he slung an arm around his shoulder, smelling of drink.
“Are you not amused, brother?”
“Not at present,” Euan muttered, more angered by his wasted time than his brother’s uncomely state.
“And why might that be?” he asked, eyes glassy with his drunken stupor. “You have all the reason in the world to be elated!”
His blood boiled at the thought. “Not when my betrothed doesn’t have the decency to make her appearance this evening. I cannot stand the dishonor and embarrassment it brings me! They have no right to make me wait here like a common fool.”
“Perhaps they are merely running late.”
“I have been waiting nearly all night. Surely they mean to mock me,” he uttered, aware of the fire in his veins just from the thought. “Linfield will hear about this—”
Before he could continue with his grievances, Henry Linfield arrived accompanied by his wife, both wearing grave expressions. However, their daughter was nowhere to be seen.
Henry met his eye as he walked in, and surely he could feel the intense anger from Euan’s gaze. He cleared his throat and approached him, visibly faltering in his presence.
Linfield bowed his head as his wife, Matilda, curtsied.
“Your Grace,” he murmured, swallowing thickly.
He knew whatever news they had for him couldn’t be good. Not while their daughter was absent from the very place she was meant to be.
“The hour grows late,” Euan said, expression hard to show his displeasure. “How much longer do you intend to make me wait?”
“It is exactly that,” Henry began, barely able to meet his eyes even if he was well aware it was proper. He glanced nervously toward his wife. “Our daughter Lady Iris ran away from home last night, and we were unable to find her despite our efforts.”
While their distress was palpable, and indeed they were worried for their daughter, he was blinded by his fury.
He had been promised her hand at the arrangement of his mother and Lord Linfield. While he had been apprehensive himself, the very idea of being disrespected so blatantly made him wish he had never shown up in the first place.
“We fully intended to have her here this evening and announce—”
“Enough.” Unable to hide his rage, Euan straightened his waistcoat and gave the couple a look made of stone. “If you cannot uphold your end of the agreement, then I will hear no more of it.”
Henry gave him a bewildered expression, surely grasping at whatever excuses he could conjure, but he was not interested in hearing any of them.
He glanced at his brother. “We are going.”
While Darragh went to object, he promptly shut his mouth and nodded. He knew what was good for him occasionally.
Without another word, Euan trudged away from the Lindfields with his brother in town, stewing about the girl’s insolence. The shame lingered in his mind like a foul taste, poisoning his thoughts and fueling his growing ire.

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