Frances bounced on her tiptoes, watching the impressive stallions’ pound down the racetrack at impossible speeds. She held her breath as the jockeys flew past in a blur of brightly coloured shirts, her heart raced. The public crowd on the other side of the track erupted with a roar. She held onto her bonnet, the wind across the Ascot racecourse whipped her dress around her legs, all the fine men and ladies beside her murmured excitedly.
“Did he win?” Frances asked her cousin, Amelia, who stood haughtily beside her.
“Does it matter?” Amelia said, tossing her golden curls with a bored expression on her face.
Frances sighed inwardly. She wished her father had not arranged for Amelia to join them. It was Frances’ first time at Royal Ascot, the social event of the season, and her snobbish cousin was already ruining it. Although Amelia and Frances were both eighteen years old, they looked at life very differently. Since she had come out into society two years ago, Frances had enjoyed every minute of the luxury, the balls and the garden parties. Amelia had recently become engaged to the boring Marquess Huntley and had become even more insufferable than she was before. She now viewed everything and everyone, especially Frances, as distinctly below her.
“Father?” Frances turned to Baron Andrew Fortescue, who was sipping champagne. “Do you know if the Marquess’ horse won? Amelia is interested.”
Amelia frowned at her and Frances smiled sweetly back.
“No, I believe it was the Prince Regent’s favourite, Lutzen, that crossed the line first,” her father said, smiling at the girls. “I’m sure your future husband won’t begrudge the Prince Regent his win.”
“Of course not.” Amelia rolled her blue eyes, unable to recognise the soft humour of her uncle.
“Come, Frances, let us go and look at the horses.”
Frances gratefully followed her father out to where the fabulous horses and their riders were gathered in the winners’ circle, catching a glimpse of the figure of the Prince Regent, aloof and stern, in the royal box.
“Have you enjoyed today, my dear?” her father asked, leading her to the Marquess Huntley’s horse, Adamant, that they had bet on together.
“Oh, yes!” Frances gushed, reaching out to pet the horse’s strong neck with her new white satin gloves. “It’s been so exciting! All the gentlemen dressed so finely and the ladies in their new gowns, like the new butter yellow muslin that Amelia wore…”
Frances let her sentence trail off. She and her father had had a minor disagreement a few weeks ago. Frances had hoped he might purchase her a new dress for the Royal Ascot, but in an expression of unusual frugality, he had said no. She now thought he might be saving a surprise of a new gown for the upcoming summer ball, and she now wanted to drop hints as to the kind of fabric she would most like. Her father sighed.
“I’m glad you’ve had a lovely day, dearest, but I’m afraid it’s time for me to share some difficult news with you.”
“Oh?”
Frances’ heart dropped. The last time her father had spoken to her like this had been the crushing day her mother had died. Though it was over ten years ago she still felt the edges of that crushing panic closing in on her. She took a deep breath.
“What is it, Father?”
“I need to be honest about our financial situation.” He rested his hand absent-mindedly on the horse’s neck. “Do you remember the investment I made last summer?”
Baron Fortescue had always kept his daughter abreast of their family finances. Aside from the Fortescue inheritance, he was also a successful painter in his own, and had appreciated the extra help of an intelligent daughter when negotiating payments and commissions. He had taught her basic economic principles and she had flourished. Now she tried to remember the exact details of their investment.
“It was in that new type of plumbing, was it not?”
He nodded. “There is no easy way to say it, but it turns out to have been a manipulation. All of our investment was lost.”
“Oh, Father.” Frances swallowed hard. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was ashamed.” Her father closed his eyes briefly. “I have tried to make the best of it, but my brother has been supporting us these past months, and I can no longer ask him to cover our expenses.”
Frances flushed at the idea of Amelia’s father covering the cost of her shoes and bonnets. How Amelia must have been laughing at her! Her fist tightened in the horse’s main. The beast snorted.
“What will we do?” Frances asked.
“I am afraid there are only two roads forward. Our only options are to use your dowry to cover our living expenses -,”
Frances breath caught in her throat. If she lost her dowry, it was likely she would lose her place in high society. A young girl with a poor father and no prospects would hardly keep receiving the sorts of invitations she had become so accustomed to. She would do anything, she thought, to save herself that humiliation.
“- or I fear it may be time for us to make a match for you, as soon as possible.”
“You mean, I will have to get married?”
“I do.” Her father looked at her gently. “It is about time, my dear. Your cousin is lately engaged, and aside from ensuring you will be settled for life, it is the natural next step for you.”
Frances didn’t know what to think. Of course, she hoped she would marry one day, like every young girl she had always dreamed of it, but she had wanted to marry for love not for money. Yet if she had to choose between losing everything – her friends, her social life, perhaps even her family home – and marrying someone for convenience, then it was simple. She and her father had worked hard to build a good, comfortable life after her mother’s death, and Frances had no intention of losing it. She would rather be married than poor. She let out a long breath.
“Of course, Father.” She turned away, trying not to show him her disappointment. “I think I’ll go back in and check on Amelia.”
She had no real intention of doing so, however. She just needed a moment to collect her thoughts, but as soon as she entered the velvet roped area for the Beau Monde, Amelia spotted her and smiled cruelly.
“He finally told you.” Amelia twisted a pale blonde curl around her finger and smirked. “I can see it on your face.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking of.” Frances accepted a glass of blackberry tonic from a passing server and took a quick gulp.
“I’m talking of your father relying on my father for everything,” Amelia laughed nastily. “At least I’ve had the good sense to engage myself to a wealthy man, but I suppose your future is already set.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, my dear cousin, being a charity case there is only one route for you moving forward it seems.” Amelia grinned cruelly. “Servitude.”
“Servitude!”
“Don’t worry, you’ll always have a place in my household.” Amelia leaned forward, whispering, “I need a new ladies maid, or perhaps a governess soon enough!”
Frances took another gulp of tonic and tried to fight back her anger. Taking a slow breath, she turned back to her cousin.
“You are delusional,” she said calmly. “I will find someone perfectly suitable to marry, and then you’ll never be able to say such things to me again.”
“I doubt it,” Amelia said snidely. “I think it much more likely you die an old maid. My maid, in fact. I would bet my ring on it.”
She flashed a shiny gold and ruby engagement ring in Frances’ face. Frances lost her temper.
“Really?” she snapped. “Because I’ll take that bet. I bet you that I will marry the richest, most successful man here today!”
“Well, you’re in luck,” Amelia smirked, looking over Frances’ shoulder. “The Duke of Sinclair just arrived.”
Frances swung around. Ralph Wynter, the Duke of Sinclair, glanced around the collected members of high society, seemingly unaware of the way all the women present stared and whispered when he had entered. He had spent the race drinking in the Royal box with the Prince Regent, and Frances had seen him there, standing with many beautiful women.
He had one of those conflicting reputations of well-established men of society: he was a widower – well-liked and trusted, but also known to be a flirtatious womaniser. Frances was sure he only got away with it because he was so handsome. She couldn’t help but stare at him.
He was easily the tallest man in the room, with dark hair and the broad shoulders of an oxford rower, his warm brown eyes beguiling. Then those eyes turned on her. Frances felt a strange spark of energy between them as her eyes fixed his. It was the oddest, most compelling sensation – as if the Duke had looked directly into her soul, and her into his. Flushing from his gaze, she turned away, holding her breath as he brushed past them, very aware that he had looked back over his shoulder towards her as he passed by. It was electrifying.
Amelia snorted into her glass of champagne at her red cheeks. “I think my ring is safe.”
“Don’t be so sure, Amelia,” Frances spoke coldly, trying to ignore the thundering of her heart from the Duke’s eyes, she made a rash promise: “I’ll have him before the year is out.”
Chapter Two
Somerset House, 1817
Ralph looked around the ballroom, half-heartedly admiring the beautiful women who were always milling around him, their lustful eyes and flirtatious smiles following his every movement. He knew he could have any of them, but the idea seemed tiresome to him this evening.
“What’s the matter, Wynter?” the man standing beside him asked. “Don’t see anything you like?”
He noticed how ears pricked up at the man’s words and was not surprised. After all, his companion on this evening was none other than George the Fourth, future King of England and currently the Prince Regent. Usually, the Prince Regent didn’t attend balls of the public occasion, but the summer Queen Anne’s ball was the highlight of the season for the Ton. Young ladies were presented for the first time and it was imperative that a representative of the royal family attend. Besides, George liked for the young women to see and admire him. Though often joked that it seemed like many of their admiring gazes were spent on his dear friend, Duke Ralph Wynter of Sinclair.
“Not this evening,” Ralph sipped his brandy. “Perhaps I’ll have more luck at the club later tonight.”
Ralph and George preferred to socialise in private clubs in London, the sort of places where the women were professionals, their company discreet, and their tender embrace only for the night.
“Still, you must have a dance or two,” George elbowed him jovially. “Have to show these young things you’re not an old man yet!”
“But I am an old man,” Ralph joked. “I have ten years on most of these girls.”
“Honestly, Wynter, no one would believe you were not yet thirty, the way you go on as if life has passed you by already,” George tutted. “It’s time to find yourself another wife.”
Ralph sighed, but didn’t answer. This was a common comment from his friends and family, but he knew he wasn’t ready. What was the point of dancing with a young pretty thing tonight, only to break her heart tomorrow? That was the trouble with these younger society women; they were all looking for love, romance, courting, but Ralph didn’t have any love to give them. Part of his soul had died with his wife, Lowenna, and he knew it was never coming back. Society assumed that he was mourning, but the truth was much harder. It was much better to settle for a night of comfort in the arms of a friendly woman at the club, knowing they would never demand of him, what he was unwilling and unable to give.
“What do you think of the Marquess Huntley’s new bride?” George leaned closer, hiding his words behind his brandy glass. “One of Lord Fortescue’s children. Amelia, I believe.”
Ralph looked to where George was pointing. A slim, pretty girl stood by the windows, a haughty expression on her face. She couldn’t be more than eighteen, and Marquess Huntley was over forty. Ralph found it strange that such a young girl would desire such an old man. It must be his purse that made him attractive. That was another thing Ralph couldn’t bear, the way young ladies looked at himself as if he were a walking cheque book. It was insulting to consider, but finer bred ladies still had cheques and balances in mind. Why should they not? He thought, self-deprecatingly. An old widower like you, what do you have to offer a young lady apart from money?
“Quite a pretty thing, isn’t she?” George continued to comment. “But not anything to write home about. Still, she came with a handsome dowry.”
Ralph watched listlessly as another young woman came and stood beside the new bride of Marquess Huntley, holding two glasses of champagne. Ralph’s heart lurched as he recognised the woman he had seen at the Royal Ascot. He could never forget that fiery auburn hair and those glittering amber eyes. He had been surprised how clearly she had stuck in his mind, even invading his private dreams. He still had no idea of her name.
“Who’s that with her?” he couldn’t help asking George. The Prince Regent knew everyone in society.
“Who?” He noticed George’s curious smile and tried to ignore it. “Oh, that’s Baron Fortescue’s daughter, Frances, I believe. The two girls are cousins.”
“I see.”
George had been right in his assessment; however harsh it had seemed. She may be pretty compared to others but standing next to her cousin, Amelia Fortescue could be deemed very plain. Her figure was childish and lean beside Frances’ womanly silhouette, her hair limp and dull beside Frances’ springy and shining curls. Her face was thin and grumpy next to Frances’ rosy cheeks and excited eyes. Ralph became aware of George watching him and knew what was coming next.
“Come, I would like to meet them myself,” George said.
Ralph had a distinct feeling that the Prince Regent was engineering the situation, but he had no choice in the matter and obediently followed him. By the time they had crossed the room, Baron Fortescue had joined his daughter and niece. As a royal, the Prince Regent had the impeccable ability to appear as if he knew everybody intimately even if he had only made their acquaintance once in his life. He strode immediately forward to shake the Baron’s hand. Both young ladies dropped into reverential curtseys, too overwhelmed to meet the eyes of the Prince in front of them.
“Good evening, Your Highness,” the Baron said. “May I introduce to you my daughter, Miss Frances Fortescue, and my niece, Miss Amelia Fortescue, soon to be Marchioness of Huntley.”
“A pleasure to meet you, dear ladies.”
The Prince Regent bowed to both women, smiling the smile that had bedded many women during their friendship. Ralph had come to recognise it clearly and found himself oddly hoping that Frances Fortescue wasn’t the type to lust after a Prince. For if she was willing, he knew George would happily have her. He noticed how Amelia seemed to simper under George’s gaze, and was strangely relieved to see that Frances did not. Instead, he could have sworn that her liquid brown eyes focused on himself. George turned to him, his inquiring eyes darting between the pretty girl that Ralph couldn’t take his eyes off and Ralph’s face.
He smiled, pleased with himself, and said, “Let me introduce to you my good friend, Lord Ralph Wynter, the Duke of Sinclair.”
Ralph bowed to both women, steeling himself for their perusal. He was familiar with the greed that crossed their faces that made them so much less flattering to him. At least a whore was honest about wanting his money. However, in this instance, he found that as soon as his eyes met Frances’, he couldn’t look away. There was no lustful greed to be found, only sweetness and honesty.
On closer inspection, her eyes were not brown, not truly, more of a golden amber colour that reminded him of honey. Unlike her cousin who was wearing a fashionable, buttery yellow gown with a froth of lace obscuring the bosom, Frances was wearing a simple blue dress with a square cut, peasants style neckline that had been favoured by ladies a few months ago, with only a thin trim of silver lace at the top of the bodice. As she curtsied to him, he was struck by a rush of desire so sudden it surprised him, the delicate slope of her creamy breasts clearly revealed to him as she dipped.
He swallowed hard and looked away, his mind suddenly blank except for his outrageous imagination. He looked up at the chandelier, trying to distract himself from her. He let George steer the conversation, listening to the small talk about Marquess Huntley’s horse at Ascot and trying not to let his eyes drift to Frances. He noticed how her eyes lit up with excitement at George’s words, how she dived into conversation with such innocent enthusiasm that it made something inside him ache. He realised with a detached curiosity that he wanted her, more badly than he wanted the transactional embraces of women who he had employed to make him forget his loss and pain.
It didn’t give him joy, instead, as the memories of his marriage rose up inside him; the passions, the harsh words, and bitter ending. It was too much. He made his excuses, trying to ignore the confused look on Frances’ face, and walked away, stepping quickly out onto the balcony where he could feel the relief of the cold air on his face. He sighed, leaning his back against the wall, trying to understand why he felt so rattled by this sweet, pretty girl.
Then he realised. His wife had been like Frances once, a hopeful gem of society – before their failing marriage had taken the light out of her. He had done that. He glanced through the window, watching from afar. That was all he could do. A lovely girl like that, ten years his junior, full of joy and virtue, was not for him.
Emilia sighed as Anna ran down the dunes and onto the sandy beach. There was no chance of keeping up with her now.
“Don’t run off too far, Anna! I can’t keep up!”
“I’ll be fine!” Anna called back, her voice almost carrying on the wind. “Don’t fuss so much, Emilia!”
Beside Emilia, Thomas laughed.
“You do worry too much about Anna. She’s going to be fine.”
Emilia huffed. “You know what she’s like. She gets easily distracted.”
“She’s a child. That’s allowed.” Thomas wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders and kissed her head. “And the easily distracted thing sounds like something she’s taken from you.”
“Not fair!” Emilia swatted his hand. “I don’t get easily distracted.”
“You do when I’m around.”
He did have a point. Emilia could be very focused when needed, but once Thomas was about and she was aware of what was on his mind, that focus just disappeared. Unless it involved her husband, preferably naked and all over her. Even with a few changes to her body, their lovemaking was remarkably still strong. And inventive with their positions.
Emilia spread a hand over her swollen belly. Just a couple more months, and she would have a baby of her own. It would be nice to have their child finally here; Emilia enjoyed the feeling of knowing she would be having a baby, but the physical changes towards the end were frustrating. She felt fat and seemed to lumber about. It wasn’t very attractive, but Thomas didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he seemed to find her more enticing, which had surprised Emilia. She didn’t think a pregnant woman would be arousing.
Then again, she didn’t think she would truly understand men.
The main worry had been Anna, who might have seen the pregnancy as replacing her. She had been excited for Emilia to join the family, but the news of another child would have brought a different reaction. That wasn’t the case, and Emilia watched as Anna got more and more delighted about the chance of becoming a big sister. She wasn’t sure, out of the three of them, which one was the more excited.
At least they would be able to have some time together, as a family of three, before they became a family of four. Thomas had some relatives he hadn’t seen in a long time and had been unable to attend his wedding, so they were travelling to meet with them. The relatives lived in Devon, right on the coast, so they were taking the weekend to travel; Emilia couldn’t manage too long in the coach before it got too uncomfortable. They had just spent the night in Southampton and were taking a walk before breakfast and moving on.
Emilia couldn’t wait to be done with the travelling. She hadn’t been keen on it before she was pregnant, and now it just made her feel worse. Thomas had promised to wait on her hand and foot if she did this for him, and that was what Emilia was aiming for.
She was starving now. Hopefully, they would be able to eat sooner rather than later. They just needed to make sure Anna didn’t go off too quickly. She seemed to have grown physically in the last six months, especially since turning thirteen two months before. It was like she was three inches taller and much faster. Emilia couldn’t barely keep up with her.
At least she was old enough that Emilia could take a step back for a bit, and she wasn’t the governess anymore, not officially, so there was that.
Thomas started to slow, and Emilia stopped. She looked up to see her husband staring ahead of him, his smile fading.
“Darling?”
“We’ve got company.”
Emilia looked around, staring as she saw a tall, thin middle-aged man walking towards them. His thick silver hair was blowing gently in the sea breeze, his hat in one hand and his cane in the other. He looked like every other person they had passed in the early morning, someone who was out for a walk before breakfast. It was brisk but warm enough for one. But from Thomas’ reaction, he didn’t think this was a mere coincidence.
From the look on the other man’s face as he approached, he had expected to come across the two of them at some point.
“Thomas?”
“It’s fine, love.” Even as he spoke, Thomas’ arm tightened around her. “Let me do the talking.”
The older man approached them, stopping before Thomas. Emilia could feel the awkwardness in the air as the man gave Thomas a slight bow.
“Mr. Andrews, and I presume this is Mrs. Andrews?”
“Yes, Lord Latimer.” Thomas’ nod was pleasant enough. “Good morning.”
Was this Evelyn’s father? She stared at the man, who was pointedly looking away from her. He wasn’t even looking right at Thomas, choosing to look at a point over his shoulder.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Thomas said slowly. It was like he was expecting an ambush.
“We’re visiting my daughter before she gets on the boat.” Latimer shrugged. “One last excursion, so to speak.”
“On the boat?” Thomas blinked. “Evelyn’s leaving the country?”
“She’s going to America. My brother moved out there a few years ago, so she’s going to live with him. We decided that it would be best for her, considering everything that has happened.”
Emilia stared. She hadn’t heard anything about Evelyn since just after she left, and she assumed that things had been settled. Time and distance would have been enough for Evelyn to realize that she had been behaving like a fool and she would turn into something close to a decent person. Emilia knew that the woman was not permitted to come back to Ipswich, having been shipped off to stay with relatives, but to send her out of the country entirely? That said something more was going on that she didn’t know about.
“Is she still determined to have my husband?” she asked.
Thomas grimaced. Latimer nodded with a grimace.
“I’m afraid so. She became hysterical when she heard that he married again. My daughter was determined to come back and find Thomas again. So, we decided it would be better if she was taken out of the country entirely. We only got word from my brother last week that she could go to America with him.”
Emilia looked up at her husband. “Did you know about this?”
“Latimer notified me of Evelyn’s decision to come back and I told him that I would not have her on our property anywhere near you or Anna. Especially when you were with child.” Thomas sighed.
“Just so, Mr. Andrews.” Latimer sighed. “I don’t want to have to do this with my daughter, but I can tell that her obsession is not healthy. Even time in Southampton hasn’t worked, and she’s still desperate to come back.”
“Is she going to go willingly?” Emilia asked. “I can’t see her doing that.”
“She won’t have a choice. She needs to realize that what she believes in is very unhealthy. A change of scenery will do her good.” Latimer paused. “She is at our hotel, refusing to leave, but if she sees you from her window…”
“We were only stopping here on our way to Devon.” Thomas’ arm tightened around Emilia’s shoulders. “We won’t be here long enough for her to know.”
“I understand.” Latimer glanced down at Emilia’s belly. “And congratulations on the impending arrival, Mrs. Andrews.”
“Thank you.”
There was another moment of awkward silence. Then Latimer cleared his throat and tapped his cane on the ground.
“I… I’ll leave you to it, then. And I hope you don’t hold any bitterness over Evelyn’s actions, Mr. Andrews.”
“Towards you and Lady Latimer, no.” Thomas shook his head. “You’re not responsible for how she thinks. And I’m sure all of our lives will be a lot easier once she’s gone.”
Latimer nodded stiffly. Then he stepped around them, bowing his head, and hurried on. Emilia turned to watch him go. She did have some sympathy for the man, who had to deal with a daughter who refused to listen to anyone when it came to reason. She had had seeds planted in her head and they grew rapidly. It was just a shame no one was able to cut them down before it got too much.
“Emilia?” Thomas was frowning at her. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Emilia sighed. “I know she’s done a lot and she almost ruined everything for you, but I do feel some pity for Lady Wilson.”
Thomas blinked. “You feel pity for the woman who chased off all the governesses I hired and tried to make me send my daughter away?”
“I said I felt some pity, not a lot of it. Your grandmother has a lot to answer for.”
“I won’t argue with that.” He grunted. “If she was still alive, she would certainly be saying that I should have married Evelyn after Olivia died, almost as soon as was publicly possible. I doubt she would have approved of us.”
Emilia didn’t think she would have liked the grandmother. She had started all this and was unfortunate to pick a woman who was so easily led that she was prepared to ruin everything else just to have him. She squeezed Thomas’ arm.
“Good thing you don’t listen to old ladies long dead, then, isn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t have listened to her when I was alive. Besides,” Thomas drew her in close and kissed her softly. “I don’t need her approval. Just my own.”
Emilia liked the sound of that. A lot. She leaned into the kiss and drew back with a smile.
“How long until we get to where we’re going?” She asked.
“If we leave soon after breakfast, we’ll get there by early afternoon.”
“Good. I’m looking forward to resting properly.” Emilia tugged her husband’s head down. “After you’ve made up for taking me on a long journey.”
Thomas groaned.
“You’re going to make me your servant for the time we’re staying at my cousin’s place, aren’t you?”
Emilia jumped at the sudden sound of breaking glass, piercing her finger with the needle. Yelping, she sucked her finger and inspected the damage. There was a bit of blood, but she hadn’t ripped the skin. Why did needles have to be so sharp, anyway?
She could hear someone shouting close by, but it was muffled. Then Emilia heard a cry and a loud bang. What on earth was going on?
Putting her sewing aside, Emilia rose to her feet and hurried to the door. The downstairs maid was crossing the foyer from the drawing room. She slowed when she saw Emilia and bobbed a quick curtsy.
“Miss Hill.”
“Jenny. What’s going on? Has someone dropped something?”
Jenny hesitated and bit her lip. “Sort of, Miss Hill. It… it’s Mr. Christian.”
Emilia groaned. Of course, it had to be her Uncle Christian. He must be drinking again; it was always the time when things got incredibly noisy in the house. The man liked to throw things around. Her father had told Emilia just to ignore him and carry on, but Emilia argued that Christian’s drinking was getting out of hand. It was a miracle they had anything of value left since Christian came back into their lives.
“Where is he now?”
“In your father’s study.”
“What?” Emilia stared at the other woman. “He knows he’s not supposed to be in there. Father’s not home.”
“Roberts tried to tell him, but he got a fist waved in his face.” Jenny shrugged. “We don’t argue with Mr. Christian when he’s been drinking.”
Which meant everyone kept out of his way and Christian was allowed to run rampant. Emilia sighed and waved Jenny away.
“I’ll deal with him. Just make Roberts aware that I might need a couple of footmen to drag him to his room.”
Jenny’s eyes widened. “You’re going to tackle Mr. Christian?”
“Someone’s got to.” Emilia said as she strode down the hallway.
It had been six months since her uncle had turned up on their doorstep asking for a place to stay, and Jonathan Hill, being the kind-hearted man that he was, had allowed his youngest brother to move in. Which meant bringing in his money problems and drinking habits as well. Emilia hadn’t seen her uncle in three years since he moved to Ireland after claiming he was going to start up a business. That hadn’t happened, and now he was being a waster in their home.
Her father had argued with her that Christian needed guidance, that he was young. Emilia had pointed out that she was only five years Christian’s junior and she could keep herself in control. She guessed it had to do with the fact Christian was born late in his parents’ marriage, a good fifteen years after the last child. He was given far too much leeway, and it resulted in everyone seeming to enable his behaviour. And Christian knew it. He played on it.
The only one who didn’t let him get away with it was Emilia. She was not going to stand for her family to be disrupted by a wastrel who gave nothing to the family. Christian didn’t like it and they were consistently butting heads. Her father despaired at the two of them, but Emilia knew that he wouldn’t stand up to his little brother. It was like dealing with a little boy instead of a thirty-year-old man.
Her father’s study was at the back of the house, overlooking the gardens. They had inherited the house from her grandfather, the Earl of March’s, estate. Her father, Jonathan Hill was a gentleman and he was treated as such. As the second-eldest son of an Earl, he was not particularly in the line to inherit the title, but her father never seemed to be too bothered. He was content as he was.
Emilia wished she could be laidback and calm like her father, but her fiery persona got in the way. She wasn’t one to sit back and let things happen, especially not when she saw an injustice.
She headed into the study without knocking. Christian was sitting on the couch by the empty fireplace, a glass full to the brim with an orange-coloured liquid. He had taken his jacket off and it was on the floor near the door, his cravat tossed almost into the hearth with the buttons on his shirt undone. His shoes were strewn around the room, one under the couch and the other near her father’s desk. He was staring into the hearth, and Emilia could see the glass littering the floor. How many glasses had he broken?
“Uncle Christian?”
Christian looked up, his glazed eyes meeting hers. “Emilia. I didn’t realize you were home. You’re normally on one of your walks.”
“I had some sewing to do.” Emilia strode across the room. “What’s going on? I can hear you throwing things from the other side of the house. And why are you in Father’s study? You know he doesn’t like it when you’re in here.”
Christian grunted and raised the glass to his lips. “He won’t have to worry about that now.”
“What are you talking about?”
Christian downed his drink in one go, lowering the glass and running a hand through his hair. When he looked up again, Emilia saw how red his eyes were, and that he had been crying. Now she was nervous. Christian never cried. He was an angry man. Tears weren’t part of his emotional makeup. He also looked like he had aged ten years in less than a day.
“Your father…he’s dead.”
She stared at him in stunned silence. Emilia didn’t think she had heard him correctly.
“What…he’s dead? How is that possible? You must be mistaken.”
“I’m afraid it is possible. I received word this morning.” Christian hung his head. “He was found in an alleyway a short while before dawn.”
Her father was dead? The words floated around her, but they were refusing to sink in. Emilia tried to grasp at them, but they kept moving out of reach. She counted to five, staring at her uncle willing him say something that made sense. But he said nothing and so the words just hung heavy in the air.
With a crinkly to her brow, Emilia said, “I never heard anyone come in this morning.”
“They didn’t want to announce themselves. Roberts got me and I met with the constable. He…” Christian rubbed a hand over his face. “Your father, he…he had several head injuries. His skull…let’s put it this way, his head was bashed in.”
Emilia’s ears were starting to ring. She felt the room sway around her. And then it tilted. She staggered, grabbing onto a chair to stop herself from falling. Christian shot off his seat and hurried to her, catching her as Emilia collapsed.
“Whoa, Emilia, steady there.” He eased her into the chair and knelt before her. “I didn’t know how else to tell you.”
“Not like that!”
Emilia could feel her chest tightening. She was going to start hyperventilating in a moment. She swallowed hard and counted to ten. And then again. And once more. Her father was dead. It couldn’t be possible, could it? He often went out early in the morning, and Emilia was sure she heard him come home the night before. This had to be a mean trick.
“Are they sure it’s him?”
“They are. He was wearing the family ring.”
The ring he never took off. Emilia felt her throat closing up and swallowed hard. It didn’t help.
“Was…was it a mugging?”
“The constable believes it was, but…” Christian hesitated. “I think it was murder.”
“What?” Emilia stared at him. “Murder? Who would want to murder Father? He was a good man.”
Christian gave a lopsided shrug and rose to his feet. Glass crunched under his feet as he went to the fireplace and put the empty glass on the mantelpiece.
“You know what people will do when they’re giving out punishment. It can often go too far and then they panic.”
“What are you talking about?”
For a while, Emilia thought her uncle hadn’t heard her. Christian stood staring into the empty hearth. She sat up, the room tilting as she tried to rise to her feet. Emilia sat back down heavily.
“Uncle Christian, talk to me. What are you talking about?”
“I know who killed my brother. He’s said as much to my face before. And with his temper…” Christian turned, his reddened eyes locking with hers. “I never thought he would carry it out, though. I thought it was just talk to frighten us.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“It was Thomas Andrews.” Christian blinked a few times and then looked away, rubbing his eyes hard. “He’s the one who runs Drake’s.”
Emilia knew about Drake’s. It was a gambling hall in Cambridge, a very popular place where many members of Society would go when they were at their country estates. Her father and Christian went to it on a regular basis, Christian more so. Emilia knew that both brothers were not very good, and they did get into debt, but her father always settled his quickly. He never let it get pushed to one side.
“Why would the owner of a gambling place murder Father? What would he gain from that?”
“Non-payment of debts.”
“But Father always paid his debts.”
Christian grunted. “He doesn’t always tell you everything, Emilia. Jonathan was in more debt than you realize. And he refused to accept it until Andrews addressed it. Andrews threatened to do some damage to him if he didn’t pay it last night. Now look what’s happened.”
Thomas Andrews. Her father’s murderer. Even as that sank in, Emilia could feel a part of her fighting that logic.
“A gambling owner wouldn’t murder someone who owes them money.”
“You don’t know Thomas Andrews.” Christian said darkly. “He’s a very vindictive, hot-tempered man. He’ll do anything to get his own way, and he’s always close to snapping.”
“But to murder a man because of an unpaid debt…”
“Maybe it went too far, and Andrews panicked. That alley is often used for some of his clientele to sneak in and out.” Christian shook his head and ran his hands through his hair, making it stand up on end. “I warned Jonathan that we shouldn’t be going there as he scared everyone into submission, but Jonathan said he could handle it. He always thought he could handle it.” He began to shake, and then he started towards the door. “Excuse me, Emilia, but I… I need to be alone.”
Emilia stared after him as her uncle left, the door slamming behind him hard enough to make the vase on a nearby table topple off and smash to pieces on the floor.
#
“Come on, Father!” the girl on the back of the yellow gelding called as they waited at the top of the hill. “I swear you and Midnight are getting slower every day!”
Thomas rolled his eyes as he guided his stallion up the incline. Anna was far too lively at this time of the morning. He would prefer to be still in bed trying to catch up on the sleep he wanted. But Anna was an early-morning person and she always wanted to go riding, and with no chaperone Thomas had to go with her.
He didn’t bother to hide a yawn as Midnight reached the top of the hill.
“Anna, we’ve been riding for over an hour now. Shouldn’t we be heading back now?”
His daughter laughed. God, looking at her was a lot like looking at her mother. Her blonde hair was wildly whipping about in the wind, refusing to stay in the simple braid Anna had managed to do herself a short while ago. But her hair seemed to match her perfectly. She had such a lively spirit that made Thomas envious. He was getting too old to be so spritely, especially so early in the morning. It had to be the reason his dark hair was already going grey at the temples. Anna teased him about that, calling him an old man and pointing out the lines around his eyes. Thomas had simply argued that he wasn’t getting old, but he certainly would if Anna kept making him get up at the crack of dawn. He was not a morning person anymore.
Dark eyes that matched Thomas’ met his with sparkle and amusement.
“Stop complaining. It’s only riding!”
“Not everyone has your spirit.” Thomas yawned again. He needed his bed. “And certainly not at this time of the morning. Your father was up until two in the morning making sure everyone went home and nobody stole any money.”
Anna rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you let someone else do it? You can afford to.”
Because Thomas was not as trusting as his daughter thought. Anna and his mother Margaret were the only two people in his life that he completely trusted. His brother and sister came close, but they were a little wobbly on being consistent. After so many betrayals by people close to him, he was very picky on who he let in. That included the people who worked at the business he had bought two years before.
It had been a moment of grief that had made Thomas decide to buy Drake’s from the previous owner, but he didn’t regret it. It made him feel like he had some purpose back in his life. Once his wife Olivia died, Thomas had felt lost. He didn’t know what to do. If it hadn’t been for Anna, he might have gone into a downward spiral. His daughter and his job kept him going.
Thomas needed it some days. Even if his patrons drove him mad with their tantrums regarding paying up their debts. Thomas had no time for whining from grown men.
He nudged his horse into motion as Anna started trotting her gelding Ada away. Why did he have to have a child who was so awake and lively before the sun came up? The sun had come over the horizon completely a short while ago, the morning still pretty chilly. It was bracing, but not enough to wake Thomas up completely.
He would be quite happy to stay in bed and sleep until a more reasonable time.
If only he could find a governess for Anna. She was twelve. She needed one. Thomas couldn’t teach her the lessons himself. But he was lucky if he kept hold of a governess for more than a couple of months. They all seemed to be keen enough for the walk at first, but then suddenly they said they were leaving, and practically ran away with no real explanation. Thomas was confused as to why. Anna was outspoken, but she was nice to them. He never treated them badly, as far as Thomas was aware. He didn’t even interact with them much. So why were they so scared of him?
He would have to look farther afield. Maybe get his mother to interview them; she had a better sense of character than he did. He would trust her judgement when choosing someone to look after Anna.
“Father?”
“Hmm?”
Anna had slowed Ada to a stop, staring out across the fields in front of them. Thomas rode up beside her.
“What is it?”
“We’ve got company. Look.”
Anna pointed. Thomas squinted, and then he saw the two horses trotting along the path that they needed to take back to the house. One of the riders was a young man who looked terrified to be on the back of the horse. The other was a raven-haired woman, holding herself poised in the saddle as she cantered along the track.
Thomas groaned. Not her again. That woman just would not leave him alone. If they had been anywhere near where she lived, it might be perceived that she was out for a ride with a chaperone. But they were nowhere near her home, and Thomas knew exactly why she was here. This wouldn’t be the first time he and Anna had encountered the raven-haired woman on their early morning rides.
She just would not listen to the fact she was not welcome. Thomas could admire stubborn, at times, but this was something else. It made him want to scream.
“Shall we go a different way?” Anna asked.
“No, she’s already seen us, and she’ll just follow us.” Thomas glanced at his daughter as he urged his horse to keep moving, Anna’s horse falling into step beside him. “Just hold your tongue, Anna.”
“You’ve never been bothered before.”
“I’m not in the mood for another tantrum at this time of the morning. Lady Wilson’s shrieks will give me a headache for the rest of the day.” Thomas rubbed at his head. “My head is throbbing enough, as it is.”
“She gives me headaches for a week.” Anna grumbled. “You’d think the amount of times you’ve told her to go away she would take the hint.”
“Well, some women just won’t take no for an answer.” Thomas arched an eyebrow. “I know someone like that.”
“At least I know when I’m not wanted.”
There was that. Anna had more common sense than this grown woman Evelyn Wilson, who had got it into her head that she and Thomas were meant to be together. After having the suggestion poured into her ear, many years ago now, she had set her sights on Thomas. It was just a shame for her that Thomas already desired to marry Olivia Tinsdale, who had eventually become his wife.
But that didn’t stop Evelyn. She followed him around, not caring that her husbands were often present, and she was being completely shameless. Olivia had objected to Evelyn’s presence, which had resulted in a public argument where Olivia had served all acquaintance with the woman.
Evelyn completely ignored this, of course. Thomas had never known such tenacity in a woman. With her in particular, it was not a good quality.
A widow herself now. Two husbands and fifteen years later. She was still adamant that she and Thomas were fated to finally be a couple. Thomas couldn’t get his head around that. No other person he knew was this slow on the uptake.
He braced himself. Meeting Lady Evelyn Wilson this early in the morning when he was suffering from sleep deprivation was going to turn this into a bad day before the day had fully started.
Chapter Two
There was the rumbling of hooves, and then Evelyn drew alongside him. She gave him a bright smile, her eyes sparkling.
“Thomas! What a surprise to find you out here.”
“You know we go riding every morning, Lady Wilson,” Thomas said sharply. “And I don’t believe I permitted you to use my Christian name.”
“Come on, Thomas. How long have we known each other? Fifteen years?”
“You’re more than enough for fifteen minutes,” Anna snapped.
Thomas bit back a groan. He had hoped Anna would hold back her retorts, but Anna’s impulse control, when it came to speaking her mind, was not admirable. His daughter was fiercely protective, and she made no qualms about declaring who she did and didn’t like. Evelyn had come under fire many times over the years, especially since Olivia died. His darling wife had managed to keep their daughter somewhat tame.
Thomas wished he knew how to tame his daughter. He had no idea.
Evelyn’s smile froze as she glanced at Anna. Then she sniffed and turned to Thomas.
“Haven’t you taught her any discipline yet, Thomas? Women should not be so…brusque and allowed to get away with it.”
“And women should understand when they’re not wanted,” Anna shot back.
Thomas groaned and held up a hand. “Anna, please.” He looked back at Evelyn and said, “Kindly do not comment on my daughter, Lady Wilson, it is not your place. I’m the one raising my daughter.”
“I know.” Evelyn sighed. She sounded almost convincing. “Such a shame. I’m sure a governess would be able to curb her tongue.”
Anna snorted. “I’d like to see them try.”
Thomas glared at her. Then he turned to glower at Evelyn. Why did she like to target Anna to make the girl respond? Thomas wasn’t entirely sure what she was up to with regards to that. Did she think Thomas would send Anna away if she goaded the girl too much?
Thomas figured Evelyn didn’t like sharing him, although that left him bemused. He wasn’t about to be shared with anyone, least of all this woman.
It was getting really tiresome.
He glanced over his shoulder at the young man who had followed Evelyn. Probably one of her father’s footmen. He did not look happy to be here. Thomas straightened up in his saddle. At six-feet-five, even astride a horse he towered above everyone else.
“What do you want, Lady Wilson?”
“I was out for a ride and I saw you here.” Evelyn shrugged. “I thought I’d come and join you.”
“We were on our way home.” Thomas urged his horse into a slightly quicker trot. “Come on, Anna. I suggest you carry on your morning ride alone, Lady Wilson. Good day to you”
“Thomas…”
But Thomas had already cantered on ahead, Anna close beside him. They headed down the slope and both horses broke into a gallop. Evelyn was known to be uncomfortable riding at speed, hopefully, she wouldn’t follow them.
Others might call him callous and harsh for treating Evelyn in such a way, but they hadn’t been dealing with her for fifteen years.
They reached the trees and headed along a path weaving through the copse on the edge of Thomas’ estate. It wasn’t a large estate, but it was enough for him and Anna. Glancing behind him, Thomas couldn’t see Evelyn or her chaperone. Hopefully, they weren’t following him. They had a reprieve, for now.
“Honestly!” Anna huffed as she eased her horse into a walk. “Why is she so set on becoming Mrs. Andrews?”
“It’s the fault of my grandmother, I’m afraid.” Thomas sighed. “Back in our first Season, she was trying to pick out a wife for me.”
“She chose Lady Wilson?”
“I’m afraid so. She thought Lady Wilson would be perfect, and put it into the woman’s head, it was quite a thing to untangle myself from, but I was already known to favour your mother. Even after two marriages and my obvious dislike for her, Lady Wilson still thinks it can happen.”
There were days when Thomas cursed his grandmother, if he thought of her at all. The woman had been a busybody and a nightmare of a relative. Even his mother despaired at her. At least Thomas didn’t have Evelyn’s parents coming after him demanding that he made an honest woman out of Evelyn. They had diverted her to other men, more convenient and profitable marriages, and those men had died within a few years. Evelyn was considered an unlucky woman to marry now.
Thomas had no intention of becoming another dead husband.
“It’s such a shame.” Anna sighed.
“That wasn’t sarcasm, was it?”
“No.”
“Even if I did marry her, how would she be able to manage with you?” Thomas glanced at his daughter with a smirk. “I know you’d make it hard for her.”
“She would make it hard for me.” Anna declared affronted. “She would make you choose between us. If a woman actually loved you, she wouldn’t do that.”
“And in any case, there is no question about who I would choose.” Thomas leaned over and gently tugged his daughter’s locks. “You first and foremost.”
Anna giggled and swatted his hand away. “That’s why I love you, Father.” She kicked Ada into moving. “Race you!”
Before Thomas could respond, she was galloping off across the field. Shaking his head with a smile, Thomas set off after her.
#
“Miss Hill?”
Emilia looked up. Jenny was hovering in the doorway to her father’s study. The maid looked nervous. Emilia swallowed and retrieved her handkerchief. Her cheeks were wet, and her eyes were stinging. Jenny didn’t need to see this.
“Jenny.” Emilie dabbed at her eyes. “What is it?”
“Baron and Lady Chambers are here. They don’t have an appointment to visit, but I thought you might want to know.”
Charlotte. She was here. Emilia rose to her feet and squared her shoulders.
“Show them into the morning room, Jenny. I’ll be along in a moment.”
“Very well, Miss Hill.”
Jenny left. Emilia closed her eyes and took several slow deep breaths. Her father was dead. It had sunk in and hit Emilia in the gut. She felt lightheaded from her crying and her throat was sore. She felt like her breakfast was going to come back up. But Emilia knew no amount of crying was going to bring her father back. Any further crying was going to make her feel worse, so she needed to take a deep breath and step forward with this.
Even though she wanted to go to her room and curl up under the sheets and cry some more.
It took longer than she wanted to feel calm enough to leave Jonathan’s study, but Emilia managed. She had to look somewhat presentable. Looking distressed was understandable, given the situation, but Emilia didn’t think walking around looking like a bright-red tomato would look good.
Her uncle could cut harshly into her when he wanted to. He certainly had when Emilia got upset. Emilia had inherited her mother’s naturally pale skin, so it had a tendency to flare bright red when she was upset, or when she had been in the sun a little too long. Christian had also made comments that Emilia wasn’t a true member of the family because she didn’t look like any of them. Every member in her father’s family were tall and well-built with dark hair. Even the women were well-built. Emilia was a little over five feet tall and slightly built with a willowy figure. Her hair was ash-blonde and her eyes, her favourite feature, were bright green.
Christian wasn’t the only one who commented on her appearance – many of her father’s said the same, simply because Emilia looked like her mother’s side of the family instead of theirs – but his words cut the most.
Taking a deep breath, Emilia rose and crossed the room. Her legs felt weak and she could feel the tears building up again. Above her head, she could hear the sound of more breaking glass and things being thrown. Christian was going to break everything in the house if he kept up like this. Emilia could understand his despair, but did he have to break everything? She made a mental note to speak to Roberts about moving anything of real value out of sight. She didn’t want to lose anything more because of her uncle’s tantrums.
A tall, beautiful woman with golden blonde hair was pacing around in the morning room, her skirts swishing as she moved. Her companion, a tall, broad-shouldered man with pale red hair was sitting on one of the couches. The woman turned as Emilia entered. Her face was pale, and Emilia guessed she didn’t look any better.
“Charlotte.”
“Emilia.” Charlotte Chambers hurried across the room and tightly embraced her. “Oh, Emilia, dear. We had to come over as soon as we heard.”
“I’m glad you came.” Emilia stepped back, grasping her friend’s hands. “Thank you.”
“Anything for you, darling.” Charlotte bit her lip. “You have our most sincere condolences. I’m going to miss your father.”
“So am I.” Emilia looked around as Charlotte’s husband appeared at her side. “Peter.”
“Emilia.” Peter Chambers took her hand and kissed it briefly, squeezing her fingers. “This is a shock to everyone.”
Emilia wasn’t about to argue with that. She turned to the door and saw the butler hovering in the doorway.
“Would you get us some tea, Roberts?”
“Yes, Miss Hill.”
Roberts disappeared. Charlotte tugged Emilia to the couch and sat her down, easing down beside her and linking her fingers through Emilia’s. The two of them had been friends for more than twenty years, Charlotte having practically grown up on a neighbouring estate. Emilia couldn’t think of a more loyal, honest person than Charlotte. Even after her marriage to the dashing, somewhat socially awkward Peter Chambers, Charlotte was still a frequent visitor to Emilia’s home. Christian had complained about her constantly intruding, but Emilia had reminded him that he was a guest as much as Charlotte and didn’t have a say in who came to visit her. Thankfully, Jonathan had backed her up on that.
Give Christian half an inch and the man took a mile, she was sure of it.
“How are you holding up?” Charlotte asked. “Have you started on any of the arrangements? I mean…” Her face flushed. “I’ve not had to deal with a body before, I don’t…”
“I don’t know yet,” Emilia said quietly. “Uncle Christian says he’s got to meet with the coroner and the funeral director. He said he would deal with everything.”
If Emilia was brutally honest, she would rather have her father back. She shouldn’t be having to bury him, not when he had a lot of life in him. Jonathan Hill had been a healthy man and his physician had been optimistic in Jonathan living at least thirty more years. Emilia had thought that would be the case.
“I… I just can’t believe this.” Emilia stared at her hand joined with her friend’s. “Father’s never had a mean bone in his body. He never got into disputes with anyone. Except for Uncle Christian, of course, but other than that…” She swallowed. “He makes friends with everyone.”
“We know that.” Charlotte glanced up at Peter, who was standing over them. “Word has already got around that your father was found in an alley near Drake’s, that gambling hall on St. Mary’s Street. There are speculations as to what happened.”
Emilia stared. “Already? He was only found a few hours ago.”
“You know what Cambridge is like. Word gets around here and the surrounding area faster than anything would in London.”
There would be so many members of Society who would be coming up with their own thoughts on the murder and who might be responsible. Then those speculations turned into rumours and rumours had a nasty habit of becoming fact. Emilia hated the rumour mill. Jonathan said it was nothing to worry about and to ignore it.
Now he was dead, and it was going to be impossible to ignore.
“What are people saying about this?”
Charlotte hesitated. She glanced at her husband again, and Peter nodded. Emilia looked from one to the other.
“What? What do they say?”
“That your father got into an argument with Thomas Andrews and…” Charlotte took a deep breath. “Andrews lost his temper. He beat your father and lost control. Then he got rid of the body. Look, we shouldn’t be talking about this, Emilia. I don’t want to upset you.”
Emilia almost burst out into laughter. Not upset her. It was too late for that.
Jenny entered the room with the tea tray and placed it on the coffee table. She glanced over at Emilia with a nervous frown.
“Miss Hill?”
Emilia took a few deep breaths to push the hysteria back. It had been a few moments since Charlotte had told her the rumours and she was still struggling with wondering whether to laugh or cry. She had ended up doing a mixture of both, and that had resulted in Emilia sounding like a braying animal, breaking down even more than before. Charlotte and Peter had sat there, Charlotte awkwardly patting her hand while Peter looked like he would rather be anywhere else but with them right now.
“I’m fine, Jenny.” Emilia attempted a smile, but it didn’t work. “Thank you.”
Jenny didn’t look convinced, but she left. Charlotte shifted beside Emilia and reached for the teapot.
“I’ll pour out the tea.”
“Oh, Charlotte!” Emilia gasped. “I’m the hostess. I should be pouring the tea.”
“Oh, should you?” Charlotte arched an eyebrow at her friend. “Do you think you’ll be able to pour the tea when your hands are shaking as they are?”
Emilia looked down. She hadn’t realized that she was still trembling. Normally, she could keep her composure and hide it behind a facade. But this wasn’t exactly a situation that could be compared to anything else. How could anyone maintain composure after hearing someone they loved dearly was dead in suspicious circumstances?
Emilia tried to focus on something else. Anything else. Crying was not going to bring her father back. She had to concentrate on something different. Like anger. Anger Emilia could deal with. She could direct that to where it was needed. She knew just where to direct it.
Thomas Andrews. The man who was responsible for all of this. Emilia knew, deep down, that there was a chance that Andrews could be innocent in all of this, but his name kept coming up. Chances were, he was the last person to see her father alive. He had to have something to do with it. Emilia needed to focus on him. She needed answers.
She wanted answers. And from what Charlotte and Peter had just said about him, going straight up to Andrews and demanding the truth was not going to be easy. Andrews would straight-up deny that he had anything to do with it. From her experience, men were smooth-talking individuals when they wanted to be, and they were believed. Women were not so lucky; men could walk away from a scandal unscathed and leave the women to drown.
Charlotte finished pouring the tea and handed one cup to her husband. Then she passed one to Emilia.
“Here you go. Take it easy drinking from it.”
“All right.” Emilia’s hand trembled only slightly as she took a sip. She was glad that she didn’t tip it completely over on herself. She lowered her cup and put it back in the saucer. “How long has Mr. Andrews been running this place? Drake’s, did you say?”
“Just over two years,” Peter said. He had settled into the chair across from his wife, crossed his legs as he raised his cup to his lips. “Came straight out of mourning and bought the place.”
Mourning. So, the man was a widow. Emilia stored that away for later.
Charlotte picked up a biscuit from the tray. “Apparently, this isn’t the first time someone’s come under his wrath, but it’s the first…” She glanced at her husband, who gave her a slight frown. “It’s the first time someone’s died because of it.”
“Does he make a habit of attacking his patrons, then?”
“From what I’ve been told,” Charlotte said hurriedly, gesturing at Peter. “Peter’s mentioned some stories about Mr. Andrews, and they make me very nervous.”
Peter sighed. “My interactions with Mr. Andrews have been brief, but he’s treated me with respect. I keep to the rules that Drake’s has, so I don’t have any trouble.”
“But word gets around,” Charlotte protested. “You’ve told me so yourself.”
“It’s called gossip, darling. You shouldn’t take that as gospel.”
If it had been any other situation, Emilia would have said the same thing. But she had also learned that in among the gossip there was a sliver of truth. And so, she found herself leaning forward, focusing on the man across from her.
“Go on, Peter. What have you heard?”
Peter arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you listened to rumours, Emilia. You’re constantly saying that it should be taken lightly.”
“Just talk to me, Peter. I want to know.” Emilia glared at him. “What have you heard? Why have your stories about Mr. Andrews made Charlotte nervous? What’s he done for that to happen?
Anna frowned at her husband as he stood in front of the mirror, his manservant handing him a waistcoat.
“I think she’s ready, and so are we. Our family is expanding, and we should adjust accordingly. Beatrice needs to start her own family and life.” Silas looked over significantly at Anna, who sighed.
She was already dressed for the day, sat on their bed as Lena did up her shoes. As Anna had passed the sixth month of her pregnancy, it had become completely impossible for her to see her feet.
“I find this most frustrating!” Anna moaned. “I’ve not seen my own shoes in weeks and I’m the size of a hot-air balloon!”
Silas looked up at her then, noticing her tone, and gave her a soft smile.
“Lena, why don’t you give Madame and I a moment before breakfast?” he said, eyeing Anna up and down.
“Yes, sir.”
Lena left and Silas crossed the room to sit beside his wife, smiling at her grumpy expression.
“You are beautiful, Persephone,” he whispered, placing a soft kiss in the delicate spot of skin behind her ear. “Even when you are the size of a hot air balloon.”
Anna laughed and kissed Silas softly on the mouth. Her husband could always be relied on to snap her out of her bad mood. She watched as he rubbed a warm hand over their child, his fingers flexing protectively when he felt a bouncing kick. They both chuckled softly.
“Beatrice says I’m so big and round because it’s a boy.” Anna placed her hand over Silas’. “A future boxer and cricket champion, by the feel of it.”
“Well, my daughter will be able to box and play cricket,” Silas said.
Anna rolled her eyes. Beatrice and Silas had an ongoing debate about the gender of their future child. Beatrice was sure that Anna was carrying the next Marquess of Willington, but Silas wanted a little daughter to dote on. Anna didn’t mind. She was just excited for the day that she and Silas got to meet their child.
“I agree with you,” Anna said, clutching Silas’ hand. “Beatrice should marry, but I also know her entrance into society has not gone smoothly. I don’t want to pressure her.”
“We’ll think of something,” Silas kissed her, reassuringly and Anna smiled.
Beatrice overheard her brother and Anna’s conversation as they approached the breakfast room. Once again, they were preparing to broach the subject of her formal debut into society. Beatrice sighed heavily, took a sip of her tea, and as soon as the happy couple entered said, “Absolutely not.”
Since the turbulent events of six months ago when Silas and Anna had both almost lost their lives in a kidnapping and gun duel, Beatrice had become more reticent about coming out into society. She couldn’t help the anxiety that came over her whenever they left the estate, or when Anna traveled the familiar journey to visit her mother. When Silas went for business in the city, Beatrice was alive with nerves until he returned.
“Beatrice, you have to have a debut,” Silas said, pulling out his wife’s chair for her.
“Do you not remember how I fared at my first ball? And every ball since?”
Beatrice had no love of society women and the intrigues of high society and she absolutely refused to play the games of the Beau Monde and involve herself in gossip or petty jealousies. She had gained a reputation as being forthright and honest to a fault.
“You’ve done just fine,” Anna said in a mollifying tone.
“A debut is totally different.” Beatrice stared imploringly at her sister in law. “I can’t stand to be the centre of attention!”
“I know it is hard.” Anna reached across the tea pot to squeeze Beatrice’s hand. She took a deep breath. Beatrice was always calmed by Anna’s physical presence. “But we want you to find love, my dear, and there are some things we have to do for that.”
“What if we host the ball at Fallenbrook?” Silas suggested. Anna smiled at her husband encouragingly. “You’re always more comfortable at home.”
“Then you will be able to be in control of every aspect of the ball,” Anna reassured. “Wouldn’t that make it better?”
The idea of planning a ball was far preferable to attending one.
“A little,” Beatrice conceded. “But everyone will still be watching me. I can’t stand it.”
“I have it!” Anna snapped her fingers, grinning at her husband and sister. “We shall throw a masquerade ball! You can wear a beautiful gown and hide your face, and debut into society without everyone knowing who you are immediately.”
“This is a good idea,” Silas nodded. “They will have to speak to you personally to identify you. That way, you can control your interactions and maybe,” He pinched his sister with a wink “meet someone suitable.”
Beatrice rolled her eyes. To her, it seemed very unlikely, almost impossible. After all, she didn’t like society men, finding them too out of touch and privileged to really engage her. The kind of man she felt desire for was unlikely to be found at a high society ball.
“Alright,” Beatrice sighed. “A masked ball it is.”
Olsen Adley nursed his third glass of brandy, staring dolefully past the gambling tables to the club door. He had been ensconced in White’s, the most esteemed private gentleman’s club in London, since the early evening. Now the hands of the golden carriage clock above the fireplace ticked towards two in the morning. Adley moaned softly to himself, head in his hands. It would not be long before this reputable establishment refused him at the door. Once they heard of his insurmountable debts, Le Beau Monde would reject him, his creditors would be contacted, and a jail sentence would follow quickly on their heels. Unless he could miraculously dig himself out of it. That’s what he was here for: He was in pursuit of a miracle.
“Speak of the devil! Lucifer, how have you been, old chap?”
Adley’s head shot up, staring blearily in the direction of the voice. In the doorway of the gaming parlour stood a slightly drunk patron, leaning his corpulent form against the arm of a tall, dark gentleman with a profoundly disturbing aura. There he was, in the flesh, the legend that Adley had been seeking: Lucifer of London. He watched tentatively as Lucifer’s right-hand man, a shorter, athletic Italian Adley vaguely recalled as being named Giovanni pushed the drunken punter away from his master and cleared the way for Lucifer to descend. A poker table was made available, the current players being cleared with a dark, angry glare, and Giovanni ushering in suitable opponents. Adley recognised that they were all stern and mysterious men of business with hard reputations and even harder poker skills. He knew he would have no hope at a table like that, but he had no choice. He rose from his leather chair unsteadily and licked his dry lips before approaching cautiously.
“Who are you?” Giovanni asked, stepping in his path.
“Marquess of Willington.” Adley tried to straighten up. “I seek an audience with …,” he swallowed hard. “Lucifer.”
Giovanni crouched down next to Lucifer’s ear to murmur, “Mr Klane, the Marquess of Willington seeks an audience.”
At first, Adley was confused but then remembered, of course, even the legendary dark king of London had a real name: Silas Klane, though it seemed rarely used. Adley tried not to let his hands shake as he took a seat next to Lucifer. He was an uncommonly tall, well-built man with dark brown hair that he wore greased down, and black eyes under heavy black brows. He had an unsettling scar on his jaw, suiting his deadly reputation. No one in London knew exactly how the man had accumulated his vast fortune. After all, he had no family of significance, only a sister he kept away in the country, and no title at all. Yet he was never refused entry to any ball, gentleman’s club, or even the court of the Prince Regent. No one said no to Lucifer.
“What is it you want, marquess?”
Adley almost jumped. Lucifer’s voice was sharp as a knife, but it was refined: the . deadly tone of a predator. He swallowed hard.
“I want your help.”
“Oh? What could you offer me? Your investment portfolio is worthless.”
Adley flushed. “A person cannot devalue like an investment.”
The look Lucifer gave him was truly terrifying. “I do not trade in human flesh.”
“No, no, that is not what I mean!” Adley hastily back-peddled.
He remembered, with horrifying clarity, that there had been rumours that Lucifer had made a large portion of his fortune as a mercenary on the Continent, a murderer for hire. He felt he could see death in those black eyes.
“I have a d-daughter,” Adley stuttered out. “A rare beauty, of marriageable age -,”
Adley fumbled in his coat pocket for the miniature portrait his daughter had given him inside a gold locket. He opened it and set it before Lucifer’s hands, his daughter’s angelic face in clear view. Lucifer’s eyes paused, settling carefully on the exquisite portrait.
“How old is she?”
“Five and twenty.”
“Too old.”
“Not yet, she will still breed,” Adley rambled. “And her beauty has only increased with her womanhood. Her hair curls that way naturally, her skin is truly porcelain, her eyes as green as summer leaves -,”
“Such beauties are rarely unplucked.” Lucifer pushed the locket away. “I have no need of another man’s seconds.”
“Not my Anna.” Adley pushed the locket closer again. “She is as pure as the driven snow. With a title and inheritance like mine, and my only child – she – she would suit you well.”
Lucifer laughed. “If she really is as fine as you say, what could possibly be worth such a loss?”
“Settle all of my debts,” Adley blurted it out. “Give me enough to live on. You can have her, and I will never ask or question your rule of her. She will be yours … entirely.”
“How much is your debt?” Lucifer blew smoke in his face and Adley forced himself not to cough.
“Ten thousand pounds,” he whispered.
Lucifer nodded. Adley saw that he wasn’t surprised. He already knew the debt, likely had known this was the reason Adley had sat down and was only toying with him. Adley felt a surge of helpless rage. There was nothing he could do with it except stare at the man, willing him to accept the offer.
“Will you have more children?” he asked finally.
“No. My wife is unwell.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Lucifer leaned closer. “You would need to sign a legal document to say that any progeny your daughter produces will automatically inherit the title of Marquess of Willington. Would you ensure that any child you had, any male bastard that might be lurking around would not be able to ever inherit. That instead, your title will defer to your daughter’s progeny.”
“You are asking me to sign over my title?” Adley jerked back.
“Do not worry.” Lucifer gave him a chilling smile. “You would retain the title until your last breath. After that, however, my child would bear it. And, all of my line afterwards. On those terms.” Lucifer extended his hand. “Do we have an accord?”
Adley’s name, the name that had borne the title of Marquess for generations, would die out entirely. Adley closed his eyes against it. It did not matter, he realised painfully. His name had already died out. It had died with his only son. This was only the nail in the coffin. Sighing heavily, he extended his hand.
“You have an accord, Lucifer.”
Chapter Two
“Father, you cannot be in earnest!”
“I am.”
Anna Adley stared at her father across the breakfast table, her fork hanging loosely in her hand. He had come home impossibly late, risen with red eyes and the stench of smoke and brandy, sat at the breakfast table in a mope for most of the meal and now had the indecency to tell her, mumbling the words into his morning coffee, that she would soon be married.
“To whom shall I be married?”
“Mr Klane.”
Anna’s fork clattered against her plate and her father winced.
“But – but -,” Anna barely knew where to begin.
“Anna,” her father raised his hand placating. “He is the richest man in a London -,”
“With a terrible reputation!” Anna exclaimed. “Everyone says he has no background, he does not even have a title, he is thought uncouth, and hard, and possibly a criminal! You truly want to align our family with his?”
“It is no longer about want. I am doing what I must.” Her father rubbed his red eyes. “He will take my title for your firstborn son.”
“But – but that is Andrew’s title -,” Anna’s heart constricted as she thought of her brother. “You told me no other man would ever bear it, that it died with him -,”
“Everything died with Andrew!” Her father jumped from his chair, his plate, eggs and coffee cup smashing to the floor.
“Papa!” Anna rose quickly, sweeping a napkin off the table and bending down to clean it up. She was reluctant to call the servants in when her father was like this.
“You should not even mention his name to me!” her father roared. “If you hadn’t been in that carriage -,”
“It was your idea, Papa!” Anna cried, rising up to face him. “You told us to attend the ball -,”
She didn’t see her father move but his slap made Anna stumble against the breakfast table, spilling the tea pot. She pressed her hand against her stinging cheek, her eyes smarting as she stared at her father. Since he had begun drinking, these violent tendencies had been emerging.
“I will not marry him,” her voice was tremulous with tears. “You cannot make me.”
“There may be nothing I can do to force the words of marriage from your lips, but I can tell you the truth.” He lifted his red, feeble eyes to her face. They were filled with malice. “Our finances are ruined. You cannot expect another offer of marriage to be made to you once the news of our misfortune is made known in Town. How will your poor mother fare, do you think, when we are ruined?”
She could not believe that her father was leveraging her mother’s poor health against her. Then again, a year ago she would not have believed her father would gamble away their fortune, trade her happiness for gold, and strike her when she dared to speak her mind. She did not know him anymore. There was only one more bargaining chip she had.
“Andrew would not want this for me,” she said softly. “If he were here, he would stop you.”
Her father looked at her with hard eyes. She saw his hands clenched into fists and winced, anticipating a second attack, but he did not move.
“If he were here, you would not be.” Her father shook his head. “No amount of wishing can change that.”
Anna drew in a sharp breath, pained by his words. She knew he wished his children’s places were exchanged, he had said before, but it burned just as much as the first time he had said it.
“Will you accept him?”
The question was moot. Her father was really asking if she would save her mother. It took an army of doctors and specialists on rotation to attend to her various medical needs. Without financial support, she would surely perish.
“On one condition: You will take care of my mother. You will not gamble away her health with the money my new husband gives you.” Her voice caught on the strange word. Soon she would have a husband. “You will swear this.”
“I swear.” He spoke the words too quickly, his watery eyes darting to avoid meeting her own. She doubted him completely, but she had no idea how to make him care. “When will he come?”
“Tonight. You will be married in three days.” So soon. Her heart was weak with the immediacy of it, but she stood strong. “I have told your mother.” Anna nodded. At least she was spared that task.
“Well, I should have a conversation with her.”
Anna swept out of the room, walking quickly upstairs so that her father wouldn’t hear her tears. She rested against an upstairs door, letting her sobs fill the heavy, silent air. Their money problems had started the day that her elder brother Andrew died. Her father had walked into an alehouse and not come out for three days. Her mother was so worried she had taken to her bed. It had been five years, and Anna had been forced to run back and forth between the two, trying to mend something that she soon realised could not be fixed. In the last year, her father had held the estate together on a thread of promises and loans. Anna was tired of the humiliation, of lying to society, and asking the cook to stretch the side of beef as far as it could go. She was so deeply tired.
“Anna, darling? Is that you?” Her mother’s voice drifted to her from down the corridor. Anna rubbed her hand across the back of her nose, sniffling hard before making her way to her mother’s suite.
“Yes, mother?”
Anna’s mother sat up in bed, resting against a pile of cushions. Anna’s heart clenched when she saw her pale, drawn face and thin grey hair, braided into a neat plait. The years since her brother’s death had aged her – she looked like an old woman.
“Have you been crying?”
“No, mother.”
“Come, sweetheart, don’t lie to me.”
Her mother patted the bed beside her with a frail hand. Clearly, she was having one of her better days. Though her body seemed as weak as ever, her eyes were shining with some of their old interest and spark. Anna crossed the bedroom to sit on the embroidered quilt beside her mother.
“Papa told you?” she asked dully.
Her mother nodded. “This morning. He said he has made a fine match for you. You are unhappy with it?”
“The man, he … he is not -,”
Anna struggled with her words. How could she explain her fear and worry at being matched with such a disreputable man without potentially putting her mother at more risk? Doctor Graham, her primary physician, had been very clear about not putting additional strain on her mother’s nerves.
“He is not what I expected,” she finished lamely.
“Oh my dear, no man ever is!” Her mother smiled gently. “Every young girl feels trepidation before their wedding.”
“It’s not that I – I – don’t -,” Anna’s voice broke and she bit her lip. She stared down at her fingers as they twined together anxiously. “I – I don’t love him,” Anna whispered. “We always dreamed that I would marry and be in love and be happy, I don’t know him, I’ve never even met him!”
“Oh, Anna!” Her mother’s hands pressed against her trembling fingers, gentle but still strong. “I never expected that you would love your husband before your wedding.”
“You didn’t?”
Her mother laughed softly. It was not quite her twinkling laugh of full health, but the sound of it filled Anna with joy nonetheless. She couldn’t help but smile.
“No, darling. Even if a couple profess to love one another before they are wed, it is not usually true love, the love that comes from knowing a person deeply. It is usually a childish infatuation. Like how I felt about your father.” Her mother sighed deeply, her eyes drifting as she was lost in memories. “Love is a wonderful thing, Anna, it’s right that you want it for yourself.”
“What if I don’t feel it with him?” Anna blurted out. “What if we marry and I despise him?”
“Oh, darling. You must not worry about that. Every marriage is a step into the unknown.”
Her mother touched her face. Anna was overwhelmed by the gentleness of her mother’s touch and her tears fell even quicker. Her father had dropped the news of her marriage so quickly, she had not even really had a moment to consider how the dreams she had built in childhood, of meeting a man and falling in love, had fallen apart.
“I worry I cannot love a man like him,” Anna gasped. “With his … reputation…” Anna stopped herself from saying more. She didn’t want to upset her mother, but her mother batted away her concerns with a wave of her hand.
“Who a man is known to be and who a man truly is are two very different things, my dear. Do not concern yourself so much with reputation. You never know the truth of a man’s heart until you live with him in matrimony. Anna, look at me.” Anna lifted her blurry eyes to her mother’s face. “You must give him a chance. You must give love a chance.”
“Oh, Mama!”
Anna fell forwards into her mother’s arms, relaxing into the comforting scent of her: The strong, herbal tang of her balm of Gilead that she took for her nerves and the soft, warm smell of her cotton nightdress. Anna breathed deeply, her mother gently stroking her head until her breathing steadied. Her mother’s words comforted her deeply and she closed her eyes to rest a moment, safe, in her mother’s arms.
Chapter Three
Silas Klane stared up at the Willington estate, his keen eyes taking in all the features of it. It seemed well enough from the frontage, but there was an air of dilapidation about the place. It seemed that whilst Adley had been keeping up appearances in town, he had certainly let them slip at home. As he entered the once-great stately home, he noticed that someone had gone to effort to make it seem taken care of inside: fresh flowers stood in vases, and the light from the parlour was warm with the glow of a healthy fire.
“In here, sir.”
He was shown into the parlour. The Marquess was standing by the fire, looking worse than he had done the night before. Clearly the man could not stand his liquor.
“Marquess.”
Silas took a seat in a tall, leather-backed chair in the warmth of the fire’s blaze.
“Mr Klane.”
Adley didn’t sit, but simply stared into the fire, taking large gulps from a glass of port. Silas shifted, his irritation mounting. He was doing this old fool a tremendous favour by accepting his daughter, the least he could do was appear grateful, and perhaps offer him a drink! He knew there was every chance Adley’s daughter would not be a fraction as beautiful as the portrait had suggested, but Adley had been prepared to give him what he really wanted: his title. Silas would put up with a poor-favoured girl for that.
“Ah,” Adley stirred into life as footsteps were heard outside the parlour. “My daughter.”
Silas rose and turned, groaning inwardly at the farce he might have to play of actually pretending to desire this woman.
“Anna, this is your intended, Mr Silas Klane.”
Silas stared. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. Her golden hair was as fair as angel feathers, her skin as soft and smooth as a pearl. Her form was exquisite, the simple white gown she had chosen only enhancing her natural loveliness. Even the frown between her soft, blonde eyebrows and the look of wariness in her leafy green eyes couldn’t detract from her innocent aura. Silas couldn’t understand how such a beauty as she had not been snatched up in marriage by a young duke or marquess years ago. He could only assume her father had blocked her prospects, kept her away from society as much as possible, knowing all along that his most valuable asset was his attractive daughter. Silas felt a twist of dislike for a man who would put his finances before his child’s happiness.
“Your servant, my lady.” Silas recovered himself and bowed slightly.
“Mr Klane.” She inclined her blonde head deferentially, then looked between him and her father, her eyes passing over the small tables beside them.
“You are in need of refreshment, gentlemen. Hanson.” She nodded authoritatively to the old servant behind her, and he disappeared. “I can offer you some Madeira, Mr Klane, or perhaps a little sherry? Brandy? I am sorry to say, we have no port.”
She threw a tense look at her father, who glugged the last of the port sullenly. Silas frowned. The glance Anna gave her father was not the look of an adoring daughter, but a wary, perhaps even nervous one.
“Brandy.”
“Father, for you?”
“Nothing.” The Marquess drained his glass and set in on the mantelpiece. “I shall leave you in my daughter’s capable care, Mr Klane.”
Silas was surprised at Adley’s attitude. Leaving the two of them alone was highly irregular, but he supposed Adley was keen to show Silas what he meant by completing giving over his daughter to him. He glanced at Anna. The girl didn’t seem surprised by her father’s decision to leave her and Silas noticed how she averted her gaze from her father’s as he left the room. He frowned to see a slight, purple bruise on her upper arm, partially hidden under her sleeves. If he didn’t know any better, he would have said that it was the unmistakable mark of a man’s hand.
“Mr Klane.” He took the glass of brandy offered by a servant. “Please, be seated.”
“After you, Miss Adley.”
She inclined her head elegantly and took the chair opposite him. The servant returned with a plate of small delicacies, fine cheese and crackers, and he watched as Anna thanked him graciously and murmured quiet instructions. Clearly, Adley’s daughter was the one keeping this whole shabby family together. She was not only beautiful, it seemed, she was also capable.
“You understand the terms of our engagement?”
She looked up at him slowly, a frank, assessing gaze that he found quite intriguing.
“Not entirely. Father was … not explicit.” Her voice was bitter and her gaze drifted into the flames. “But the bare essentials are simple enough, are they not? Me and my title – for his debt.”
“You don’t seem happy to be engaged.”
“Should I be?” Her green eyes were piercingly lovely. “I am merely a pawn in a larger game, am I not?”
“My word, you do offer your opinion readily for a woman in your position, do you not?”
She bristled at his words. “What position is that?”
“Alone. With a man. Who knows what a man might do with such a free-thinking young woman?”
Silas sipped his sherry, enjoying both the sweet taste and her obvious discomfort. She looked lovely when she blushed. He liked her astute, practical manner, too. He wondered how far he could push it.
“If you are intending to marry me, you could hardly be a threat to me.”
Her words were light but her eyes were wary. He didn’t doubt she had heard the rumours about him, all the dark and twisted tales. He decided to test her.
“Is that so?”
Silas smiled again, leaning closer, deliberately raising a hand to loosen his cravat. He saw the way she stiffened, forcing herself not to recoil. She didn’t move. These feminine signs of strength were strangely endearing to him. Careful, a dark voice at the back of his mind hissed, you know what happens to delicate flowers in your grasp – they break.
“You are right to be afraid.” He sat back, chuckling, watching the way her body softened with relief. “No wonder you are so enraged at your father.”
“I am not enraged!”
Despite her caution of him, he saw her green eyes light with fire. He liked it.
“You are. You see yourself as the lamb sacrificed on the altar of his folly, do you not?” His eyes drifted over her pure, enticing flesh. He enjoyed watching an indignant blush creep up her neck. He allowed himself to lean even closer, whispering words in a husky voice. “The virgin offering to the devil.”
Her green eyes widened. He couldn’t help smirk to himself. He liked to scare her, to play the role of the villain. It was much easier than dwelling on the way her scent was like sweet, heady perfume to him, or how he longed to feel her warm breath on his cheek. No, it was better this way. It was better she was afraid. Then, she would not be hurt.
“Well, if that is the case, do tell me, what does the devil offer the virgin in the return?”
It was a daring question from an innocent girl, yet she had spoken the words with her head raised, her glassy eyes fixed on his. She was still afraid, he could see it in the way her creamy bosom rose and fell, but she was also defiant. She was going to be much more interesting to him than he might have hoped before.
“We appreciate your attendance,” Ariella said for what felt like the hundredth time. She kept the smile on her face and waited for the guest to move along before she breathed a heavy sigh. “Remind me why I allowed Mother to convince me to have such a grand wedding ceremony?” she asked.
Daniel slid his arm around her waist, bringing her close to his side. Even after all this time, she still had butterflies when he touched her like that. He leaned close to her ear, knowing very well what that did to her, “I recall you saying that you were looking forward to throwing a ball in honour of your wedding. Have you changed your mind?”
Her toes curled in her slippers. She shot him a look, to which he gave her an innocent grin. “I recall no such thing.”
“Hmm.” The simple purr was making her body hot with desire. Suddenly, Ariella hated the fact that she stuck here welcoming guests to the ball. She wanted to be alone with Daniel, to let him do the things to her that he’d done two months ago.
“If you keep that up, Daniel,” she said lowly, feigning nonchalance in case anyone happened to look their way. “I do not think we will be able to make it to the end of this ball.”
“Perhaps that is exactly what I want.”
She looked up at him to see that he was utterly serious. Since the ball was being held at Croydon Manor, it would be no great feat to sneak away for a short while. The more she considered the thought, the more tempting it became and when she felt his fingers tightened against her waist, she knew that he was thinking the very same thing.
Before they had the chance to act, however, they were approached by yet another guest.
“Look out, dear cousin,” said the man with the wide smile who came up to them. “You two are not as discreet as you think you are.”
Ariella blushed furiously at those words, but Daniel only shook his head with a soft smile. “It seems you have not yet learned the art of keeping what should not be said to yourself, Lord Burham.”
“Now where is the fun in that?” Lord Burham turned his attention to Ariella. He had the brightest blue eyes Ariella had ever seen, much like the sky on a summer day, and it was greatly accentuated by his head of dark hair and his neatly trimmed beard. His eyes were alight with humour and intrigue as he said, “and how do you do, Lady Croydon? I must congratulate you on your nuptials. It seems my cousin as grown quite lucky to have married a beautiful lady such as yourself.”
Daniel sighed. “Allow me to introduce my cousin, Lord Nigel Dunley, the Viscount of Burham.”
Ariella’s brows rose. “You are quite the charmer, Lord Burham. It is certainly a pleasure to meet you.”
“Ah, a compliment coming from such beauty transcends beauty itself,” he sighed. Then he grew a little more serious when he said, “And please, allow me to extend my congratulations on the success of your joint tea business. I am surprised to see how it has grown over a matter of months.”
“Yes, well, I should give all the praise of the business insights of my dear wife,” Daniel said as he drew her closer to her. Ariella instantly smiled.
“He is being too modest,” she said. “It is not a joint business for no reason, I’m sure you’re aware.”
“I am sure you both have your wonderful strengths to bring to the fore,” Lord Burham said with a chuckle. “Though, I cannot say I was not surprised to learn that it was beginning to rival Fortnum and Mason. Quite an impressive feat.”
“You flatter us, My Lord,” Ariella said with a smile. She did not intend to show how difficult getting to such a position had been, though she’d enjoyed every moment of it with Daniel by her side. They truly were a force to reckon with.
Lord Burham smiled, turning his attention to the rest of the ball. “Ah, this ballroom is simply brimming with such wonderful ladies. It must go ahead and—oh! And who is that beauty?”
Ariella looked in the direction he was turned to, surprised to see Gloria standing off to the side by the refreshments table, Macy by her side.
“Such an ethereal beauty, she is,” he marvelled. “Alone she stands and yet she captures the attention of every gentleman in attendance. I must learn her name.”
“Oh, that happens to be…”
Lord Burham had already walked off, his shoulders set with determination. Ariella watched him go, unable to contain her humour. She glanced at David. “Has your cousin always been such an interesting character?”
“He certainly has a way of catching your eye, doesn’t he?” Daniel said, sounding amused himself.
“I wonder how Gloria will fare under his attention.” Since the start of the Season nearly a month ago, and Gloria’s debut, she’d been showered with attention from prospective suitors. But Ariella, now that she’d met Lord Burham, wondered if Gloria did not have to go through the Season after all.
“Come,” Daniel said, drawing her attention. “Let us have a dance.”
“But what of the other guests?” she asked, even as he led her out amongst the other dancers.
“I am certain they will be able to find their way around. How could I possibly stand by your side for the entire ball without having at least one dance?”
Ariella chuckled. As he pulled her close, she rested her head on his chest. “It feels so right being in your arms like this.”
“I feel the same way, Ariella,” he said softly.
She lifted her head to peer up at him. “So…when do you think we should inform Gloria and Mother of our news?”
“I reckon if you tell them too soon, they might faint out of happiness.”
“That would not be so bad, would it?” she chuckled.
“Perhaps not,” David said, his smile evident in his voice. “Though I do believe if we wait too long, they will see the evidence of it long before they hear you say it.”
“It sounds to me as if you wish for me to tell them tomorrow,” she said.
“Tomorrow, then. It matters not to me. I only want you to be happy.”
“I am happy.” She knew he would accept her words, but she wanted to express it in a much different way. When they were alone.
“As am I, Ariella,” he said softly. “And I believe I will be even happier when our child is born.”
Slowly, Daniel ran his hand over the slight bump of her bell. It was hidden well under dress, but she knew that, soon enough, he would be far too large to hide.
Only they knew the truth, one they wished to keep hidden until after they were married. Now that they were, Ariella had no problem telling her family the good news. But for now, she savoured the secret that was just between them. To think that their love would produce a child was more happiness than she could handle.
She didn’t think of the future, nor of the past. She only let him lead her though this dance, wanting only to be here in the present.
Because here she knew that, after all they’d been through together their love could only prevail.
Grey Teahouse was one Ariella had imagined many times, but she’d never pictured anything quite like this. The shop was…simple. It lacked all the extravagant decorations that had surrounded the entrance of her father’s own shop. The boring, brown wooden door had only a sign on the outside and the windows that bordered it had curtains on the other side blocking her view of the inside.
She had indeed attempted to take a look inside and she wasn’t ashamed of it.
After all, no one would care what a regularly dressed man was doing standing in front of a teahouse. Had she been dressed in her gown, with her hair piled high, she would have most certainly drawn attention to herself. Ariella looked down at her white muslin shirt, large enough to conceal the small bust she had underneath, complemented by her brown tailcoat. The matching brown trousers with suspenders swam around her legs, not too large to be considered foolish, but not fitting enough to show her shapely hips.
Her disguise was brought together by the sandy brown wig she wore, transforming her into the man she was trying to be.
Ariella let her eyes settle on the sign on the door, letting the mixture of anger and determination consumed her once more, inspiring the courage she needed to go through with this plan. It was outrageous, she knew. Pretending to be a man to infiltrate her father’s rival, her goal was to get to the bottom of her father’s failed business. It was madness, but Ariella had already come too far to turn back.
So, she took a deep breath and entered the shop. There was no one inside. The space was relatively sizeable with a large counter stretching the width of the shop. Behind the counter was a tall, wide cupboard with jars of tea on every inch of its surface. A few chairs stood off to the side of the shop and when Ariella approached the counter, she saw a sign that told her to sit and wait.
What great service, Ariella thought sarcastically as she took a seat. At her father’s teahouse, there would always be someone around to greet customers. Yet, here, the place seemed to be deserted. She didn’t even know if there was someone around to attend to her.
The late Earl of Watford did everything with his heart, Ariella remembered. That was why Green Tea Company had flourished. That was why her father had such loyal customers – and rivals that couldn’t hope to compare. That was why when he died and the business failed, Ariella couldn’t believe it was because of his death. She knew her father would not was not the type of man to let a business fail simply because he wasn’t there anymore. No, there must be another reason for it, and she was going to get to bottom of it.
Her determination brought her here, to Grey Teahouse, her father’s biggest competition. The Earl of Croydon had also passed away, leaving the business to his heir and son. She was here to apply for the job as his assistant because she believed the demise of her families Green Tea Company had something to do with this rival business. Miss Ariella Green would have never secured the spot, “Arnold Richards”, however, might hope to.
But was anyone here? Frowning, Ariella nearly rose to her feet to look around the shop, but then the door behind the counter opened and she stayed still. She held her breath, watching as the new Earl of Croydon walked out.
***
The interview was a disaster. Daniel was sure that this man knew that as well from the downcast set of his shoulders. He reckoned the man would have sighed in defeat had he not still been in the shop.
“Thank you for coming, Mr Foster,” Daniel said as he led him out of the room. “But I’m afraid I may have to look elsewhere to fill this position.”
Mr Foster nodded his rather large head. “I understand.”
“You have a good day, Mr Foster.” Daniel opened the door and allowed Mr Foster to leave first. He too wanted to sigh because he’d been interviewing men for this position as his assistant for some time now and none were good enough to fill the spot. Mr Foster had been too clueless about the entire tea industry and Daniel didn’t have the time nor patience to attempt teaching him.
He was about to go back into the back office when he spotted someone else sitting in the shop. It was a small man with sandy brown hair, coming expectantly to his feet. Daniel tilted his head to the side. “Forgive me. I didn’t realize there was someone else waiting.”
“Good day,” the man greeted him. Daniel approached and was taken aback by how bright the man’s green eyes were. “Are you finished interviewing for the position?”
Daniel shook his head. Now that he was standing closer to him, he saw how petite this man was. His clothes looked slightly too big for him, but there was something oddly confident about the way he carried himself, his voice was rather…soft.
“No,” Daniel said. “I am still interviewing. What is your name, sir?”
“Arnold Richards.”
“Well, Mr Richards, come with me into my office. We’ll conduct the interview there.”
Arnold gave him a sharp nod. Daniel turned and went back into the office, taking his seat behind the desk. Arnold dutifully sat before him and folded his arms in his lap. A second later, Mr Richards tensed, folding his fingers into fists in a restless manner.
“Are you nervous, Mr Richards?” Daniel asked, sitting back in his chair.
“No,” Mr Richards said with a shake of his head. “Rather, I’m eager to begin.”
“I see.” Daniel studied the man before him. With his small frame, it should come as no surprise that his hands were dainty. “Well, this will not be a long interview, I assure you. I am looking for someone to assist me, I will need to get an understanding of your knowledge about teas. I would loathe to spend precious time teaching you what you should already know.”
Mr Richards, unlike the other men he interviewed, didn’t flinch. “Understandable,” was all he said.
Slightly impressed by how unaffected Mr Richards was by his blunt words, Daniel went on, “Allow me to introduce myself properly. My name is Lord Daniel Grey, the Earl of Croydon.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, My Lord,” Mr Richards said, bowing his head slightly.
“Tell me, then, Mr Richards. How much do you know about the tea industry?”
“That is a rather broad question, My Lord,” Mr Richards said, much to Daniel’s surprise. “If I were to tell you all that I know, we will be here all day.”
Interesting. The other candidate was already fumbling for an answer at this point.
He wasn’t willing to show that he was slightly excited by his confident answer, however. “One or two impressive facts should suffice.”
“Very well.” Mr Richard’s tongue darted out to lick his lips before he began. The movement seemed odd, though Daniel couldn’t determine why. He supposed it had something to do with how small and well-shaped Mr Richards lips were, something he’d never seen on a man before.
“Within London, there are five major tea companies, four now that Green Tea Company has gone under. Of course, there are several others throughout London, and England for that matter, but the four major tea companies are responsible for the tea imports throughout England, Scotland and Ireland. Grey Teahouse is one of them.”
Daniel leaned forward, giving Mr Richards a curious look. “Impressive, Mr Richards. I see you’ve taken the time to learn a bit about the industry before coming here today.”
“I have always had an interest in tea, My Lord. During my time in the countryside, my family owned a small shop of our own.”
“Is that so? Then why come here?”
“The shop closed when my parents died, and I came to London to live with my uncle.”
“Ah, I see.” Daniel couldn’t help scrutinizing the young man before him. His eyes were direct, never wavering from Daniel for a second. Even with his fidgeting hand, Daniel got the distinct impression that Mr Richards was ready for anything Daniel thought to throw at him. “I’m sorry to hear about your loss.”
“It occurred years ago, My Lord,” Mr Richards said simply.
“I have a few more questions for you, then. Do you have a good understanding of accounting?”
Mr Richard’s eyes went a wide for a moment before he nodded slowly. “I do understand basic numbers, My Lord.”
“And, as someone who has experience working in a shop like this, I suppose you know how to handle customers and give recommendations?”
“It is quite easy to say that I do, My Lord. If given the opportunity, I wish to prove this to you.”
Daniel nearly smiled. “That is good. I have one more question. What is your favourite tea?”
Mr Richard’s emerald eyes rolled upwards in thought before he said, “I am a simple man, My Lord. I greatly enjoy Bohea tea.”
What a wonderful coincidence. “A fine choice, Mr Richards,” Daniel said, unable to hold back his grin. So far, Mr Arnold Richards was the best candidate that he had interviewed. His confidence and his knowledge of the business would be a sure benefit to this teahouse.
Daniel rose and stuck out his hand. “Allow me to congratulate you, Mr Richards. You will be my new assistant.”
Mr Richards rose, his eyes wide with surprise. He grasped Daniel’s hand and shook quickly before pulling away—but not before Daniel noticed how soft they were.
“Thank you, My Lord. You will not regret your decision.”
“I would hope not. Now that we’re working together, I think it is best that we refer to each other by our given names. Please, call me Daniel.”
Mr Richards nodded slowly. He seemed uncertain, but there was a shine in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. It made Daniel’s grin widen.
“Allow me to see you out, Arnold,” Daniel said, gesturing to the door. “You may begin working tomorrow at 9am.”
“I will be here on time,” Arnold said. He lagged a little behind, forcing Daniel to pause once they were out the door for him to catch up. “You will not regret hiring me.”
“I sincerely hope not. Take care going home, Arnold.”
Arnold nodded again and then turned to leave. Daniel stared after him, watching the way he walked, with his head held high and his hands clasped before him.
Chapter Two
Ariella finally released the breath she’d been holding once she was safely in her carriage. She had to walk a while to get there, wanting to make sure she was a safe distance from the shop. She’d hate for her new employer to figure out her ruse if he found her climbing into a fancy carriage.
She relaxed in the seat and pulled the wig off her head, her darker brown hair tumbling down around her shoulders. Her coachman would say nothing of what transpired today, she knew, because of his fierce loyalty to her. It was the only reason she’d thought to bring him along, knowing that she would have to change into her day dress before she reached home. She’d loathe for one of the servants to see her sneaking in dressed in men’s clothing and have rumours spreading throughout Watford Manor.
That went better than I thought it would. Ariella had expected there to be an error in her disguise, something that would allow the Earl to see that she wasn’t who she claimed to be. She thought when she sat before him, folding her hands in her lap like a lady, he would have found her out. Then, when they had shaken hands, she hated coming that close to him, afraid that the near proximity would let him see the truth. But he had been no wiser about her deceit, and he had happily given her the job too, almost as if he couldn’t wait for her to get started.
Ariella couldn’t get a good grasp of his character yet though. She’d always deemed herself good at reading people, which was why she was yet to be married despite the two Seasons she’d attended. Ariella had never been one to fall for good looks and charming smiles, and when she saw the Earl, she had thought his rumoured looks would have no effect on her.
Then why do I feel so jittery on the inside?
She’d been nervous the entire interview, and Ariella couldn’t tell if it was because of the delicate situation, or the striking grey eyes of the Earl of Croydon. He regarded her openly, never once hiding his curiosity and it had greatly unnerved her. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, couldn’t determine if he was sensing that there was something odd about her. Ariella thought her disguise would easily trick anyone into thinking she was simply an underdeveloped young man, but perhaps she was wrong.
She shook her head, quickly shedding her clothes. There was no use thinking about it now. If Lord Croydon had suspected something, he would not have hired her. Now that the hard part was over, all Ariella had to do was focus on her task: getting to the bottom of the failure of Green Tea Company and her family’s current financial situation.
By the time she arrived at Watford Manor, she was dressed once again in the pale green day dress she had left the manor in. She hoped the excuse that she was going shopping would be forgotten when she walked in with empty hands.
The manor was quiet. After asking the butler for her mother’s whereabouts, she learned that the Dowager Countess of Watford was in her bedchambers. Ariella struggled to hide her smile at the thought that she had gotten away with today’s ruse and assured that she should be able to keep up with it in the coming days. She only needed to do it as long as it took to get to the truth.
Without stopping, she made her way to the garden. She knew her sister, Gloria, would be there and sure enough, Ariella found her sitting at one of the gazebos before an easel.
“Are you practicing with your paints?” Ariella asked, coming to sit by her side.
Gloria didn’t bother to look her way, not breaking the rhythm of her strokes. Ariella peered closely at the painting, but she couldn’t make out what it was.
“I’m taking a break from my lessons to practice some more,” came Gloria’s high-pitched voice. “Do you like it?”
“I’m not sure what it is,” Ariella said honestly.
Gloria sighed and let her hand fall to her lap. Sitting nearby, Gloria’s lady’s maid, Macy, smiled. “It is meant to be that groomed bush over there,” Gloria said. “Do you truly not see it?”
Ariella examined the painting a bit more and then shook her head, her lips twitching with mirth. “Forgive me, Gloria, but it looks nothing like what you were aiming for.”
Gloria emitted another sigh. “I am never going to be good at this.”
“Keep practicing. You’ll get better.”
“I have been practicing for years, Ariella!”
“And within a few more years, I’m sure you’ll be decent enough.” Ariella patted her sister on the shoulder, holding back her laugh.
Gloria wasn’t laughing, however. She set her brushes aside. Her blonde hair shook as she turned to face Ariella, letting her green eyes fall on her. “I think I should focus more on the harp rather than painting. I’m much better at instruments.”
“We all have our talents,” Ariella said with a nod. Gloria had many. She had a wonderful voice, was quite adept at the harp and the pianoforte, and was a decent rider. Ariella, on the other hand, spent most of her time pouring over books and working on numbers. When their father was alive, he would allow her to sit with him while he did the bookkeeping for the company.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” Gloria asked suddenly, making Ariella start.
She looked at her sister in alarm. “Pardon me?”
“You went shopping, did you not? I know you never do that unless there is something specific you desire. Did you find it?”
“Oh.” Ariella bit her lip, wondering if she should tell her sister the truth. Today went well, but Ariella worried again if she’d be able to pull off this ruse for the coming days without being found out. It would do wonders if she had Gloria to cover for her.
Gloria turned fully to her. “Is everything all right, Ariella?”
“Yes, yes, everything is just fine. Only…I did not go shopping today. I went somewhere else.”
“You did?” Gloria’s eyes widened. “Is there something wrong? Are…are you courting someone?”
“Oh, heavens, no,” Ariella said with a laugh. Courting was the last thing on her mind right now. “I went to Grey Teahouse – and I was dressed as a man.”
Gloria’s frown deepened. She ran her gaze down the length of Ariella and then her eyes resettled on her face. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to explain a little more.”
“Gladly.” Excited all of a sudden to reveal her plan, Ariella said, “I’ve been hired by the Earl of Croydon to work as his assistant in his teahouse. While I’m there, I’m going to find out how they managed to cause Father’s company to shut down.”
“Ariella, have you lost your mind?”
Ariella shook her head, taking both of Gloria’s hands in her own. “I know how mad this sounds, but I believe this will work. The Earl is not aware of who I am. I should be able to do this without being found out.”
“Ariella, you are the eldest daughter of an Earl!” Gloria exclaimed. “You cannot go around London dressed as a man working for Father’s competitor! That will cause a scandal and you know I will debut next season.”
“I know, Gloria, I know.” Ariella rubbed the back of her hands in the soothing motion. “But I won’t be found out if you help me.”
“Me?”
“Allow me to be careful of the Earl of Croydon. I need your help in making sure that Mother never finds out.”
“Ariella…”
“You don’t have to give me an answer right now. You can think on it, but I won’t give up on my quest, Gloria. Whether you help me or not, I intend to continue with my plan.”
Gloria frowned, biting her lip. It was a habit they both shared whenever they were feeling agitated. “You’ve always been quite odd, Ariella. You should be thinking about getting married before you become a spinster.”
“I can worry about such things after I find out the truth.”
“And what of me? If the Earl finds out about who you are, haven’t you thought about how this will affect me?”
Ariella did. Even before thinking about how she would be affected, Ariella thought of her little sister who had been looking forward to her debut. Gloria’s only wish was to become a lady of the ton and to marry into a good family. Ariella knew her actions, if discovered, wouldn’t only affect her but could affect her sister as well. Her failure to secure a husband the past two seasons already had a chance of casting Gloria in a negative light.
“I will ensure that you are unharmed by this. You don’t have to worry.” Ariella reached out to stroke Gloria’s hair, hoping the tender gesture would calm her the way it used to when they were little. But the worry didn’t dissipate from her expression.
“I hope you are aware of what you’re doing, Ariella,” she said.
“I am. I am certain that this will work, and when I know the truth, I’ll make sure to fix our family’s situation.” Ariella got to her feet. “Think about helping me, will you? I won’t ask you to give me a response right now. I only wish that you think on it.”
Gloria’s silence was all she Ariella needed to know that she would think on it, even if the idea was aversive to her. Thinking that it was the best response she would get out from her for now, Ariella decided to leave her sister to her watercolours.
Christian sat on the patio of the Gladstone estate, watching Daniella play with his niece and nephew. In the last year, his life had changed dramatically. First, he had adjusted to having Verity living at Gladstone Manor, who was now not only his sister in his heart but in name, then, during their first Christmas celebration Jack and Verity had announced they were expecting. In May, Verity had surprised everyone including herself and had given birth to twins, Rose Jasmine Elizabeth Gladstone and, her younger brother by twenty minutes and the next heir to the Gladstone Estate, John Huxley Christian Gladstone. The Gladstone family’s happiness was complete. Now, as they sat outside on the warm September afternoon, the twins were nearly four months old and were doted on by everyone, especially their step-aunt, Daniella.
“No, little John,” Daniella chided, pulling a leaf away from the mouth of her tiny nephew. “He is simply determined to eat everything the garden has to offer!”
“He is so troublesome!” Verity shook her head ruefully, watching as Daniella sat on a picnic blanket on the green lawn with her son.
“Jack was just the same,” Christian’s mother reflected, jiggling baby Rose on her knee and gazing at her granddaughter with adoration. “Not like this petal, who is a delight.”
“You say that now!” Jack called from the lawn. “Wait until she’s twelve years old and sneaking your pearls and gloves, mother!”
“She’ll be welcome to each one.” Mother pressed a kiss to the dark hair of her grand daughter. “She’ll be a beauty, what with Jack’s hair and Verity’s eyes!”
It was true that baby Rose was the image of her mother – her shining almond-shaped eyes the same compelling emerald colour, and her face the same rounded, heart shape – except for her hair, which was as black as the night, like her father.
“Little Lord John has Verity’s hair,” Daniella commented, touching the future Duke of Sussex’s tiny, blonde head.
“Yes,” Jack smiled. “He’ll be tall and fair, and quite the dapper gentleman, I’ll warrant.”
“Just like his uncle,” Daniella laughed, smiling cheekily at Christian. His heart raced at her words, but he managed to keep his excitement out of his voice when he replied, “I hope he shall be better at cricket.”
They all laughed together at that, and Christian watched Daniella’s soft smile, her auburn curls bouncing around her face, with fascination. Since Verity and Daniella had broken free of the manipulative clutches of Martina, Christian’s thoughts had become gradually more and more preoccupied with Lady Law. He enjoyed her company, finding her insightful and clever with a wide range of opinions on everything from estate management to politics. They loved to discuss travel together, and Daniella liked to hear Christian’s descriptions of the different business interests the Gladstone’s held around the world. Recently, however, he had noticed a slight change in their conversations. They had begun to talk jokingly, lightly of places they would travel together in the following year. At local balls, they had taken to dancing three or more partnered dances together, a public sign of intention towards another. Jack had stopped dropping broad, light-hearted hints about him marrying Daniella and had simply adjusted to, every week, bluntly asking what was taking him so long. Christian wasn’t loitering. He had a plan. He thought of the diamond ring he had hidden in his desk drawer in the study. Soon, he thought to himself, soon he would find the right moment to ask Daniella to marry him and they would travel the world as man and wife.
“Hullo there!”
Christian turned to see Verity’s good friend, Lady Shona and her husband, Lord Addington, strolling around the side of the grand house, smiling and waving, accompanied by a maid pushing a perambulator.
“How nice of them to call,” Mother smiled. “I do so love to see the little Lord Addington.”
Shona and Mark’s son had been born at the start of the new year, and the Gladstone’s and Addington’s often liked to spend time together with their young children. However, this time, Christian noticed an additional figure walking along beside Mark and frowned.
“Who is with them?” he asked Verity, leaning towards her.
“Oh, I believe that is Mark’s brother,” she answered casually, waving to her friends. “Captain Daniel Addington.”
“Daniel?”
Christian looked at Daniella. She had stopped playing with baby John and had risen slowly to her feet, one elegant, white hand resting on her throat and a dazed expression in her eyes. Christian was out of his chair in a moment, standing beside her and letting her hand grip his arm tightly.
“What is it?” he asked urgently.
Daniella said nothing as the young man approached. Jack scooped up baby John and crossed to the patio, meeting Mark and Shona with his wife, daughter and mother. Captain Addington diverted from the bustling party of happy couples and babies to walk slowly towards Christian and Daniella.
He stopped in front of them, bowing slowly. He was a handsome young man, almost rakish in his looks. When he stood up tall, his brown eyes were resting on Daniella.
“Hello Daniella,” he smiled. “How good to see you.”
“Verity! Come and look at this ribbon Clara has gifted me!”
Verity pulled her gaze away from the elegant view of the garden and smiled as she responded to her best friend’s call. Lady Shona sat in the middle of the room, smiling happily amongst gifts and the soft pastels of her friends’ gowns. Her pale skin was flushed with the excitement of her engagement party, her freckles standing out on her rosy cheeks. Verity smiled at seeing her look so happy. She took the blue-ribbon Shona held out to her and immediately tied it into Shona’s light brown curls.
“It is perfect for your eyes,” Verity said sincerely. “You will make the most beautiful bride.”
The other women tittered their agreement. Even though Shona was not the most beautiful woman out in society, she was marrying a man of good standing whom she loved. She glowed with joy and anyone could see it.
“Lord Addington is a lucky man!” Verity squeezed her friend’s shoulder gently.
“My lady? A letter sent express for you.” A finely dressed servant appeared at Verity’s elbow, carrying a tightly folded envelope on a silver platter.
“Who might have sent that?” Shona asked, glancing up from a new set of lace doilies she had been gifted.
“I believe it came from London, my lady.”
Verity heard the curious murmurs of the ladies around her – as the only lady of the party visiting from London, they saw her as something of an exotic bird and a letter sent express was delightful fodder for the gossip mill. Feeling their eyes on her, she smiled politely.
“Excuse me, ladies, it must be from my father.”
She crossed to the privacy of the garden room, standing among the rich green leaves and bright, waxy petals. Her father and stepmother had spent much of the summer season in Bath, hoping the benefit of the healing waters would improve her father’s ailing health. They had only recently returned to London. An express letter so soon could only be bad news. Verity took a deep breath and broke the seal.
Daughter,
Your father’s condition has worsened. I fear he will not see out the week. If you desire to speak with him before he meets the Lord, I suggest you return home post-haste.
Your loving mother,
The marchioness.
Verity crumpled the letter in her hand. It was not from her mother, but her stepmother and it was just like Martina to write such a brief, unfeeling letter. Verity’s true mother had died when she was only a small child, her father was the only family she had left and now ill-health threatened to steal him away too. Without him, she would be alone in the world aside from Martina who, even though she signed her notes as “loving mother,” was incapable of loving anything but the money and title she had achieved in marrying Verity’s father.
Verity glanced back over her shoulder to the crowd of happy young women in the drawing-room. She dearly wanted to share this news with Shona, desperate for her tender understanding and the consolation of her friendship, but propriety held her back. This was an important day for Shona.
Verity knew that being inducted into Bristol society and meeting the female acquaintances of her future husband had been worrying for her. Verity didn’t want to pull her attention away at this crucial time. Instead, she found herself longing for the company of her only other dear friends – the Gladstone brothers. Christian was her closest friend in London and could always be relied on for sound advice, and Jack, well, Verity’s heart skipped a little when she thought of Jack. Charming and handsome, she had always harboured an affection for the older Gladstone brother even though she knew his flirtatious nature meant his sentiments couldn’t be sincere. How she wished he was here now to comfort her. She imagined how relieving it would feel to fall into his arms. But Jack was far away, touring Europe in the company of other young gentlemen, and Christian was in London. She was alone.
Squaring her shoulders, she dropped the hurtful note in a plant pot and turned back to the drawing-room, readying herself to give her apologies and leave. There would be shocked faces, Shona’s veiled disappointment and of course, gossip. She took a steadying breath, blinking against the tears that threatened to rise. She needed to be strong for her father and pray that she would get back in time to see his face one last time.
Chapter Two
Jack watched as an elegant, dark-haired beauty crossed the Spanish steps, her white carousel resting gently on her lace-covered shoulder. She caught his eye, smiling coquettishly from across the water feature until her chaperone hurried her away. Jack kept his eyes on her, waiting for her to glance back over her shoulder for one last smile, as they always did.
“Are you distracted, Gladstone?”
Jack smiled at his friend, shaking his head lightly. “A pair of bright eyes only.”
He tapped the end of his cigar in the glass dish on the table, sinking back into his chair under the awning of Cafe Greco. Jack was used to this type of attention from the ladies, and his tour of Europe had not lessened the glances, smiles and fluttering of fans in his direction. Increasingly, however, he found the process to be less and less rewarding. In fact, more frequently he found his mind turning to the faces of his childhood, the ladies he had grown up with and saw not only as pretty faces but as dear friends, although he was not sure they would see him the same way.
His younger brother, Christian, was the one who had the knack of maintaining meaningful, respectful friendships with ladies. Jack thought with envy of Christian’s close friendship with the charming Lady Verity Huxley, a green-eyed beauty whom Jack had always found arresting. Jack enjoyed her company immensely, looked forward to the way her eyes lit up and cheeks flushed when he complimented her or beat her at cards, but these were superficialities only. It was Christian who had the true knowledge of that lovely girl’s heart. For a moment, he found himself wondering where Verity was right now. He imagined her on one of her long walks with Christian, the sunshine catching her strawberry blonde hair and the lush greenery of the English garden reflected in her emerald eyes. He felt a sudden pang of homesickness.
“Signor? C’è una lettera per te.”
A young Italian waiter placed a silver plate beside him, a small coffee pot and a letter laid out on it. Like many gentlemen travellers in Rome, Jack was bouncing between accommodations with wealthy Italian friends and so used the Cafe Greco as a central post office.
“Grazie.” Jack turned the letter over. With a lurch of his heart, he saw the edging of the envelope was mourners black. He recognised his brother’s seal.
“Another love letter?”
Jack’s friends laughed, nudging each other and glancing curiously at the unopened missive. Jack pushed back his chair abruptly, grinding his cigar into the ashtray.
“Excuse me.”
He set off walking at a rapid pace, leaving his friends and their exclamations behind him. The Roman sun beat against the back of his neck. He knew what this letter would contain, and he couldn’t bear to read it in public. Finally, he found a quiet back street. Holding himself tense with trepidation, he broke his brother’s seal.
Dear brother,
You will know the contents of this letter before you read it, but the dreadful task of giving you this news still falls to me. Our father is dead. Though it was expected, and we can take solace that he is finally at peace with the Lord, I confess myself overwhelmed. It is not only my own grief I feel, but I am saddened to share that the Marquess of Huxley has also passed. It is torturous to see Verity’s suffering at the loss of a beloved father. Only we, brother, can truly know how she feels. It would be my greatest wish to tell you that you could continue your European tour, but it is impossible. Mother demands that you must return and take control of the estate and assume your rightful place as the Duke of Sussex.
I hope that this letter finds you quickly, and you can return in time for Father’s funeral. I will anxiously await your arrival. There are many preparations to be made.
Your loving brother,
Christian
Jack watched the ink blur and run against the paper, and realised tears were sliding off his nose. His father was dead, and his days of freedom and exploration were over. He must go home and take up the mantle of his Dukedom and all the responsibility that came with it. He could already feel the weight of it pressing down on his shoulders and his mind filled with all the questions he should have asked his father about managing their land and tenants. Now they would never have those conversations. He was alone.
He took a heavy breath and wiped his eyes on the rough wool of his coat sleeve. He would not be alone for long. His brother was at home, and his mother too, and they would give him the support and comfort he craved. A small voice in the back of his head cut through his grief and reminded him Verity Huxley was also at home. She was mourning too, and with the loss of her only family would undoubtedly be looking to Christian to provide the necessary support, which meant there was a chance that Jack might see her. Just to look at her face, to see that sparkling joyful smile would surely lessen the darkness that seemed to shroud him. Jack found his heart slightly lighter at the prospect.
Chapter Three
Verity stood as quietly as her maid, Trudy gently did up the pearl buttons of her mourning dress. She stared at herself in the long mirror, as if she were watching a doll. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back severely so that her black mourning veil could be pinned securely. Her black dress was a heavy velvet, unlike the light cotton and muslin that was so fashionable nowadays. It made her look pale and wan. She could barely recognise herself.
“Are you alright, miss?” Trudy murmured, squeezing Verity’s arm.
“I will be fine.”
She wouldn’t be. Today was the day of the funeral. Verity had not been able to see her father before he passed away. She had stumbled from the carriage after a non-stop ride from Bristol, torn into the Huxley townhouse like a tornado only to be confronted by the impassive face of her stepmother.
“You are too late,” she had said, carelessly, ignoring Verity’s strangled cry. “You shouldn’t have gone to Bristol.”
As always, Martina had no thought for how her words might impact Verity and turned away from her brimming tears and devastated face to return to her sewing without another word. Since then, the two women had kept a wide berth from one another. The Marchioness had been spending most of her time with her daughter from her first marriage, Lady Daniella Law, whom Verity always found intimidating because of her beauty and aloof manner. In looks she took after her mother, sharing the sharp, red hair and flawless skin that Martina flaunted around London.
According to Trudy, Martina and Daniella had been seen at several public functions since her father’s death and although they both wore the appropriate mourning black and seemed subdued, Verity felt the insult to her father’s memory that they were out in society again so soon. Verity, by comparison, had been unable to face any callers. Flowers and food had been delivered every day, but whilst Martina took the gifts immediately, Verity squirrelled away the cards and handwritten notes and wept over their kind words in her bedchamber. It had taken more strength than she had to get out of bed this morning and prepare for one of the worst days of her life. The only solace she could take was that Christian would be in attendance at the funeral. She needed a friendly face to get her through.
“Verity, we need to have a little talk.”
Verity turned to see her stepmother standing in the doorway to her dressing room, holding an enormous peacock fan. It matched the gold and black stitching on her skirt. It was shockingly inappropriate for a funeral.
“Yes, mother?”
Verity’s voice always caught painfully on the word “mother.” For her father’s sake, she had always complied, but it pained her to say it. Martina’s eyes were like chips of blue ice, narrowing slightly as she noticed the catch in Verity’s tone.
“I am afraid we have a small problem, my dear. I found this in your father’s things. I’m afraid it has rather shone a bright light on some dark doings that impact you.”
Martina smiled and pulled a small, leather-bound journal from behind her back. Trudy gasped. Verity instantly recognised it as her father’s diary. It was incredibly private, had been kept in a locked drawer of his desk and only he had kept the key. He had always told Verity that, upon his death, the diary was supposed to be burnt without being read. Martina knew this, Verity was sure of it.
“You – you read it?” Verity stared at Martina.
“Well of course,” Martina flipped indolently through the pages. “Your father was my husband.”
“But – but he wanted it burned, you know he did -,”
“And with good reason, it seems. He had many secrets to keep, especially concerning your mother.”
“My mother?” Verity stared at Martina, flexing her fingers to control her rage. “I do not think you should speak of my mother, Martina.”
Martina clearly noticed the change in Verity’s address. She stood a little straighter.
“I can speak of her as I like. I am your father’s widow, I can speak of any part of his life as I wish. You are nothing.”
“I am his daughter!” Verity exclaimed.
“Well, perhaps not.” Martina waved the journal. “It is suggested here that your mother, the woman he always spoke of as such a saint, may have been unfaithful.”
Verity’s head was spinning. She felt Trudy’s firm, comforting grip on her elbow, silently supporting and holding her up in the face of such terrible accusations. She could not think about this now, she could not consider the idea that the man she had grown up with, loved and cherished might not be her father. She needed to be strong in the face of Martina’s malice.
“This is hearsay,” Verity’s voice shook with rage. “Why you should desire to make it known is beyond me, for it will only damage our families-,”
“It is not only hearsay, and I have little concern for your life since you are likely a bastard child and are owed nothing.” Martina’s eyes glittered with hate. “Your father has recorded more than his own suspicions. He includes in here a letter between your mother and her lover, no doubt that he uncovered and wept over since he loved her so. Why else should he have kept you?”
Because he loved me, Verity thought silently, I know he did. She knew that those words would only enrage Martina, who although had been treated well by her father, had not been loved in the same way Verity had.
“Do you think you will be untainted if you make this – this slander known publicly?” Verity tried to reason. “You rely on the good name of my father, why would you make designs against it?”
“Because I have a need of you, Verity, and I know you are headstrong underneath your innocence. I believe a promise of my silence on these matters will engender your compliance.”
“What could you possibly need of me that you would threaten these – these dreadful things?”
“You must marry by the end of the season.”
Martina’s demand seemed to fill the room, resoundingly painful and crashing over Verity like a wave. She could say nothing. There was no need anyway, for Verity instantly understood what Martina wanted. If Verity married, she would forfeit her entire claim on her father’s estate. Everything would go to Martina. In the absence of the Marquess’ full devotion, she was clearly determined to possess what was left of him completely.
“I understand.” Verity turned away from her stepmother, trying not to blink so as to hold the tears back.
“You will be married by the end of the season?”
“And you will keep my parents’ secrets. Yes, we are understood. Now,” Verity nodded for Trudy to bring her veil. “Please excuse me. I must prepare for my father’s funeral.”
“Of course, dear.” Martina’s pleasant and charming exterior had clipped back into place. “Take your time.”
As soon as the door shut, Trudy threw her arms around Verity, crushing her in a bone-breaking hug.
“Oh, mistress! You – you were so composed, she – she -,” Trudy dashed a hand across her face, wiping tears. “She is a beast of a woman to say such things to you!”
“I know, Trudy.”
Verity disentangled herself from Trudy, biting her lip to control her stormy emotions. She dearly wanted to collapse into her maid’s arms and weep, but she knew the funeral carriage with the dark horses and their black-feathered plumes were waiting on the road downstairs. There was a mahogany coffin laden with white carnations lying solemnly somewhere, waiting to be interred. Today was the day she would bury her father, and now she needed to find a husband.
“What will you do, Miss?”
“I don’t know.” Verity adjusted her veil. “I – I will have to accept an offer, I suppose.”
In the last year, she knew her father had been approached multiple times with offers from well-known London gentlemen for her hand in marriage.
Trudy frowned. “Your father did not feel any of those gentlemen were worthy of you.”
“Their worthiness is immaterial when considered against Martina’s threat,” Verity flipped her veil down, glad to be able to hide her face. “I will not let her diminish my parents’ memories this way.”
Verity tried to push away the thought that her father might not be her father and pulled on her black lace gloves.
“Well, what of Lord Gladstone?”
“Jack?” Verity’s heart skipped a beat to mention his name.
“No, the younger Lord Gladstone not the new Duke of Sussex.” Trudy held out the cropped, black jacket for Verity to wear. “He cares for you tenderly. I am sure he would be open to an …arrangement.”
Verity slid her arms into the jacket and let Trudy button it, considering her words. Christian was her closest friend in London now that Shona had settled into life in Bristol. The idea that he might love her was out of the question. Christian had never given her any signs that what he felt for her was more than brotherly affection, but he was a true friend and would help her if she needed him.
“Trudy, run down and tell them I will need five minutes more. Tell them I am looking for the handkerchief father gave me.”
Trudy nodded, curtsey and left. Verity crossed to her writing desk and set pen to paper. Her hand was shaking so badly, the nib scratched and jumped so that the ink spurted on the page. The idea of throwing herself on the charity of a friend in order to secure a marriage was incredibly embarrassing to her. With each word she wrote, she felt her dream of falling in love, courting, receiving a proposal and marrying the perfect gentleman disintegrated. In its place, she tried to rationalise a happy life with her best friend as her husband. They would love each other, of course, and he would be kind to her, but there would be no romance between them. Yet it would surely be better than the humiliation of being called a bastard child and turned out of society. Still, as Verity signed her note requesting an audience with him and wrote Christian’s title on the front, she imagined what it would be like if she were addressing this note to Jack instead. For a brief moment, she felt a soft flicker of joy. She closed her eyes and shook her head sharply. This was not the time for dreams. Her father was dead, her stepmother had no care for her and the burden of protecting her family’s honour was on her shoulders alone. Now was the time for practicality. She sealed the letter, slipped it into her pocket and put all thoughts of love from her mind.
Sebastien ran across the garden, his laughter filled the air. His nursemaid, Grace, walked behind him, her hands clasped behind her. Surely, Lavinia thought, she was looking for a way to caution the boy. He kept on running and laughing.
She smiled as she looked at him. Her son. Her son with Colin. Sebastien had been born on a rainy day in Paris. Lavinia had been at an art collector’s home with Colin, where he had displayed his paintings. Her waters had broken there.
She smiled. It had been four years since they eloped from Somerset to Gretna Green. There, they had gotten a special license and gotten married, with Lord Fitzwilliam as their only witness. Although the Duke and Duchess had not been openly supportive, they had sent them a letter, congratulating them on their union. After that, Percy returned home, while they went away, to Paris, to begin a new life.
The last four years had been the best of her life. She had never been happier in all those years.
“Mother!” Sebastien said as he ran to her and hugged her. She giggled.
She was painting in the garden. Over the years, her love for painting had grown. Although she was not been as good as Colin, she was getting better.
She wished to paint her son, now, as he ran in the garden. She had gotten the inspiration on one of the days when she had seen him running around the manor.
“Go on, dear,” she said to her son.
Sebastien ran along.
She watched him and went about painting.
“He is just like you,” Colin said, coming up behind her, and kissing her on her cheek.
“My darling.” She giggled. She had not heard him come up behind her.
Colin stood by her. His hair was longer now, and she loved it. She turned and pulled it behind his ears and kissed his cheeks. “You are back early.”
He nodded. He raised a letter in the air and handed it to her. “From your mother.”
She smiled and opened the letter. Her mother wrote quite often to her now, and she was excited to receive them.
Dear Lavinia,
I hope this letter finds you well, my dear. I write to you with a heavy heart. My heart is full of sorrow and burden. A few months ago, Charles fell ill. He had been getting better, but it worsened all of a sudden. I fear the worst, and so does he. And for this, he has requested that you all come home.
My regards to Colin and my little darling, Sebastien. I hope to see you soon.
Yours Faithfully,
Augusta, Duchess of Somerset
Lavinia felt cold as she lowered the letter. Colin was no longer beside her. He was now with Sebastien by the waterfall. Her heart broke as she watched him. She wondered how she would break the news to him. They had never even known that the Duke had been ill.
Colin frowned when he saw her. He whispered to Sebastien and made his way over to her, while their son played.
“What happened? What did the letter say?” He tried to take it from her but she shook her head.
“Your father is very ill. He wishes to see us,” she said. Her eyes glistened.
He creased his brows for a second, until it dawned on him. His eyes widened. “Ill?”
She nodded. “He has been ill for quite some time now it seems. We were not informed. Mother thought he would get better, but it has worsened.”
Colin closed his eyes and sighed. Lavinia pulled him in for a hug. He bowed his head and stayed still.
She rubbed his shoulders. He welcomed her touch, by resting his head on her shoulder and touching her hair.
He was not be close to his father, but he loved him nonetheless. Lavinia held him close. “Mother has asked that we return home. Your Father wishes it.”
“He thinks that he may not make it?”
Lavinia shook her head. “We must not think in such a way.”
He blew out a breath. His once happy expression was now gloomy. “We must prepare to go to England right away.”
Lavinia’s heart was heavy. She hoped in her heart, that this was a storm that would eventually pass. Hope grew inside her. The Duke would survive this.
