Prologue

The carriage wound its way through Twicham at an impossibly slow pace. Up and down it went, bobbing along the small country roads as the night crawled by. Charlotte shuffled closer to the window, sliding the first pane of glass past the second. She stuck her nose outside and breathed in deeply, thinking herself the most rotten girl in the world.

Fortunately, the postilion seemed unconcerned when he picked her up at the posting house. The drabness of her attire had done its job. Her brown skirt contrasted with the blue of her traveling coat, she’d even scuffed her boots against an oak tree trunk for good measure.

She drew back and looked at her reflection in the glass. Her dark, wavy hair fell in tendrils around her face, and she looked rather wan in the absence of rouge. Her eyes seemed darker for her deception, but perhaps this was for the best.

Dressed as she was, no one would guess she was a lady of the ton, let alone the daughter of a duke. But she was the daughter of a duke, and was bloody miserable for it too.

Oh, her father. Her poor, harrying father. She didn’t dare think of him. Who knew what he might do once he woke up to find her missing? He would undoubtedly have men scouring the duchy from dusk till dawn until they found her. With any luck, she would be on a boat by then and on her way to Italy, France, or Spain, or any other place that wasn’t England.

Because in England, she was Lady Charlotte Fitzroy, daughter of the Duke of Richmond; a spinster in the making at the tender age of three-and-twenty. She was three Seasons deep with nothing to show for it. And now she was set to marry a man she completely abhorred.

Really, they had forced her hand—but she still couldn’t bear to look at herself.

With a sigh, she pulled down the window screen and settled against the silk backing of the rear quarter. Her skull rolled against the headrest, and she closed her eyes. If it weren’t for the pinch of guilt below her heart, she might have succumbed to sleep.

But she couldn’t rest, not now, and certainly not when the most thunderous clap shot through the silence of the night.

Charlotte gasped as the coach jostled on the road. In an instant, the party was thrown into chaos. She leaned against the window, hoping to see who was about, but could hardly make anything out in the faint, violently swaying light of the carriage lantern. The horses reared, and the coach went with them. She heard a loud thud from outside, where no doubt the postilion had been unseated. And then came the whinnying—the terrible, desperate whinnying of the horses.

“What’s happened? Hello?” she cried, but her supplications were no match for the neighing. That was, until there was silence because the horses had bolted off.

Charlotte knocked on the window, chewing viciously at her lips to keep her fear in check. She knew her plan had gone suspiciously well so far, that she had snuck away too easily. Her mind raced as she looked out into the darkness, feeling like she was trapped in a coffin, waiting.

When no one stirred, she pounded against the box’s back panel, hoping to rouse the post-boy. Still, all was eerily quiet. Terror seized her, and her heart felt like it might leap from her throat.

“I’ve never asked for anything,” she prayed in a whisper and pressed her eyes shut, “But I am pleading with you now. Do not let me die here, Lord. Do not let me die, and I swear I shall never do anything so silly again, not for as long as I live.”

She opened an eye and then laughed nervously as nothing happened. No angels appeared, no fire and brimstone either. Only the night stretched out before her, interminable and calm.

Charlotte mustered all her courage and reached out for the door handle. “I cannot simply sit here,” she murmured shakily. “I cannot—” she continued, but she was cut off by the distinct sounds of a struggle outside. The postilion was on his feet. She could see his shadow in the lantern light.

But then another shadow appeared. And another beside that.

And they did not look like angels.

She heard shouting. They were arguing. She needed to hide, and she needed to hide fast. She looked around the box for anywhere she might stow herself away. She found herself crawling in the legroom, pressing up the bench, pressing against anything that might open, but it was no use.

She had to flee. She couldn’t wait for them to rob her, kill her, or worse. Her father deserved better. She grabbed her travel valise and reticule as quickly as she could, stealing nervous glances outside as the scuffle continued, and sat back up. She had to escape while the path was clear.

“On three,” she murmured breathlessly, “One, two—” and the door was opened.

But the path was not clear. It was far from clear, for a man stood before her, holding a gun.

He tutted three times over, each sound a funeral toll. Charlotte was unable to move. She could do nothing but stare up at him, her gaze fixed on the barrel of his flintlock, glinting in the moonlight. He had it leveled against her face so close she could lean forward and taste gunpowder.

“Do as you are told, and you will be free to go.”

His drawl was confident and deep, like smoke and velvet. There was a lilt to his words that sounded playful, and it only frightened her more. She couldn’t see his face behind the tall, black collar of his coat, and his eyes were shadowed by a tricorn hat. He was English, of that much she was sure, but he didn’t sound anything like the lords of her acquaintance.

From the corner of her eye, she looked for the postilion. As she feared, he was lying on the ground, subdued by the man she assumed was her assailant’s partner.

Charlotte nodded. It was the only thing she could do since her life was on the line. She was biting her lip so hard she had drawn blood. In her daze, she lapped at it, and could’ve sworn she saw a smile form in the man’s eyes. He sighed and swung the gun at the box. Charlotte flinched back.

Wordlessly, he climbed in after her. There they sat, the daughter of a duke and a highwayman, like two lovers riding through Hyde Park in a phaeton. The other man stepped around the carriage to the back. It sounded like he pushed something off the vehicle as it bounced and swayed: the body of the post-boy, Charlotte thought, who she realized now had been shot.

“Don’t worry yourself overlong. You’ll be back on your way to your tryst in a minute, and can pretend none of this ever happened.”

The man with the gun spoke to her again, but his words sounded distorted and distant. He reached forward and swiped her reticule, and she watched as his calloused, long fingers struggled with its clasp. Charlotte’s surprise turned to indignation as she took in the full measure of his words.

“I beg your pardon?” she asked, sounding as disbelieving as she felt.

The man stopped and looked up at her from beneath his hat. The lower half of his face was shrouded in dark fabric, but she knew he was smirking. “What did you say?”

Charlotte swallowed. She didn’t know what she was doing, only that it felt better than sitting in silence and watching him rifle through her belongings. “I asked for your pardon, not that I am eager to receive it,” she scoffed, “Thieving is one thing, but assuming a lady’s promiscuity is quite another. I can assure you, I am no adventuress.”

The man drew back, and the conveyance suddenly filled with low, dark laughter. Charlotte stared in incredulity as he set his flintlock aside and rubbed his gloved palms against the linen of his breeches. “I dare say I have touched a sore spot.”

“I dare say you are quite mistaken. Rob me of my—” she gestured to her reticule “—lemon bonbons, handkerchief, and coin purse all you like, but you shan’t find any dignity there. Nor any manners.”

With a little gasp, she sank into the corner of the box as if it might shield her from his ire. Her father had always said her sharp tongue would be her downfall, and she feared he was right. But the man didn’t look angry. He didn’t hold himself any differently for her caustic comments. He watched her as one might watch the opera—with marvel and a slight lethargy.

The second man began rifling the coach for loot, but neither stirred within. He could steal her shifts and slippers to his heart’s content. Everything that mattered had been packed in her personal valise, and she nudged it closer to herself with her foot.

The soft scraping sound caught her assailant’s attention. His eyes darted down and then back at her. “What had you hoped to find at your journey’s end, if not a lover?” he asked wistfully, the softness of his low voice sending a ripple of nervous energy down her spine.

“A new beginning,” she admitted as a trembling hand reached for the door handle behind her.

But it was no use. The man was quicker than she was and stronger, too. He sprang for her, and he seized her wrists with his hands.

“Let me go! Don’t touch me! You have no right to me!” she wailed, but the man only chuckled. She pressed her lips together, fighting for traction against the cushions. She clawed at his face, wanting to remove his mask, but he pushed her hands away. He soon had them pinned above her head, her wrists in one of his hands.

“It’s not your body I want,” he growled, and Charlotte swore he sounded offended by the accusation. He grunted and reached down between her ankles for her portmanteau. With a shake of his head, he brought it to his lap.

“You’ve no right to that either! Please,” Charlotte pleaded breathlessly, “Take what you will from the back. Take all the money I have. Leave the rest alone. You’ve no use for it, sir! No use at all!” She wriggled in his hold and kicked at him, trying to knock the case from his legs. “Help! Help! I’m—”

She couldn’t say anything more, for he smacked his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet. He held it there, and she tasted salt and leather. He shot a look around him, then leaned in close and whispered fiercely, “The more you yowl, the harder this will be.” He hesitated and listened for the other highwayman. “Do you understand?”

Charlotte began crying and could barely see beyond the veil of her tears. She nodded and breathed back a sob. Her body slackened, and he let her go.

“Good girl,” he murmured and cupped her face with his hand. He made quick work of the bag’s lock, snapping it off like a biscuit. “I shall only take what I can pawn.”

“Look,” Charlotte whispered, giving him pause, “My whole life is in that bag. What will it take for you to turn a blind eye to it? I swear to you, my father is a very powerful man. Give me an address and name, and I shall send you as high a ransom as you desire. You could feed yourself not only for a day—but for a lifetime.”

The man stopped in his tracks and dipped his head low. “You wish to know my name, little girl?” They locked gazes, and it made Charlotte dizzy. She could not make out the color of his eyes in the dark, but their gleam was so rich she felt she needed to turn away. But she did not, not even as he said, “I’m your gentleman’s master.”

His voice carried on the air like smoke. Charlotte knew then that he would not listen, not even if she offered him the world itself. She could only sit back and watch as he opened her case and tore through her effects—she had never felt so violated.

Out flew her white lace shawl and her mother’s heirloom fan. He pocketed a length of pink and white pearls, her golden brooches and hairpins, and her hanging opal earrings. He cast aside her diary and found her vinaigrette and an additional coin purse beneath it. She had little in the way of money, having saved up as much as she could from some of her published writings, and the purse jingled sadly for it.

And then, by luck or fate, he found the clasp that opened the bag’s false bottom. He looked up at her, and his eyes arced with the same infernal smile as before. “What secrets lay beyond your threshold, I wonder?” he mused aloud, and Charlotte was powerless to respond.

All amusement fell from his expression as he lifted away the leather panel. He dropped it aside and buried his hands into the bag. The sound of crinkling paper filled the box, and Charlotte recoiled.

“What on earth…?” he began to question but trailed off. He lifted his hands up in confusion. He was holding her poems—which were most dear to her—on their bunched up, wrinkled and ink-stained sheets of paper. Her newest collection. He set them back down and picked up her leather-bound journals, flicking through the pages like he was in a library.

“You’re a modern-day Milton,” he murmured in jest, but there was nothing funny about it to her. Her heart had dropped to her stomach.

“Milton was a man,” she quipped back, growing angrier by the second. “Put them down,” she grizzled and balled up her fists, “or I shall scream again.”

The man looked at her as if he were transfixed. “Scream. I shall be delighted to hear it.” He grinned, but there was contempt in it. “I am no great admirer of the arts. ‘Tis a gentleman’s habit, and I am anything but. I shall cast these away with all else I cannot sell, don’t you worry.”

Suddenly, a loud banging came from the top of the coach. Charlotte covered her ears and gasped.

“Lieutenant!” she heard the man from outside shout.

“That’s my cue,” her thief said flatly. He sighed and slammed the valise shut, taking it with him as he swerved out of the box. She followed him, but he turned around just as she put a boot to the carriage step. “Surely, you’re not thinking of following me, princess?” he hummed and leaned in. For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her, and all she could see were stars.

The sound of hooves came rolling from behind them. The second assailant was riding past, his mare saddled with Charlotte’s other belongings. He held the reigns of another horse, though they looked nothing like the sandy thoroughbreds the postilion had been commanding.

“Perhaps we shall meet again in another life,” the man before her crooned. Then he turned on his heel and hopped atop his horse as it galloped past.

Charlotte dashed after him, off the carriage and into the night. She kicked up dirt as she ran, following them down the lane until they outpaced her.

And then they were gone, and she was alone.

Alone and lost, with only the broken dream of her freedom for company.

Chapter One

“Hail, to see her beauty, sobered. Lips soft and petaled as… as… Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Charlotte slammed her quill down against her vanity and breathed a guttural sigh. “Can you recall what came after this verse, Josephine? Something about flowers, or doves, and—” She waved her hand in the air as though her genius might swoop in and save her.

Josephine smiled behind her, contentedly plaiting her hair. “Hail, to see her beauty, sobered. Lips soft and petaled as the roses of your garden. Sire, to be with you is to be reborn.”

Charlotte clapped her hands together. “Blessed that you are, Josephine! That’s right!”

She leaned back over her vanity, taking the lengths of her hair with her, and scribbled down the last of the poem’s verses. And with that, she was done.

It had been a month since she had tried to run away—a month since the robbery. She and her modiste had made short work of replacing the gowns, shifts, and reticules the thieves had done away with. But restoring her anthology was not so easy a task—second only in its labor to the healing of her pride.

She beamed as she looked down at the poem and read it over. She knew it was a little scandalous, a little avant-garde, too. But it was hers, and she was proud. She dipped her quill back in its ink and gleefully signed it, Charles F. Huxley.

She was proud, but she was not a fool. Should the ton come to learn of her salacious writings, her entire family would be shamed. Thus, Charlotte became Charles so that the poems might become tolerable, which felt like a fair enough price to pay.

“Unless my memory is failing, I do believe that’s the last of them,” she confessed dreamily and twisted around to look at her fair-haired lady’s maid. “I truly cannot express just how grateful I am to you, Josephine. How ever did you become so smart?”

Josephine grinned bashfully. “It’s nothing to do with smartness, my lady. I’ve heard you recite your poems for nigh on four years. Some of it was bound to stick.”

Charlotte looked up at her. “Still, I am so thankful.” She twisted back around, resolved to stop making Josephine’s coiffing twice as hard as it need be, and took off her reading spectacles. “I shall send them off to my publisher on Piccadilly soon, as long as one of your young cousins is willing to go for me. Who knows who might be reading and renting these soon?” Charlotte watched Josephine in the mirror, and the girl’s expression dipped. “Unless you think that’s quite a foolish idea. Perhaps I should not push my luck.”

Josie blinked and started. “No, it’s not that. Not at all, my lady,” she stammered, but she was hardly convincing.

“Speak plainly, Josephine. You know I trust you with my life,” Charlotte cooed, and it was true. When she had fled the duchy, Josephine had been the only one she had trusted enough to tell. She picked up her poem. “And these are my life.”

Josephine reached for a champagne-colored ribbon on the vanity. “I worry what the Duke might do if he finds out. His Grace was none the wiser when you published the first set of poems… but what if people start asking after you? The Season is already heavily underway, and you’ve yet to find a better match. I hate to think of you lumbered with that old, dribbling duke your father is truest friends with.” She hesitated and smoothed out the ribbon. “Oh, but I do hope this doesn’t deter you. Why, I hope everyone has the chance to read your work one day! I’m only nervous. I cannot lie and say I’m not. I know it’s not my place—”

Charlotte hushed her maid by bringing a hand to rest atop her own. “It is precisely your place,” she stressed, and her eyes were wide with kindness. “Your place is with me, and you are right—I am pushing my luck. Although Papa isn’t nearly as determined to wed me off to the Duke of Gamston as he was before my,” she whispered the next word as though it were sacrilege, “aborted flight.”

She wrangled with a smile, because really, there was nothing funny about it. She could hardly remember anything from the night—not her fear, nor her pleading—nothing but the snorting of the horses and the glint in the man’s eye as he had toyed with her. He was a phantom to her now, but not a thing of nightmares as she imagined he would be.

She quite liked that she had a secret. It was the only experience to separate her from the vast sea of damsels with whom she brushed shoulders… not that they were wise to her attempted escape.

Her Papa had not been nearly as insouciant about the whole ordeal. He had been inconsolable when she had returned at last, having been picked up along the road by some riders from the Penny-Post. He had forgiven her that same day, and when she had shared her side of things, he had promised leniency in the matters of matrimony.

The leniency was as follows: one final Season to make her own way, to find a man of her choosing, provided he was of noble birth. One last chance to find love or forever be saddled with the detestable Duke of Gamston. To forever live a life of regret and torment.

“I cannot say I am eager to see him,” Charlotte murmured, voicing her fears aloud. “Gamston, I mean to say. Anyone would think he had only my father for friendship, though I suppose the same could be said of Papa.” She paused. “It is so strange to think the man had been like a second father to me for so long. He has known me since I was in pinafores. He taught me to play chess, to read Shakespeare, for heaven’s sake! That he should be my prospective husband…” She shook her head in revulsion.

“Well, my lady,” Josephine replied, “It’s not so strange to me. A man is a man, no matter the blood running through him. You are the perfect lady, and the Duke of Gamston has no children. If you’ll pardon my saying, you know better than most what the world thinks of us women.”

There was nothing to forgive, for Josephine was not wrong. The Duke had shown no interest in making a wife of Charlotte, not until his father had suggested the sordid thing when she turned six-and-ten. It did not mean he had not been thinking about it.

“I suppose it will do me no good to consider the matter now. I have bought myself a pocket of time. Rather, those dratted brigands did.”

Charlotte supposed she owed the bandits a great deal. Without them, she may have been married by now or dead in a ditch in Italy. She didn’t quite know which of the two sounded more promising.

She looked back at Josie, who was putting the finishing touches on her coiffure. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but I don’t know how you manage to joke about what happened. If it were me, I’m not sure I would ever be able to live normally again. Were you not terrified of the bandit?”

Charlotte breathed a laugh. “I was at first, I shall not lie, but he seemed to have no interest in causing me harm—quite the opposite, actually. By the end of it, I pitied him more than anything else.”

“Pity?” Josephine echoed in disbelief before laying the thick, French plait over Charlotte’s shoulder. Her fringe had been coiled in ringlets. “Of all the things he deserves, my lady, pity is not it—irons, more like it.”

“I have no doubt those are precisely what they were fleeing. The debtor’s prison, or something of the sort. Not that it matters now.” She smiled and shifted in her seat. “No, I would take my chances with those assailants over Gamston any day. What a frightful prospect…” she said through a laugh, and Josephine looked at her as though she had lost her marbles before giggling as well.

The girl moved over to her armoire, and she followed. “Oh, my lady… Frightful though it may be, unless we can secure a match for you before the month is up, it may be quite real as well.”

Charlotte sat on her bed and reached over to her side table. She pulled open its top drawer and sneaked a sugar plum, leaving one aside for Josephine. She took a bite from it as she said, “I can hardly be blamed for rejecting all those who have asked for my hand when they are all so terribly dull. The Marquess of Hexam almost bored me to tears at his house party last week, and his son was no brighter.”

Josephine sighed and walked over to her, carrying Charlotte’s gown for the evening. It was a gorgeous affair of peach silk, with white puffed sleeves and lace along the bodice. Pearls had been dotted down multi-tiered skirts, and Charlotte had to suck in a breath at the sight of it.

She may have detested being a duke’s daughter for reasons beyond number, but she would never tire of the gowns—or the sweetmeats.

“If this does not do the trick, I truly do not know what shall,” she joked, and clapped in delight. She primed her arms as Josephine lifted the gown over her head. The maid had to stand on the very tips of her toes, as Charlotte was quite a bit taller. She turned so Josie could fasten the back, looking herself over in her brass standing mirror.

“Do you know who’s attending this evening, my lady?” Josephine asked as she worked her way down her back.

Charlotte brought a hand to her bosom, quite enamored with herself. “The Earl of Singberry is hosting, which undoubtedly means his horse-mad sons shall be there. Matthew mentioned his friend Ambrose will be in attendance—though he’s as tolerable as Matthew himself, which means he isn’t tolerable at all. Father mentioned something or other about a few prospective marquesses. Naturally, Gamston will be looking to tag along,” she listed off and groaned. “It shall be a fairly large soirée. If nothing else, there shall be plenty to look at.”

“With any luck, someone will catch your eye, my lady,” Josephine said with finality as she fastened the last button of the gown.

Charlotte gave a small turn to admire herself and nodded. “Well, it has been rumored that Lady Singberry is a literary at heart and has invited a few writers along that we might engage in some sort of recital or competition, I’m not sure.” She paused and smiled in earnest. “So, should there be a man in attendance worthy of my heart, that is one way in which he will make himself known.”

***

Charlotte hurried down the grand staircase of Richmond Court, the hem of her gown trailing behind her like froth on a stream. Her gloved hand slid down the railing, burning against the varnished mahogany. She looked down over the entrance hall, where her stony-faced sister and brother were waiting for her.

“How long can it take to put on a frock?” Matthew chided as she hit the last step. “I could have sworn I saw Josephine in the hallway a quarter of an hour ago.”

Charlotte struggled to catch her breath as she spiraled past him, hooking young Eleanor under the arm and dragging her along. Her younger sister appeared almost too nervous for words in her bright blue gown, her dark hair piled high atop her head. Charlotte cupped her face reassuringly.

“I got rather carried away with some writing, brother dearest, though I’m not surprised the concept of creative passion is lost on you,” she quipped. “How are you, darling?” she asked her sister, who looked like she could be sick at any moment.

Matthew walked toward the vestibule, snatching his hat from a footman. “It’s the first ball of the Season. How do you think she is faring?”

“I’m not sure I want to attend,” Eleanor moaned. Her dark blue eyes were full of worry, and Charlotte felt her heart feel for her sister. Her sister had attended only four balls since her debut and was fostering a wallflower’s reputation. “What if no one wants to speak with me?”

“That’s what Matthew is for,” Charlotte said, then shot a look at her brother. She was struck by how much he looked like their father in his hat and redingote, with his chestnut hair and hooked nose, albeit thirty years younger. “Is that not right, Matthew?”

Matthew tutted and pulled out his pocket watch. “I suppose. Now would you please—” he groaned and gestured for the doors. “Father is probably driving himself mad inside the carriage. You know how his humors are, as of late,” he added with a pointed look towards Charlotte.

She had to restrain herself from sticking out her tongue at him. He left the two Fitzroy sisters alone, and the vestibule felt suddenly lighter for his departure.

“I really don’t want to attend if I’ll only have our brother for company,” Eleanor murmured. Charlotte had to hold in a laugh. The evening was already turning out to be a lesson in self-control. “I must find a man to dance with. I simply must!”

Charlotte slipped her arms into her cape and shook her head. She tried to remember what life was like at six-and-ten, but the memory of those years was only stained with grief from the passing of their mother. She shook the thought away and held out her hand.

“You are the funniest, sweetest, silliest thing,” she lilted, and her sister seemed to calm. “You owe nothing to no one. Not a dance, nor a smile, and certainly not a match. Enjoy the evening for what is it, as a diamond or a wallflower—it matters not. They will look at you. And if they don’t, we shall make them look.”

Eleanor looked up at her, a little less crestfallen than before. “How can you be so hopeful?”

Charlotte stilled and brought her sister’s gloved hands to her mouth. “A little dreaming, a little pretending,” she confessed, and the girls sighed cheerfully before stepping outside.

Chapter Two

As Benjamin glanced around the grand hall of Rector’s Hall, he decided there was nothing more loathsome than a London party. Perhaps he was being too sweeping with his statement, too sentimental. After all, this was the largest party of this kind he had ever attended—and it was, for lack of a better phrase, utterly overwhelming.

Even for a gentleman of his caliber.

He was no true gentleman, of course—he didn’t have the complexion for it, nor the leisure. Not that it mattered. The lords in attendance couldn’t see beyond the tips of their noses, which were colored red not by sun, but by overindulgence; the ladies fluttering their eyelashes behind their brilliant-dappled fans.

The room was draped from top to bottom with red silk tapestries and ribbons, most likely left over from Christmastide just passed. Chains of ivy had been fastened to the beams, running from the musicians’ balcony at one end of the room to the other. Glass chandeliers sparkled overhead, matched only in their luster by the twinkling of crystal glasses on the refreshment tables.

Every inch of the place was colored gold with wealth, making Benjamin sick to his stomach.

The guests had been called to the ballroom, but no dancing seemed to be underway—for which he thanked his lucky stars. A few ladies had shot him wary, curious glances with a touch of desire in them too. He supposed he did look fairly handsome, catching a sidelong glimpse at his reflection in a nearby set of windows. His double-breasted suit was darkly opulent; his cravat a dazzling white. He had swept back his dark, unruly hair, and his sideburns had been shaved to a point along his jaw.

Despite all this, not a single chaperoning mother had sought to make introductions, and Benjamin had never felt more relieved for his lack of fancy friends.

Still, he had found himself trapped in conversation, by an acquaintance of a friend of the host, Lord Singberry, or some such thing—his wife had extended Benjamin an invitation. The man’s name was Pollock—Mr. Rafael Pollock—whose father was a baron and mother a Spanish heiress. He seemed almost as uncomfortable as Benjamin, clutching his glimmering glass of punch for dear life. He was speaking with another man, who slurred his name so badly that Benjamin had no chance of understanding it. And the topic of discussion was Benjamin’s second favorite thing: money. Since the first was his own self.

“…which is why,” the drunken lord drawled, “it is most unwise to overhaul plots the tenants have tended to for generations. Really, you would think your father knew this, Pollock. He’s in no situation to act the philanthrope now.”

Pollock was visibly disquieted by the man’s rambling, and Benjamin had to mask his amusement. “I will be sure to relay your advice, my lord, but my father is not so destitute as you think. He owns half of Milchester—and some farms further out.”

“A burgh like Milchester is hardly worth the trouble. A money pit is what it is,” he further slurred. What remained of the man’s blonde hair, all three stands of it, wafted in the breeze from an open window close by—the night was unusually mild for January. “No, the way I see it, you should do ol’ Milly a favor and do as he did.”

“Which is to say?” Pollock mumbled.

“Marry a woman with twice your wealth and pump her full of heirs.” The pot-bellied lord let out a most vulgar laugh, sloshing his drink about and doubling over.

Pollock hopped back, his dark eyes narrowing in disgust. Doubtless, he would have sprung further away had the man’s grip not been a vice on his shoulder. “Really, Lord Butland, the ladies will start to look.”

“All the better, for catching a wife,” the drunkard—Butland, Benjamin noted with a discreet snap of his fingers—laughed some more. He shot back up, wiping his eyes. “Ah, but fat chance you’ve got of bagging a wife with this pretty cad standing next to you.” Butland turned, and Benjamin leveled the man a look that cautioned him against speaking. He spoke anyway, “So, what it is you do?”

Benjamin sucked in a breath. The last thing he needed was for people to start looking over. He would need to subdue the man. Quickly. “I write,” he declared, with a sweep of his hands.

The lord blanched. “You what?”

“I write,” he repeated. “Things,” he added less convincingly.

“Are lords in the business of writing things these days?” Butland pressed. Beside him, Pollock was clearly relieved to have escaped his interest, wiping away a cast-off drop of liquid from the lapel of his jacket.

Benjamin breathed a laugh. “I can assure you, I am no lord.”

“Our friend is one of the writers Lady Singberry invited as part of the recital,” Pollock explained offhandedly, then seemed to curse himself as Butland turned back to him. “I believe. I’m sure the man knows more of himself than I do,” he added, throwing Benjamin back to the wolves.

“Right, right,” Butland mouthed. “Are you any good, sir?”

“Oh, I’m the best.”

If you liked the preview, you can get the whole book here

Prologue

It had been years since Thomas had been around such revelry and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Smiling faces, laughter, and sweet wine were always welcome, of course, but his soul felt remarkably… unsettled. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t slept well the night before, or maybe it had something to do with the eyes that lingered on him for moments too long. Just as Thomas’ pulse quickened and his breathing dared to hitch, he reminded himself that the day wasn’t about him. His gaze panned to the couple of the hour: his brother, Anthony, and his wife, Isabel. How perfect they looked… The epitome of happiness and resilience.

After all, it had to have taken a great deal of tenacity on both parts to bring those two back together. Anthony had been so heartbroken…

A firm hand gripped Thomas’ shoulder. He snatched it back and began to turn instinctively. The owner of the hand rumbled a warm laugh, and he looked up to see Isabel’s father looming over him.

“Didn’t mean to give you a fright, dear boy,” the Duke of Radford assured him. “Only wanted to say, hello and thank you for coming. Wonderful luck of yours, to have arrived home just in time for your brother’s wedding.”

Luck had nothing to do with it, Thomas mused internally, though even he could see that the timing had been at least serendipitous. Still, the youngest Moore put on the same polite smile that he had been forcing all week, and gave a seated bow to the Duke. “I am thankful to have arrived for such an occasion. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The Duke chuckled and patted his shoulder carefully before saying in a lower, softer tone, “And thank you for your service, Lord Thomas. Who would have ever thought one of the Moore boys would become a war hero?” The laughter of the man grew louder, sounding from his belly before it dissipated with ease. “It’s good to have you home.”

Off the Duke walked, but his words and their meaning festered inside of Thomas’ chest. He knew better than to think that the Duke had meant anything other than kindness and warmth to him, but Thomas had only been back in London for a few days, and he already tired of the gratitude and smiles.

It was an awful thing to think, an ungrateful thing, too—but it didn’t make it any less true. As much as the people could mean it, certainly wanted to mean it, none of them really did. Not a one of them understood what he was coming back from. It wasn’t as though he blamed them—he couldn’t.

When Thomas left at six-and-ten for military service, he hadn’t any real idea what he was signing up for. Even after years of reading all he could about battles and strategy or training his body to be at peak performance. Thomas had gone into war a boy and had returned a man. Everything else was up for speculation. Decorated Sergeant, the honorary title of Lord bestowed upon him by his father upon his arrival. Hero.

A bout of laughter, rising and falling like waves at sea, brought him out of his sardonic thoughts. He forced a light smile to pretend as though he had been paying attention. It was then that Thomas knew he needed some fresh air. It was his brother’s wedding, after all; now wasn’t the time, nor the place, to get sucked into such self-centered rumination.

And yet, as he stood and found himself instantly having to shift his weight onto his cane, Thomas couldn’t help but feel alone amidst the crowded ballroom. Even though he longed to run for the door and find a spot in Isabel’s beautiful gardens to relax and center himself, he couldn’t.

As he gradually hobbled his way outside, and the joyous sounds of the wedding grew softer behind him, Thomas wondered what civilian life would hold in store for a man like him.

Chapter One

Messy, nonsensical, tedious—all words that Phoebe’s sister, Ruth, had used to describe her painting. It might annoy anyone else, but it only made Phoebe chuckle. The sisters, though only two years apart, couldn’t be more different. Especially on days such as this. Spring was finally upon them! The fair season had appeared and then vanished rather suddenly a few weeks ago, but it was finally back. It was warm outside, with a gentle and inviting breeze. The sky was showing her lovely face, colored blue, and the wildflowers next to the Tulk home were in bloom.

How could Ruth stay indoors on such a marvelous day? Her sister was no doubt still flitting room to room, preparing for the arrival of her husband’s dearest friend. Napkins, tea selections, menus, centerpieces, and any other indiscernible detail that no man would ever notice was being agonized over. Even though Phoebe knew better than to interfere, she had been ordered to stay away. That was no matter, as she didn’t much tolerate party planning anyway. Besides, she couldn’t think of a better way to spend a day as beautiful as this one than painting on the patio.

“Can I get you anything, Lady Phoebe?”

She peered over to the maid with a slight smile. “I think some tea would be wonderful. Thank you, Margaret.”

The maid bowed her head in respect and walked inside. In the brief moment the door was open, Phoebe could hear Ruth talking a mile a minute, an anxious edge to her voice. Then the door was closed and all was well again. Her eyes returned to her canvas; there was a pale blue pigment smoothed across most of it, and splotch by splotch, Phoebe was adding a darker shade to blend into the pale base. Her goal was to capture the exact blue of the sky.

As silly as it was, the day had a funny quality to it that she wanted to capture forever. She couldn’t describe it in words, knowing only that the day would be important somehow. Perhaps it would simply be one of those warm, blissful days that she would look back on for years to come; or maybe the ebb and flow of her life was destined to change irrevocably, and this was one last moment of normalcy.

Margaret returned with her tea before she was called away inside to help Ruth. It was no matter—Phoebe wasn’t really in the mood for idle chatter. Even though it had been a couple of years since she had begun living with Ruth and her husband after her parents had died, Phoebe wasn’t particularly close to any of the staff. They liked her just fine, and she liked them just the same, but there wasn’t any intimacy between them. Not enough to discuss aught else than the weather or scheduling, anyway.

Loneliness was a word that could be used to describe the state of her life, but she shied away from such harsh observations. Instead, she did her best to fill her time with hobbies. Like painting.

After a little while, the blue was perfect. When she held her head down to stare at the edge of the canvas against the sky, there was trivial difference between the two colors. With pride in her heart, Phoebe quickly mixed together green, blue, white, yellow, and a smidgeon of black to make the perfect shade of green for the grass. Using the flat of the paint spatula, she dabbed the color onto the canvas and then haphazardly spread it about.

While it was said that art was made in the details, Phoebe found more fun in the mess and playfulness of her endeavors. There would always need to be a certain level of care when painting, she knew, but there was a chaotic freedom in composing base layers that she adored. It didn’t matter which way she dragged the brush or spatula: every line, swirl, and scrape would be smoothed into one mass and detailed over into something new and special. There was beauty in that process.

Phoebe was in her own little world by the time she had begun adding fluffy white blotches to the blue expanse. Once she had added some more color and shading, they would look like clouds. For right then, she wanted to capture the colors and placement of everything. Her eyes went to the field and studied the way the flowers moved in the tall grass. If her sister was not so attached to etiquette and decorum, Phoebe would have loved to lie in that field. She was quite certain she could remain on the grass, among the flowers, and watch the clouds from dawn to dusk; even later, she could stay and count the stars. However, Ruth would not consider lying in the dirt ladylike, and Phoebe was not in the mood to get under her sister’s skin.

Standing back to admire her work, she was satisfied with her color-matching and outlines. It didn’t look like much yet, but it would serve as an excellent foundation for the rest of the painting.

“Your eye for color never disappoints,” a soft purr of a voice called from behind her.

Phoebe didn’t have to turn her head to know who it was. Her sister’s husband, Earl Ralph Tulk. Even though it shouldn’t, her heart skipped a beat and perhaps a few more after that. As naturally as she could, Phoebe turned to look at him. Her lips betrayed her, a wide and girlish smile spreading across her face. “Good day, Lord Meridown.”

He was as becoming as the first bloom in spring. Tousled, raven hair that contrasted ever so perfectly with his eyes, as cool and deep as a river. Chiseled jaw, perfectly sloped nose, and skin that held the slight olive tone of his ancestors.

How lucky Ruth is to have married a man as handsome and kind as Ralph!

The Earl chuckled at Phoebe, the sort of soft and polite laughter she imagined royalty to have. “Please, Phoebe. We are family, after all! Call me Ralph, don’t make me ask you again.”

A deep blush came over her cheeks. She knew it was within reason to call him Ralph, and she didn’t really understand why his formal address always passed her lips. Perhaps it was out of respect, since she lived with the couple; maybe it was merely habit, since he had been in her life before he and her sister were formally wed. In the pit of her stomach, Phoebe had a feeling it was because calling him by his first name felt too personal. Especially when she felt the way she did about him.

“Y-yes, Ralph,” Phoebe stammered, her smile somehow managing to widen even more.

“Much better,” he approved and took a few more paces forward. Those gorgeous blues of his were scanning her face, narrowed for close examination. Phoebe forced herself to swallow the lump that was growing in her throat as she tried to ignore it—or at least, to not show it was there. Once more, he chuckled and shook his head lightly. “Are you always so nervous, Phoebe?”

Only around you.

Phoebe shrugged and turned back to her painting. “I was lost in thought, I fear. You startled me a bit.”

There were footsteps behind her, and a tingle traveled down her spine at the feeling of him standing mere inches from her. “I’m afraid you always seem as nervous as a little hare, Phoebe. Though, I suppose there are kinder things one might compare you to.” The Earl’s hand gently rested on her shoulder, and Phoebe had to remind herself again and again that he viewed her as nothing more than a sister. His friendliness was only that—friendly. No matter how much her mind longed to make his little touches and their brief, private conversations mean something—well, it didn’t make it so. “Absolutely beautiful,” he breathed.

With wide eyes, she peered up at him and saw his gaze was not on her. He was looking at her painting. Shaking her head, Phoebe cleared her throat and said, “I’ve only the base of it so far. Nothing special.”

“It may only be the base,” he began, his eyes flickering to Phoebe, “but that doesn’t mean it’s not special. I see a great deal of talent on that canvas, dear Phoebe. Technique, vision, creativity!” The amount of gusto behind his words made her giggle, and he smiled down at her with gentle fondness. “I have yet to see anything you have done that isn’t special. And I won’t hear a word otherwise.”

“Yes, Lord— Ralph.”

He chuckled as he stepped away from her. “That’s my girl,” he cooed. Phoebe kept her eyes on the painting, attempting to collect both her breath and thoughts. She was always left an utter bumbling mess in the wake of Ralph. Her bones never failed to turn to jelly when he was around her, and her heart always took too long to recover its rhythm.

“Oh, Phoebe,” Ralph called. She spun around in an instant, her eyes wide and hands clasped in front of her. “I’d love to see the painting once it’s done. There’s never a bad time to see a work of beauty.”

As he opened the door and stepped inside, Ralph winked at her. Winked! It took all of her determination to remain composed as he slipped inside. “Oh my,” she whispered to herself, a hand going to her chest in an attempt to calm her beating heart. A wink from Ralph was obviously nothing—a friendly, even brotherly gesture. Despite the lack of crime, guilt festered in her stomach. Then again, she shouldn’t be feeling such things for her sister’s husband.

Had she only seen what she wanted to? Turning back to her painting, Phoebe chewed on her lip nervously. “As one might interpret a work of art…” She sighed. Perhaps he had not winked at her at all.

Chapter Two

With one hand firmly gripped on the railing and the other carrying his cane, Thomas made the slow and arduous journey down the stairs of his parents’ house. He had been home for a couple of weeks by then, but he had rarely left his room. At first, he had secluded himself to catch up on some much-needed rest; then, to reminisce about his childhood room; and then, it was simply because he hadn’t any clue how to spend his time as a man of leisure anymore.

And, if he were honest with himself, Thomas loathed the stairs. It was equal parts painful and humiliating to hobble his way down one step at a time. He wouldn’t say a word, however. Even though it would be obvious to anyone who witnessed him, Thomas simply didn’t have it in him to voice how much he was struggling with the simplest of tasks.

As he neared the landing, he reminded himself just how far he had come already. It had been almost a year since he had first injured his leg during the Battle of Waterloo, and during the first couple of months of recovery, he couldn’t so much as stand—let alone walk. The physicians had told him there was hope that he would one day regain all control over his leg, but Thomas hadn’t held his breath on such a thing occurring.

The lord stopped once on the bottom floor and took in a deep, relieved breath. Never would a man that had spent years in the King’s cavalry thought the little things, such as getting down a flight of stairs, would be a moment of victory. Yet, there he was. Shaking his head, he sighed and headed toward the dining room. His father hadn’t been in his study that morning, so he assumed he was having breakfast. Thomas didn’t need to talk to him about anything in particular; he just needed some company.

Being alone is a new feeling… I’m used to my comrades at my side every moment of the day. Even at hospital, we were always together.

The brave face he managed to muster faltered a little when he rounded the corner to see there were already a couple of strange men sitting at the table with his father. However, they stood almost immediately and announced that they should be going. His father looked remarkably unbothered, muttering goodbyes as he stirred his tea. The two men, who were beginning to look vaguely familiar to Thomas, dashed toward the door. But as  they approached the youngest Moore, they bowed politely and shook Thomas’s free hand.

“Thank you for your service, dear boy,” one said before hurrying off.

“What an honor it is to have a hero in our midst!” the other remarked before following the first.

Thomas’s smile was tight then, but he tried not to show his displeasure beyond that. Walking over to the table, he sat across from his father and began pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Good to see you up and about this morning, Thomas,” his father complimented. “How are you feeling?”

It wasn’t meant to be a loaded question, he didn’t think, but it weighed heavily on him. How was he feeling about being out of the military? Was he coping with no longer being a soldier but being praised for it? What about his leg and whether he was adjusting to being crippled?

“I’m all right,” Thomas landed on replying before he studied his father. “How are you?”

Even though he was certain his father would give the same sort of temperate response, there was no hiding the fact that the years seemed to be catching up with the Duke. Of course, there were the telltale signs of age that had appeared since Thomas had departed for the military. Gray hair, fine lines about his face, and the odd liver spot or two. And while he still had a plumpness to his form, there was something… frail about his appearance. It was almost as if his skin itself looked breakable. His face was a permanent shade of pink, the area about his eyes was swollen, and his hair had thinned. The qualities of his father he had once seen in his own reflection were muted and distorted with age and illness.

His mother had told Thomas upon his return that his father hadn’t been well, but she hadn’t gone into detail. Something about the way she had phrased things told him he wouldn’t be getting any details—not out of her, at least. Whether it was to protect Thomas from a nasty truth or to protect his father’s dignity, he could not say.

“I can’t complain,” his father chuckled, though it developed into a cough. He withdrew a handkerchief to cover his mouth, and once the fit was over, he tucked it away and looked back to his son. “I am glad you have joined me with morning. There are some things that I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.”

“Very well,” Thomas nodded before sipping his coffee. How wonderful coffee is! A truly fine treat—I have missed it so. “What is on your mind?”

The Duke folded his hands on top of the table and cleared his throat. “I want you to take the news I am about to tell you in stride, dear boy. I want you to remember that you are always welcome here at this house for a meal or bed, no matter the time of day,” he began. “However… I have arranged a townhome for you in London. I think it only right for a grown man to have a place to call his own. It shall be ready tomorrow morning. Know that it will have all of the basic furnishings, as well as some staff for you. It is yours to do with as you please, but I wanted to make certain that you had everything you needed to get started in life.”

“That’s very gracious of you, Thank you, Father,” Thomas replied with a dip of his head. Internally, he was edging toward panic. While, of course, it was a wonderful gesture for his father to have put in so much thought and effort, Thomas simply didn’t feel ready to be on his own. The thoughts and memories would surely close in on him and swallow him whole. It was one thing to stow away in his room upstairs, and another entirely to live alone. His throat tightened at the thought.

The Duke of Mondale nodded slowly and gave a gentle smile. “While I haven’t gone into service myself, I have known many men who have returned from battles less bloody than the ones you have seen. I cannot personally imagine how hard the transition back into society must be, but I can certainly sympathize. With your permission, of course, I do have some further suggestions and paths in the works for you.”

Thomas was genuinely moved. Many people had spoken words of gratitude and admiration, but it was the first time someone had been honest in saying they couldn’t imagine being in his position. And it was only made better by his father offering to take such heavy burdens off of his shoulders by taking charge of Thomas’s entrance back into society. “I am most grateful,” he breathed. “That means a lot to me, Father. Thank you, again.”

“Not another word of thanks,” the Duke smiled and then sipped his beverage. “I don’t wish to overwhelm you all at once, so most things can wait for another day. For now, I have arranged a dinner party for you. You do remember the Earl of Meridown, do you not?”

His face brightened at the mention of his old, dear friend. A true smile stretched his lips then. “Do I remember the Earl of Meridown? Ralph Tulk?” he repeated in humor. “He was only my best sparring partner for the better half of my formative years. And the greatest pain in my side when it came to debating politics.”

The Duke laughed and nodded. “Very good. Well, I have been in correspondence with him, and we have arranged for you to join him and his family at his country estate tonight for supper. The coachmen have been informed and will take you this evening. Be ready by six.”

“Wonderful.” Thomas grinned. “It will be a delight to see an old friendly face. I wonder how he has been all these years.”

“You will find out for yourself,” the Duke replied in kind.

Thomas longed to thank his father for such sentiment put into those plans, but he knew better than to utter words after being told not to. Besides, his mother had warned him not to even so much as agitate him, as it would make him poorly. He did his best to brush those thoughts away. After making a mental note to ask one of his brothers about it in the morning, Thomas put his focus on looking forward to the dinner he would have with Ralph.

Had he and Ruth married? Was he leading his earldom well? And was he still a sore loser? Thomas chuckled and finally began making a plate for himself. For the first time in quite a while, he had a bit of an appetite. He savored his breakfast, made small talk with his father, and held onto the flicker of hope for a normal life that had sparked in his chest. He wasn’t under any foolish idea that life would be easy for him, but perhaps with family and friends, a hard life could still be a happy one.

Whether he still deserved a happy life, however, he could not quite decide.

If you liked the preview, you can get the whole book here

My beloved.

I trust that you are well… Ah, I could go on rambling, trying to find myself an excuse for writing, but there is none. Truthfully, there is no reason for this letter other than to say that I miss you. Alas, I set eyes upon my coat, which had just been cleaned and returned to my chambers, and it reminded me of how it looked around your bare shoulders that first night as I tasted your lips on a balcony.

Of course, this in turn led me to think of many other things, starting with your eyes, sparkling like sapphire jewels as you smiled at me, letting me in your window. I know it has only been a few nights since then, but can you blame me? I am a man lost to your charms. I find myself longing for your kiss again… No matter how many times your soft lips succumb to mine, it could never be enough.

It has been too long, my lover. I wish to hold you close once again… to feel the softness of your skin against mine, without our clothes to bar me from my fill of you. I catch myself at many points in the day, dreaming about your breasts and how your back arches when I bring my lips to them. It is with great effort that I am able to put thoughts of you aside for even a moment. How loathsome it is that we must run around like this, as though ashamed of our love. I cannot wait to hold you in the open… Perhaps then I would not need to write letters such as these, detailing how bereft I feel when you are not here.

Alex.

Alexander Mannfield put his quill down. The letter he had just finished stared back at him, a mirror showing just how infatuated he had become. Heat bloomed slightly on his face from embarrassment as he watched the ink dry on his penmanship. I am absolutely being led by the nose here, am I not? His thoughts put a wry smile on his face.

It was one thing to realize it and another entirely to want to do anything about it. He knew that he was much more taken by Isabella Levingston than she was by him, but he did not mind at all. He still counted the days until he could see her again; and did silly things like sending her a frothy letter because he saw a coat that reminded him of her.

Sighing to himself, he folded the letter up, preparing it to be sent. Before he could convince himself to change his mind, he rang the bell in his room, calling for his valet to collect and deliver his message. It did not take long before his call was answered. However, when he looked up, it was not the valet but the old butler who had come.

A concerned frown settled on Alexander’s face from the surprise. “Baldwin? Why are you here?” he asked.

“Why, I am responding to your call Master Alex,” Baldwin said.

“Why would you respond to my call? You are to be resting Baldwin!” The old butler had served the Mannfield family for two generations already, with Alexander being the third. Recently, his eyes had begun to fail him, signaling that it was time he retire. He was immediately relieved of most of his duties and made to focus on training his understudy to replace him. Baldwin was an important member of their family, to the point where he had practically raised Alexander, so of course everyone wanted to pamper him. Despite their efforts, Baldwin, who had been busy all his life, did not know how to rest.

Baldwin had the grace to look sheepish. “Master Alex, I have been resting all day. This is nothing,” he said.

Alexander folded his arms over his chest. “Well, you should not have come anyway, I wanted to speak to Barnaby.”

“Oh, you must not have heard it yet. After he helped you dress this morning, Barnaby received a letter from his sister saying his mother had an apoplexy. He asked the Baron for permission and left in a hurry,” Baldwin said.

Alexander’s eyes widened in shock. Barnaby was his valet, and just that morning he had been asking him if he missed his family yet as the young man helped him put his clothes on. The thought of something happening to Barnaby’s mother worried him greatly. “An apoplexy you say? That is terrible! I can imagine how anxious he must have been when he left. I hope she is alright…”

“Indeed, we all do. The Baron made sure he had enough money to see a physician; a most generous extension of aid,” Baldwin said, seeming proud of Alexander’s father. “What did you needed him for?”

“I was going to have him deliver a letter for me,” Alexander said, waving it off as nothing. It was not as though the letter was truly urgent anyway.

“Why not have the footman deliver it instead?” Baldwin asked.

Alexander shook his head. “No, I think it best not… the contents are rather… sensitive.” His cheeks warmed again, making it obvious to Baldwin, who knew of his relationship, the contents of the letter.

“My, my, Master Alex, I am sure I told you before to be careful of the liberties you take with the young Miss Levingston,” Baldwin said, a trace of teasing in his voice.

“I never said the letter was for her,” Alexander said, struggling to hold back a smile.

“Oh please, young master I was not born yesterday,” Baldwin said, giving him a look. “Anyway, seeing the nature of the letter, I can deliver it for you in Barnaby’s place.”

Alexander refused immediately. “You shall do no such thing, Baldwin. I have told you that you should be resting! There is no way I am sending you on an errand.”

Baldwin waved a hand. “Pah. I might be blind as a bat, but I can still get things done easily! You all are overreacting! My bones will go brittle if I stay still.”

When Alexander did not budge, the old butler sighed. “Everyone is occupied, and I was going to deliver a letter to the butler of a neighboring estate during my daily walk anyway. I can just deliver the letter for you while I’m out on my own errands. How’s that?”

Alexander’s resolve cracked a bit. If he was already on his way out he could just drop the letter off. He had already accepted it in his mind.

Baldwin smiled at him as he took the plain envelope. “Do not worry, your secret is safe in my hands,” he joked.

Alexander could not help but return his warm smile. “Indeed. Just remember when you deliver it, to ask that the letter go straight to the young Miss and no one else.”

“Of course, Master Alex.” Baldwin bowed as he left.

Chapter One

It was a day like any other for Caroline Campbell. She was sitting in the drawing room of her family’s London house with her mother and three sisters after having breakfast. She was practicing her needlework. A most banal activity and one that was her least favorite, but her mother was sitting right in front of her, and she could not complain lest she got her ears filled with nagging and lectures.

Her sisters, Ann, Marjorie, and Alice were also practicing their needlework, with her mother paying special attention to Alice who was the youngest. Marjorie and Alice had yet to debut and in Caroline’s opinion were still free. She and Ann, however, were in the public eye and now had to watch themselves very carefully as the slightest error or incompetence could lead to their ruin.

“Caroline, look, I made a duck,” Ann whispered to her, showing her what she was needling.

Caroline looked over to see that her sister had sewn a grotesque duck onto the handkerchief she was needling. “That is the ugliest, yet most detailed duck I have ever seen in my life.”

Ann was the best at needling. She could make the most beautiful patterns and could recreate images as well, if she had the time. Recently, she had taken to needling images off the top of her head. Today it was a hideous duck. Their mother, who had them needling the gardenias in the center of the table, would not be pleased. Ann snickered, clearly pleased with herself.

Caroline was thinking of how their mother was going start ranting about how Ann could put her talents to better use again, when a knock disturbed them. She did not pay much attention when the butler came in because she figured she had no business with him; and though she had made her debut two seasons ago, no one came calling for her as she had no friends aside from her sister.

To her surprise, however, Carlisle handed her a letter. She looked up at the butler in surprise, but his expression was blank. The letter had no seal, recipient, or sender, leaving the exterior blank. Caroline, who was bored of needling and all too happy with the distraction, did not bother asking where the letter came from and dismissed Carlisle.

She glanced over at her mother, finding that she was engrossed in directing Alice and was not paying attention to Caroline. She opened the mysterious letter curiously, and after only reading the first line, she closed it again, her jaw falling open. ‘Beloved it says?! Have I gotten a letter meant for another?’

She already knew there was no way the letter was intended for her as she was no one’s beloved. She was still at loggerheads with her mother because she was not in the least bit interested in having a marriage set up for her and always ran the boorish men off. She wanted to marry only when she fell in love, so if she were to be anyone’s beloved, she would know of it.

She opened the letter again and read it through this time, her face contorting as she did. What manner of filth is this?! She could not keep the blush from her face. Ann, noticing that she was turning red, frowned in curiosity, and leaned over to see what she was blushing about. She let Ann see it, after all she was old enough, and her best friend.

Ann started to giggle almost immediately. “Around your bare shoulders?!” she whispered, quoting the letter as she tried to stifle her laughter.

Hearing the words from her sister’s mouth made Caroline’s face heat up even more. “I know! Who could even conceive such filth, not to mention having the boldness to write it?!” She whispered back to Ann who was almost falling apart in a fit of giggles.

“Frankly, I am more taken by the fact that he is climbing in through her windows to make her lips ‘succumb’ to his,” Ann said, keeping her voice low as she wiggled her eyebrows.

“Stop!” Caroline scolded in hushed tones, pressing a hand to her sister’s face, and pushing her away.

The snickering Ann dodged her hand and leaned in close again. “I for one think it is romantic. Although they are having a scandalous affair right now, he seems to want to make an honest woman of her.”

Caroline reread it again and saw that Ann was right. Although he was filthy, he did seem like a man truly in love. Her gaze dropped to the last line of the letter where there was finally a signature. Alex… I wonder who it is. Perhaps a commoner? No, if he were a commoner, he would not even dream of marrying this lady who is clearly a noble since he needs to sneak in through her window.

Her sister leaned in again, interrupting her thoughts. “Do you reckon that when he says, ‘hold you out in the open’ he means for them to frolic naked on their estate?” Ann whispered.

Caroline, who was tired of her sister’s misbehavior, forgot their mother was there, and smacked her face with the letter. Ann leaned back, also forgetting herself and letting out a cackle.

“Girls.” Their mother’s voice brought them back to reason in an instant. Lady Campbell stared at them with murderous intent. “Let me see that. Just what is causing such foolish behavior.”

Caroline stared at her mother’s outstretched hand, not wanting to give her the letter for how embarrassing it was. Lady Campbell did not wait for her to decide and reached over the table to snatch the letter from Caroline’s hand.

Caroline exchanged a glance with Ann as their mother read the letter, and Ann had the grace to look apologetic. Their mother reacted just as they thought she would. With dramatics.

“Ann, Marjorie, Alice. Give us the room.” The girls could not defy their mother and Ann mouthed an apology to her sister as she led the younger girls out of the drawing room.

“Caroline.” Lady Campbell clutched her chest in horror, fanning her face as though faint. “Caroline, are you trying to ruin our family name?!”

“Mother-” Caroline spoke knowing she would be cut off.

“Caroline who is this Alex you have been allowing to sneak in your window at night?!” Lady Campbell thundered.

“Mother! How could you think that of me?!” Caroline was offended.

“With all the rubbish you spew about your lofty and strange expectations of marriage, can you blame me? How do I know you have not begun some ill-fated relationship in the name of ‘love’?” her mother said.

“With how you direct my everyday life, I wonder how I’d find the opportunity.” Caroline crossed her arms over her chest. “I have not been letting anyone in my window and I know no man by that name. I am sure there has been a mistake in the delivery of the letter.”

“A mistake? The letter says, ‘eyes sparkling like sapphire jewels,’ you have blue eyes!” her mother said exasperatedly.

“Well, they are not sapphire!” It was true, Caroline’s eyes were a sky blue that was almost green.

Her mother was not impressed. She summoned Carlisle while Caroline massaged her forehead tiredly. She knew better than to get involved in any type of scandal. She was already in enough trouble for continuously rejecting the advances of the men who came calling for her hand in marriage.

“Yes, Madame?” The butler returned to the drawing room.

Her mother wasted no time asking. “Where did you get this letter?” She held the offending sheet of paper up.

“The old butler from the Mannfield estate brought it personally and insisted that I give it directly to the young lady of the house. I simply assumed he meant Miss Caroline as she is the oldest.” Carlisle responded. He looked over at Caroline when she snorted with laughter. “Is there a problem?”

Lady Campbell seemed deep in thought. “No, you may leave.”

“See, mother? I told you it was a mistake. If it is the Mannfield estate, then ‘Alex’ is certainly Alexander Mannfield. I have never spoken to that man in my life. I haven’t even gotten a proper look at him,” Caroline said with a chuckle, thinking that things would be cleared up easily. “He was always quiet and distant at balls. I suppose we know why now.”

She had said that last part playfully, thinking that the next line of conversation would be gossip on who the true recipient of the letter was supposed to be. She was wrong. Her mother jumped to her feet, not looking any less concerned.

“Your father needs to see this,” Lady Campbell said.

A frown wrinkled Caroline’s brow as her mother stood up, rushing toward the door. “Wait, you want to tell father? This is much too trivial an issue to bother father with-” she began to say, but her words were cut short as her mother left her in the drawing room, the door slamming shut with a finality.

…..

Two days had passed since he sent his love letter and Alexander was still thinking about Isabella. He hoped at the very least that his letter had made her smile. Isabella was not exactly forthcoming with her replies, if she ever replied at all, so he was not waiting for a response, only imagining her reaction. Though she often did not respond to his letters, she always let him know how much she enjoyed them whenever she did meet him.

They had been meeting once a sennight for the past few months, and it was more recently that their interactions took on a more carnal nature. Perhaps that was why Alexander had become so obsessed, but then how could he not be? Isabella was a dream in the sheets. The fact that she was somehow more experienced than him did not bother him in the slightest when she showed him new ways to please her, and new ways she could please him with every encounter. She was naturally gifted despite him being her first lover as she was his. They were just so compatible and as creative as she was, their lovemaking was never boring.

Now that he thought about it, they barely spent any time talking anymore. The past four meetings since the first time they slept together, had been spent lost in each other’s bodies. I wonder if she minds… usually she initiates it, so I would think not…

He was supposed to be looking over reports of the taxes in the Mannfield’s lands and comparing them to the harvest, a duty he was given in preparation for when he would become Baron. Instead, he was daydreaming about Isabella. Perhaps that was why he jumped when there was a sudden knock on his door.

“Yes, do come in.” He shuffled the reports on his desk, making it look like he had been doing what he was supposed to.

“Young Master Alex,” the footman, Oliver, said, poking his head in through the door before coming in. “A letter for you from Lord Campbell. I was told to relay that the message is urgent and they expect you immediately.”

Alexander took the letter from Oliver with great confusion and dismissed him. The Campbells were not a family he was acquainted with. He had heard of their daughter, Caroline, who was said to be quite the beauty and had a habit of breaking the hearts of the young men who sought her hand. Word went around that her standards were high. He was in a relationship with Isabella, however, so he did not take much interest in the gossip.

He wondered what business they had with him as he read the letter and found that it was a summons from the Lord. If this were a business call, would he not reach out to my father and not me?

Alexander was confused, but he was also too polite to ignore the invitation which, quite frankly, seemed more like a summons. It was strange that the Lord would summon him like this. He wanted to find out what was going on, so he did as the letter asked and went to the Campbell house. It seemed they had been waiting for him. As soon as he arrived, their butler, a middle-aged serious man, took him to the Lord’s study.

Alexander could not help feeling a bit worried when he stepped into the office and found both the Lord and Lady Campbell staring at him. The Lady, standing beside her husband, looked even more intense, as though he had done something wrong.

“The Honorable Alexander Mannfield,” the Lord said.

Alexander bowed in greeting. “A pleasure to meet you, Lord Campbell. I received your summons and came as fast as I could, but I admit that I am confused by the sudden call.”

Lady Campbell sniffed at that and threw her nose in the air. For some reason… this does not seem to be a friendly call…

“You are confused? So not once did it occur to you when you were sending my daughter that illicit letter, or as the letter suggests, meeting her secretly, did you think that you would end up in this situation?” the Lord asked, barely masking his anger.

Alexander blinked in confusion. “Meeting? With all due respect, Lord Campbell, but I have never met any one of your daughters out in the open, not to mention secretly. I have never sent them any letters either. So yes, I am indeed confused,” he said, being firm but also respectful.

The Lord reached into a drawer in his desk and smacked a familiar letter on the table. “Are you saying this letter was not written by you? Your family butler came here insisting that this be delivered directly to the young lady of the house.

Picking up the letter, which was meant to have gone to Isabella, Alexander immediately understood what had happened. There was no way he could have suspected that anything went wrong. If the Campbells had not summoned him, he might never have discovered the error, unless he mentioned it to Isabella when he met her next. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he let out a tired sigh. Oh Baldwin, what have you done?

“My deepest apologies, Lord Campbell.” Alexander bowed again and put the letter back on the table. “I did write this letter, but it was by no means meant for your daughter. Forgive me, but I cannot state the intended recipient’s name in order to protect her reputation.”

“If the letter was not meant for Caroline, then how did it end up here?” the older man asked, bemused.

“It is an unfortunate mistake,” Alexander explained. “Our family butler, Baldwin, has served the Mannfields for two generations now and he is getting rather old. Recently, his sight began to fail him. We have relieved him of most of his duties, but that day there happened to be no one else I could send to deliver my message, due to its sensitive nature. I asked Baldwin to deliver my letter to my lover’s house. He knows who she is, so it is clear that he made a mistake coming here due to his condition. I am truly sorry for this.”

He saw relief flash over the Lord’s face. “Oh. I understand what happened now, although it is a rather ridiculous turn of events. That is good. I usually trust my daughter and know that she would not involve herself in scandals, but in matters between lovers, you never know,” he said.

Alexander nodded with a smile. He could imagine how the older man had felt. He almost laughed in relief himself. When he thought of being in a position such as this, he had imagined it would be if Isabella’s father caught on to what they were doing.  Who would have thought it would be due to a silly mistake?

The issue seemed to be over when Lady Campbell suddenly spoke. “It does seem ridiculous! So ridiculous that I do not believe it!”

Alexander turned to her in shock to find that she was glaring daggers at him. He winced. It made sense that the mother would be more incensed in a situation such as this, but Alexander knew he had nothing to do with her daughter, so he just wanted her to calm down and see the truth.

“Dear… as wild as it sounds, it is also plausible… besides, do not you think it is better that this blows over?” the Lord murmured to his wife.

“No. Even if it is plausible, he still sent a letter to an unmarried young woman, when he is not even engaged to her,” the woman said, throwing her nose in the air.

Alexander knew there was some truth to her words as that could also bring about a scandal, but it was not like anyone knew of it. It was not an issue as long as they blew over it quickly.

“There is already gossip among the servants of letters being exchanged between the two of them. People think they are courting! It is made even worse by the fact that he has shown up here to meet us today as though meeting his intended’s parents. It will be a scandal of immense proportions if this is not handled appropriately.” She glared at him.

Alexander was shocked, and to his credit, the Lord seemed just as surprised. “If I may ask, what would be an appropriate handling of the situation?”

Lady Campbell turned to him with a blank expression. “What are you talking about? Marriage of course.”

Alexander pinched the bridge of his nose, almost laughing from how awful it was. “Marriage?  I’m sure Miss Campbell is a lovely young woman, but I do not know her. How could I marry her when I already have a lover? Besides, I only came here because I was invited. Would it not be clear if that were explained?”

“Do not be naive. Explained? They will think any explanation we give is simply an excuse… a cover up. You know how the gossip mills of London run. I will not have my daughter be a laughingstock for your mistake,” the Lady said firmly.

Alexander looked to the Lord, hoping he would see reason, but Lord Campbell stood by his wife. “It is most unfortunate, but it seems this is the only way we can resolve this, given the circumstances. I understand your plight, but I cannot allow my daughter to be made a fool in social circles. I trust that you will make the responsible decision. I shall give you some time to do so on your own.”

The finality of the words hit Alexander like a ton of bricks. He was still finding it hard to come to terms with how quickly he had been cornered. Just an hour ago, he was still going about his life believing all was well. Now, in a matter of minutes, his future had become bleak.

“I… I should go… Perhaps we should continue this conversation another time,” he stammered. The Lord nodded, dismissing him, and Alexander could not get out of there fast enough. He was in such a hurry as he stepped out of the room, he bumped into someone who was standing just outside.

“Pardon me,” he said, steadying them by the arms to keep them from keeling over.  It was a woman standing no taller than his chest, and the skin of her upper arms where he grabbed felt so soft, he unconsciously loosened his grip lest he bruise her. He caught a glimpse of long, sandy blonde tresses, and the lightest blue eyes he had ever seen, before the lady took off in a mad dash and stowed herself in the closest room. He stood there for a moment with his hands still outstretched. She had moved so fast it almost made him dizzy.

Was that the Lady Caroline? He did not have time to consider this much longer as the butler appeared, followed by a group of older women who seemed to be Lady Campbell’s friends, who were being led inside. Their words quickly drew him out of his thoughts and returned him to the harsh present.

“Oh dear! I heard the gossip, but to think it was true that The Honorable Alexander Mannfield was Caroline’s intended!”

Chapter Two

Caroline’s heart was pounding in her chest as she leaned against the door of the drawing room she had escaped into. Her cheeks were red up to her ears, and her arms felt like they were on fire in the place where he had placed his hands. She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself, but it was futile. That was the best looking man I have set eyes on in my entire life!

She had sneaked up to the door of her father’s study, trying to listen in after Ann had told her that their parents had summoned Alexander Mannfield to the house. She did not feel too sorry for the man at first, as it was not her fault his letter had landed in her hands, but she wanted to know what her parents would tell him, since it involved her as well.

She did not like what she heard at all, and it seemed Alexander, who wanted to marry his lover, did not either. She had been furious, considering whether she should throw her dignity away and burst in there to make her outrage known, when the door had suddenly opened. His hands were so large, going all the way around her upper arm with ease. His eyes were an icy gray made even more stark by his dark locks. His voice, deep and polite, had rumbled in her chest, and set a strange feeling free in her guts.

She ran away like a coward, too shocked to process what she was feeling and still have rational words leave her mouth. It was better I left. I would have made a fool of myself for sure.

Her thoughts were interrupted as she heard voices in the hallway. She pressed her ear to the door just in time to hear Carlisle’s uncomfortable tone. “Ah, ladies, the drawing room is this way. It seems Sir Mannfield was just on his way out, shall we let him go? I’m sure he has a lot to do today,” the butler was saying. Caroline cocked her head to the side. We have visitors?

“Oh please, I’m sure he has time to greet us, we are friends of his soon-to-be mother-in-law after all!” a voice Caroline recognized to be Lady Silverstein said. Her face paled at that and the reverie from meeting Alexander vanished instantly, bringing her back to reality. She frowned as she heard the responding laughter from the other women. Why are mother’s friends talking as though I am betrothed to the man?

Caroline was not pleased at all, and from the sound of it, neither was Alexander Mannfield. “I am sure conversation with you lovely ladies would be wonderful, but I do really have to go.” He sounded like he was walking on broken glass. Caroline had to wince.

“That’s too bad, I would have loved to hear all about the wedding plans straight from the source. I’ll just have to hear it from Lady Campbell it seems,” Lady Silverstein said.

It seemed Alexander began to see himself out as Carlisle said, “Ah, Sir, let me walk you out.” His words were followed by hurried footsteps and then he added, “Ladies, please use the door in front of you. Lady Campbell will be with you soon.”

Caroline moved away from the doors just before they opened. The four women who stepped into the room all widened their eyes at the same time.

“Oh, hello Caroline, so you were in here,” Lady Silverstein greeted.

Caroline gave a courteous curtsy. “Hello. A pleasant morning, ladies,” she replied.

The women waved her greeting away and headed over to find themselves seats, chattering as they went. Caroline tightened her fist. “I could not help overhearing your conversation with Sir Alexander Mannifield. It seems you think that we are in a relationship and to be wed?” she said, allowing the latter end of her statement to become a question.

Four pairs of eyes turned to her blankly. “Indeed, it is not that we think so, but that it has become a well-known fact. Have you two not been exchanging love letters?” Lady Silverstein spoke for the group.

Caroline rushed to explain, a bit of desperation seeping into her voice, “No! No, we have not been sending each other love letters, it was just one time that I received a letter from him, and it was a mistake!”

The older women exchanged glances and giggled to each other. “Sweetheart you do not have to pretend to be innocent in front of us. We are not judging you for being a little naughty,” the raven-haired beauty, Lady Wittlesworth, said from beside Lady Silverstein.

“Indeed, there’s no harm in a little fun, especially when he is not taking advantage of you and is taking responsibility by marrying you. We are your mother’s friends dear, there is no need to keep up appearances in front of us,” Lady Silverstein added.

Caroline opened her mouth and closed it again. There was nothing she could say that would make them believe her now. This was the frightening power of the gossip mills. She could not help the frustration that flooded her. Pretend to be innocent?! Me?! As if I care about any of that! I cannot believe they think I’m lying!

Upset, she left the drawing room, not wanting to spend another second listening to the women assuming things about her and her nonexistent relationship with Alexander. How did the rumor even spread so far? It has only been a couple of days.

As she hurried off, she bumped into her mother who was heading for the drawing room. “Oh, Caroline, I did not know you were here.”

Caroline grabbed her mother’s hand and pulled her into the closest room which happened to be the library. “Oh dear, what do you want to talk about in such a hurry that you had to pull me like this?” Lady Campbell asked, brushing down her skirts as though they had been ruffled by the quick movement.

“Mother, I listened in on you and father’s conversation with Sir Mannfield earlier,” she said, to which a frown wrinkled her mother’s face.

“Eavesdropping? That is unbecoming of a lady, and you know it! I hope he did not see you,” the ever-proper Lady Campbell scolded, seeming to worry about how Caroline would come across to Alexander.

Caroline waved her hands in the air out of frustration. “That is not important right now! Why would you try to make Alexander Mannfield marry me? It is so clear that this whole situation was just a mistake, and more importantly, that he wants to marry his lover!”

Her mother gave her a blank look. “I do not see why we should care about that,” she said.

Caroline rolled her eyes. “Alright, then do you think you should care about your daughter, who only wants to marry for love? Did you consider how devastated I would feel if a marriage were forced upon me? And did you consider how badly I would do in a marriage with a man who loves another and as such, is not even open to loving me? He will probably hate me since he will see me as someone who took away his chance to be with the woman he loves.” She was truly devastated at the thought of such a marriage. Every time he looked at her, he would be reminded of the woman he could not be with. She shuddered at the thought.

Her mother did not share her worries. “Please, Caroline, whatever your relationship turns out to be, you two will get used to it. Besides, Alexander Mannfield seems like a gentleman. I do not think it possible that he will maltreat you.”

A frown settled between Caroline’s brows. “What about the other woman, mother? It is clear his lover expects to marry him. What is she to do if he marries me? Not only does she love him, she gave herself to him. Do you not care about that young woman’s pain?”

Her mother sighed. “It is indeed unfortunate, but we are not at liberty to think of others right now. Everyone is already aware of the correspondence between you both. What is a mother to do? Of course, you are to marry, there is no other solution,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“What do you mean everyone is aware? How could they have known? The content of the letter was only known to us and Sir Mannfield and I doubt he would want that information to go public. So how exactly did it happen?” Caroline voiced her questions. She did not see how they ended up in such a predicament so quickly.

“Leave it be, Caroline. Of what use would it be if you found out how the news got out? It will not change the fact that everyone knows, so stop asking these questions. That’s what happens when you encourage men to send you letters with such filthy words.” Lady Campbell sniffed, turning her nose up.

Caroline felt her anger rise at her mother’s words. She would not be blamed for something she had no control over, she was a victim in this situation after all. Her mother knew very well that she was innocent in this matter, yet she continued to avoid the truth. It made suspicion rise in Caroline’s mind. “Mother, you know that letter was not meant for me. You also know that I have never been in close contact with Sir Alexander until today when he showed up in our home, so you cannot blame me for what has happened. Now I need you to please answer my question, please mother,” she said.

Caroline watched her mother look everywhere but at her.  She narrowed her eyes. “Are you the reason why everyone knows of the letter, mother? Did you spread the rumors?”

Lady Campbell’s eyes widened at the direct question, and she made a show of being angry. “How can you accuse me of something like that, Caroline?” she asked, but her face held traces of guilt.

Caroline concluded that her mother was responsible for the spread of the news, as she watched her try to avoid the question. Seeing that Caroline wasn’t falling for it, she tried to leave the room to escape her daughter.

Caroline blocked her mother’s path, stopping her from leaving. “I will not let you leave until you tell me the truth, mother.”

“Fine, I did it. Is that what you want to hear? I circulated the rumors about a relationship between you and Sir Mannfield,” Lady Campbell finally admitted.

Caroline felt the shock run through her at her mother’s words. Although she had suspected her of spreading the rumors, her mother’s confirmation still filled her with betrayal. “How could you do this to me, mother? All I ever wanted was to find someone who would love me just as you and father love each other. Do you not want me to marry for love? Is that why you are trying to force me into a loveless marriage? Do you not…” she paused as her voice cracked. “Do you not want me to be happy?” she finished.

Lady Campbell appeared to be shocked at her daughter’s outburst, and Caroline could see her eyes cloud a bit with uncertainty, but she ultimately pushed it away, her expression hardening again. Caroline could feel a pain in her heart at her mother’s actions. She fought to stop the tears that threatened to spill, her mother’s next words making it harder.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic Caroline. I am your mother, of course, I want you to be happy. Why do you think I am doing all of this? Sir Mannfield will be a baron someday and he will have all he needs to make you happy. Soon you will have children of your own and they will fill you with joy. All I ever wanted was to find you and your sisters suitable husbands. It does not matter if you do not love him now, you will learn to love and respect him after you marry.” The words came to her so naturally that Caroline was convinced that her mother truly believed this. She could tell that they would never see eye to eye on this matter.

“When you marry, you will understand that everything I have done was out of love and in a bid to secure a good future for you. I promise, you will see,” Lady Campbell said, moving to take her daughter’s hands in hers.

Caroline moved away from her mother, avoiding her touch, and heading for the door. “I did not ask you to do any of this, mother. I am embarrassed that you would go to such lengths. Pray Sir Mannfield does not find out your deception, else your plans will be ruined.” Caroline slammed the door closed behind her, unable to control her rage, and headed for her room.

In fact, pray that no one else ruins your plans.

…..

Alexander felt dazed as the butler showed him out of the Campbell home. As he stood in front of the gates, he could not help feeling like a child in need of guidance. He dug his nails into his palms, almost drawing blood as the scene that had just taken place played in his head repeatedly.

How can this be happening? What am I supposed to do now? I am out of my depth here. He pressed a hand against his forehead and pinched, trying to massage away the headache he could feel forming. He wished there were something he could do to make the situation go away. He could not even pretend to be calm. The last of his composure had been spent getting through the group of Lady Campbell’s friends. His mind was reeling but standing in front of the Campbell gates would not solve anything.

“Master Alexander?” his footman, Matthew called out to him as he walked past the carriage, confused about why he was choosing to walk on foot instead of boarding the carriage that awaited him.

“Master Alexander?” Matthew repeated, running to catch up with him. Alexander startled as his footman called his name near his ear. He could not remember when he had walked past the carriage. It was all for the best anyway. He needed to clear his head after today’s dramatic event and the exertion of walking would do him better than if he sat in the carriage and stewed.

“I believe I will take a walk, Matthew. You can go on without me.” He watched as Matthew and Brunswick, the coachman, turned to stare at each other in bewilderment, knowing that it was out of character for him to send them off like that. Deciding that he did not care for their confusion, as he had bigger problems to worry about, he turned and continued on his way.

He walked on, the sound of the wheels and the clop of horse hooves as his servants trailed behind him fading out of hearing as he focused on his thoughts.

From Lord Campbell’s words, he knew that the Campbells meant to take matters into their own hands if he did not propose marriage to their daughter soon to curtail whatever gossip was going around. If he did not take responsibility, they would no doubt take the matter to his family and demand that he do so. He frowned as he thought of how his father would react to the news. The Campbells would probably make it seem like he was fooling around with their daughter and refusing to take responsibility. He imagined that was what Lady Campbell would do, given how she had reacted during their talk.

As he walked, it suddenly hit him. If the gossip was as widespread as they had claimed, then it would not be long before it reached his parents. Lady Campbells’ friends were agents of the gossip mills after all. His mother would hear it soon, even if his father did not. He had to have a discussion with them both as soon as he got home.

The next moment, he came to another realization and froze in his tracks, a weird groan emanating from his lips as the blood drained from his face leaving him pale. He was so stupid. If the rumor had already spread so far, then what if it had already reached Isabella? She would be going about her day only to suddenly hear that the man she was in a relationship with was getting married to another. She would think the worst.

Alexander spun on his heel, running toward his carriage, which was still following him. “I am so glad that you two did not listen to me,” he said breathing heavily as he got to the carriage. “To the Levingston house at once, Brunswick. Hurry.”

On his way to Isabella, Alexander thought of what he would say to her. She was probably heartbroken, thinking he had taken liberties with her and shunned her. He tapped on the roof of the carriage, telling Brunswick to pick up the pace. He was out of the carriage the moment they stopped in front of the Levingston house, flying up the stairs to the front door after he was allowed through the gates.

“Sir Alexander, welcome,” the Levingston butler said. Even though this was the first time he had come face to face with the man, Alexander knew from previous conversations he had shared with Isabella that his name was John.

“Thank you, John. I apologize for coming unannounced like this, but I really must speak to Lady Isabella at once,” Alexander said, hoping she was in. He knew her father was not usually in at this time, so he was not worried about bumping into him, but the sudden visit also meant he was not sure if Isabella was around.

“Certainly, Sir Alexander. The lady will join you in a moment. Please follow me and I will see you to the drawing room, while I alert her to your presence,” the butler said as he let him into the house. Alexander followed him, unable to stop his eyes from wandering. It was the first time he was seeing these parts of the house, after all.

He was drawn back to the butler very quickly however, as the man said, “Ah, by the way, congratulations on your upcoming wedding sir.” With a smile, the butler shut the doors of the drawing room, leaving Alexander with his thoughts.

If you liked the preview, you can get the whole book here