Violet laughed as she stepped through the door of the sitting room in Woodlands House, looking toward the two children who were sitting by the fireplace. She placed a hand to her sore back, urging herself to walk forward. She was still suffering the fatigue from her latest childbirth, but come what may, she would not be slowed down, not now she had three children to dote on this Christmas.
“Michael has my doll, Mama, look!” Arabella stood to her feet and practically stamped her foot down on the rug as she pointed at the small boy beside her.
“I don’t have it.” Despite Michael’s words, he hid the ivory doll behind his back, prompting Violet to place her hands on her hips and offer a reprimanding glare. Michael instantly cracked and pulled out the doll again. “It’s not fair,” he murmured as he passed the doll over to Arabella.
“You have your own toys. Play with your own.” Arabella snatched the doll away, turned and planted herself back on the rug, playing with the doll as if nothing had happened.
“One of these days, you two really will have to learn to share,” Violet said softly. Her son and daughter looked at her with wrinkled noses, as if the mere idea was abhorrent to them. She laughed instantly and walked into the room, placing a hand to her back once more as she moved forward. “Come on, it’s time to learn this lesson.”
She took hold of Arabella and spun her round on the rug to face her brother, then Violet took the doll out of her daughter’s hands and placed it down on the rug between them.
“You could play a game together, where you share the toy. What do you say?” Violet asked, dropping to her knees, and looking between the two of them.
“All right. If he doesn’t steal it again!” Arabella pointed an accusing finger at Michael, flicking her blonde hair out of her eyes.
“I didn’t steal it!” Michael said, pouting his lips and flicking his blue eyes that matched his father’s away from his sister.
“Children.” The new voice in the room made Violet look up with a smile. Andrew had entered, carrying their youngest child in his arms. At once, Michael and Arabella’s tones softened, and they began to play together. Violet took the opportunity to stand to her feet and hurry toward her husband, taking their new baby out of his arms.
“How is she?” Violet whispered.
“Sleeping soundly,” Andrew assured her, passing an arm around her waist so that he held Violet close to him. She smiled and sank into his touch as she nestled their new daughter between them. “According to Mrs. Thatcher, she has been as good as gold all night. Not a peep out of her.”
“Already? She is mightily well behaved,” Violet said with a roll of her eyes. “These two were not so well behaved.”
“Certainly not,” Andrew agreed with a shake of his head. “But I’m told twins are notorious at making life difficult for one another.” Violet laughed at the idea, for she certainly knew what her husband meant. Michael and Arabella may have bickered a lot, but they were also devoted to one another. When nap time came around, they were invariably always linked together, with one of the children leaning on the other.
“Ready for your introduction to the family, little one?” Violet cooed as she looked down at their newest daughter..
“I hope she is, for they are here now.” Andrew pointed out of the window as carriages arrived. At once, Michael and Arabella were on their feet, leaving the ivory doll behind them, quite forgotten and discarded on the rug.
They ran past Violet and Andrew so fast they nearly sent them flying.
“You better go after them,” Violet said.
“My turn again?” Andrew teased.
“I have my arms full as it is.” Violet laughed and held up the sleeping form of Helena for him to see. He laughed too and hurried out of the sitting room, leaving Violet a minute to look between her daughter and the room around them. It had been dressed for Christmas perfectly, with evergreens strewn across the mantelpiece and candelabras. In one corner, presents were already piled high, and in the other, the pianoforte was covered in sheet music for Christmas hymns.
It was to be the perfect Christmas for Violet. With her three children in the world, she had a joyful focus to her life.
As she held Helena high in her arms, she turned and left the room, heading outside and counting up the carriages that had arrived. Her parents’ carriage was yet to come, though they had promised they would attend this year. Though after her marriage to Andrew, her father had clearly been disappointed, that disappointment had faded away once the twins were born. It seemed nothing else mattered once new life was brought into the world. Violet was thankful for it, as with her teachings to her children, her parents also seemed to have relaxed their need to impart lessons that followed such strict rules. They doted on the children, indulging them with gifts rather than teachings of rules and etiquette.
Violet turned her eyes to the carriages that had arrived, seeing Lord Henry Stirling’s carriage was at the front. As he descended, he held out a hand to his wife.
“Emilia!” Violet said with glee as Emilia stepped out of the carriage, placing a hand to the swell of her own stomach.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Emilia said quickly. The children were just as impatient to see her, jumping up and down outside of her carriage. “You will have to wait for me, children. I have to waddle everywhere these days.” Her words made them laugh as she moved forward, revealing just how big she had grown with the swell of her child. Violet knew it would not be long before her friend enjoyed the same bliss she had. She had seen Emilia long for a child of her own for some time, and ever since she and Henry had married, they seemed to have some difficulty in producing a child. At last, though, one was on the way.
As Andrew and Henry talked, Violet moved to Emilia, embracing her tightly with Helena between them.
“Ah, and this is the newest addition to the family,” Emilia said with delight, taking Helena from her arms. “Helena. Welcome to the world little one. You have the greatest parents in the world, so no one could be more fortunate that you.” As Emilia cooed at the baby, Violet felt her other children move to her side, with Arabella looping her hand through hers and Michael clinging to the skirt of her gown.
Before Violet could say anything about Emilia’s own upcoming birth, the second carriage pulled to a stop and this door opened. The Marquess of Rembrall stepped out first, before hobbling toward the children. In his older age, he could not move so fast, but to make up for it, the children ran toward him, shouting ‘Grandpapa!’ at the tops of their voices. As he embraced them both, Lord Walden stepped out of the carriage, hand in hand with a young woman.
“Who is that?” Violet whispered to Andrew as he reached her side.
“I do not know. Let’s find out.” Andrew took her hand and led her toward Lord Walden. “John, happy you could come!”
“How could I miss this family affair?” Lord Walden said, gesturing to all the children. “I still haven’t met your newest.”
“I think you’ll have to prize her out of Emilia’s hands,” Violet said with a laugh, pointing back to where Emilia was still cooing at the new baby who had at last opened her eyes, with Lord Stirling hovering over her shoulder.
“Well, perhaps you could start the introductions,” Andrew said, clearly motioning toward the young lady at Lord Walden’s side.
“Yes, of course. This is Miss Miriam Lavers, daughter of the Baron of Notley,” he said and motioned for the young lady to step forward.
“How do you do.” Violet curtsied to her, watching as Miss Lavers curtsied as well, with something of a rather shy smile. When Lord Walden offered his arm to her, she instantly took it, as if on his arm was the safest place to be.
“Miss Lavers, this is my brother, Lord Andrew Weston, and his wife, Lady Violet.” Lord Walden gestured to the two of them. “I have news. Miss Lavers and I are to be married.”
“That is wonderful. Congratulations!” Violet said, stepping forward and taking his hand with warmth.
“Thank you,” he said, kissing her on the cheek, appearing truly grateful for the congratulations. Violet watched as he turned his eyes on the young lady beside him, seeming quite a different gentleman to the one she had known six years ago. He looked at Miss Lavers as if she were the sun in the sky.
“John, I am so pleased for you.” Andrew extended a hand for his brother to shake. As Lord Walden took the hand, he held it for a beat longer than necessary.
“It is to you two that I owe this moment.”
“To us two?” Andrew asked as he and Violet exchanged glances. “Why?”
“Because there was a time when I didn’t think too much about why one should marry.” He confessed and turned his eyes on Miss Lavers beside him. “I thought of it as something that was necessary and hardly pleasant. Then I saw you two together. With the children too.” He moved a hand toward where the children were playing with the Marquess of Rembrall. He was doing his best to keep up with them, though in his older age, he was struggling a little. “You showed me how happy life could be.”
“I should thank you, too,” Miss Lavers said as she looked between the two of them. “I feel I never would have known the real Lord Walden had it not been for you two.” Lord Walden looked truly touched by her words, placing a hand over where her palm was placed on his arm. Violet could see was an intimate touch, not just one of a couple that had agreed upon marriage, but of a couple that desired marriage.
They are in love.
“I am truly happy for the both of you,” Violet said as she took Andrew’s hand beside her, looking up to him with a smile on her face.
“John, I am thrilled.” Andrew gestured for them to come into the house. “Come, please. Mrs. Thatcher has arranged so much food for today that I am sure, none of us will be able to move after we have all eaten it.”
As Lord Walden and Miss Lavers moved toward the others, Violet hung back with Andrew for a moment, looking over their happy family together.
“Violet,” he whispered to her. “Is everything well?”
“Very well indeed,” she said and gestured forward. “Look at everyone’s smiles.” She pointed between everyone there. “This all came from one moment, Andrew. The moment you decided you wanted to marry me.”
“You mean the moment that I spread a rumor about you.” He grimaced, clearly not liking the memory.
“Yes, I suppose,” she said with a giggle and lifted her fingers to his chin, angling him down toward her for a sweet kiss. “Never be ashamed of that moment, love, for look how happy it has made us since.”
He smiled a little before placing his lips to hers. As Violet indulged in that kiss, she could hear Michael and Arabella making ‘eww’ sounds, but she didn’t mind. These last six years she had been living a life she had thought beyond her reach. Thanks to Andrew, that life was hers for good.
“A race?” Andrew asked, watching as Lady Violet steered her horse forward. Sitting side saddle on a grey mare that was almost as tall as his own stallion, Lady Violet cut an impressive figure. Andrew pulled his horse up alongside hers, just as he always did, reluctant to let her out of his sight. She may have been a fine rider, but she had fallen off on more than one occasion, and he would always ensure he was the one there to pick her up when it happened.
“Oh, unless you think you cannot win?” Lady Violet said with a teasing tone.
“Ha!” Andrew laughed at the girl next to him. She was often bold in such ways, playfully teasing him where other girls sat quietly behind pianofortes and barely made a sound. “How can I refuse a race now?” he asked as he steered his brown steed forward an inch. She did the same with her horse until they were both inching their horses forward one step at a time.
“If we go all the way up the hill like this, we may be here for some time,” Lady Violet said with a laugh.
“That I do not have a problem with,” Andrew assured her and glanced back over his shoulder, across the estate.
His father’s house, Cloveden, was one of the finest estates in Buckinghamshire with huge acres of estate surrounding it. At this distance, he could just make out the house, tall with yellow bricks and red accents, with so many windows that Andrew could not count them with a single glance. The two wings of the house stretched to the side and curved around a formal knot garden, with borders of flowers and a fountain in the middle. Despite its beauty, Andrew preferred to spend his time in the wilderness of the wider estate, amongst the trees and parkland riding his horse.
The house is my brother’s domain and always will be. This…this is where I am free to be me.
He looked back to Lady Violet who was looking at him a little quizzically.
“I’d say you are reluctant to go home for tea,” she said with a smile. “Our parents will be waiting for us.”
“Let us have that race at least,” he said, eager to prolong the time away for as much as possible. “To the summit of that hill.” He pointed to a hill nearby, cloaked with trees around the base and exposed at the top with open grassland, it offered the perfect view of not just the estate, but the surrounding towns and villages too.
“Very well,” she said, inching her grey mare forward again, when Andrew matched the advance, she giggled. “On the count of three. One…two…three!”
Together, they launched their horses forward. The grey and the chestnut set off with great gallops, matching one another in strength and stride as Andrew and Lady Violet leaned over their horse’s noses, urging them on.
When Lady Violet’s horse began to pull out in front, Andrew urged his horse faster, but it did little use. All the calls for his steed to hurry did little good. Soon, he was trailing behind her, with his horse’s hooves clomping against the undergrowth and the roots around the trees seconds after the grey mare.
Lady Violet steered her horse expertly through the trees, dodging the branches as though it were some sort of practiced dance, avoiding each bough easily, and twisting around old stumps that could upset a less-skilled rider. When she escaped the trees and stretched out across the grassland, the gap between them was growing wider. Andrew still wasn’t out of the trees yet.
Why do I feel like I am always chasing at this girl’s heels?
He didn’t have any longer to answer his question, for he had to bend down beneath a branch to prevent himself an injury. It was the last tree in his path though as he reached the grass and followed her up the last stretch of the hill. When he neared the top, she had clearly already been at the summit for a few minutes, for she cheered her victory and turned around to him with a big smile.
“I think you are a little pleased,” he said, laughing as he brought his horse back to a slow canter.
“If this is a little pleased, then goodness knows how I look when I’m ecstatic.” Her jest brought a laugh from him as the horse came to a stop. “I am merely pleased I have managed to stay in the saddle for once.”
“You are a fine rider,” he pointed out.
“I still frequently fall.”
“That I cannot deny, yet it comes from being so eager to ride faster and harder all the time.”
“I should fall less,” she said, setting her bright green eyes on him.
“I will never mind picking you up when you do fall, Lady Violet.” His words had come out deeper than he had expected. His voice had not long changed, growing deeper and deeper almost every day. She smiled all the more at his words then turned and began to clamber down from the mare.
“Well, for this rare defeat of you in a race, I think I deserve a prize,” she said. “What do you think?”
“What prize would you like?” he asked her, arranging himself to climb down from his horse too.
“A kiss.” Her words surprised him so much that he nearly fell as he jumped off the horse. She giggled at his response. “Well, if you do not want a kiss –”
“I never said that.” His hurried reply made her laugh all the more. He crossed the distance between the two of them, moving closer toward her.
A kiss… The errant idea had slipped into his dreams on occasion, but the real thing… It seemed almost impossible.
“Well, I’ll have to find someone else to kiss me instead,” Lady Violet said, ready to walk away back to her horse to find someone else.
This urge had taken over Andrew. It was a kind of stirring for her, a need that if she wanted a kiss, he should be the boy to offer her one. He reached out, taking her hand in his and pulling her toward him. She collided with him, placing her other hand to his chest as he bent down toward her. The kiss was fast, just a press of lips together, yet it changed everything.
Andrew held the touch of their lips for as long as he could, aware that Lady Violet was kissing him back with the same kind of urgency. The heat of the kiss crawled up his chest and neck, urging him to place his hands gently on her waist, keeping her near him. When they eventually pulled away from each other, her green eyes were wide with a kind of wonder and her lips were parted.
Andrew couldn’t stop touching her, not yet. He lifted a hand and played with one of her golden locks that had fallen out of her updo in the wind. He tangled the golden thread around his finger, indulging in the silkiness as his eyes flitted down to her lips again, wondering what it would be like if they could kiss another time. She seemed to be thinking the same thing, for she bit her lip, and a great blush dappled her cheeks.
“Well, I am glad I won the race,” she had said, her lips spreading into a smile. “Or I may have missed out on such a prize.”
Chapter 1
Bath, England
1814
“Well, I must marry soon, Drew, or Father will arrange it for me.”
Andrew turned away from his brother, hating the nickname John always gave him. It came from when he was a child and had a stammer. Unable to pronounce other names clearly, including his own, when he had struggled with the syllable ‘And’ and only managed to say ‘Drew’, the name had stuck. Andrew hated it, for it reminded him of the stammer, constantly.
“I had no idea you were interested in marriage, John,” Andrew said, tightening his hold around his glass. “Quite frankly, if our father or anyone here knew of your behavior…I am not sure many ladies would consider you for a match.”
“Ha! You know me well,” John said, delighting far too much in his own libertine ways for Andrew’s liking. “Yet my behavior shall remain our secret, won’t it, Drew?” John’s piercing blue eyes pinned Andrew to the spot.
“That it shall,” he said with a sigh, looking away again.
The Bath Assembly Rooms were busy this evening, with the lofted ceiling molded in plaster lit by the orange candle chandeliers. Beneath the candles, people wandered to and fro, some gentlemen with their noses stuck high in their air because they were wearing such large cravats, and some ladies with their faces tilted at an angle, in order to balance ostrich feathers.
Andrew looked between these faces, searching for one person in particular.
She will be here. Father said as much.
“Who are you looking for?” John asked as he filled up his glass from the punch bowl behind them.
“No one,” Andrew lied. He didn’t need anyone to know about his particular affection for a certain lady, least of all John, who might well tease him mercilessly for having such an ambition.
Second sons are rarely considered eligible bachelors after all, he thought with frustration.
“John…” Andrew paused and gestured down to his glass. “That is your third one. We only arrived twenty minutes ago. Don’t you think you should slow down a little?”
“Slow down? Tush,” John said with a laugh and flicked his head, tossing the black hair out of his eyes. “I need a little lightness if I’m going to consider marrying one of the ladies here.” He practically downed the glass.
Andrew grimaced and looked away, down into the punch bowl that was disappearing quickly because of his brother’s attention. In the reflection in the liquid, he could just about see himself. He possessed the same black hair and blues eyes as his brother, but their faces were different. Where John possessed good looks from a long nose and a thin face, Andrew had a square jaw and more angular features.
“I do not think you being in your cups will help persuade a lady to marry you.” Yet Andrew’s words seemed to go unnoticed by his brother. “Why do you even wish to get married in the first place? You seem to spend more time at the brothel than you do at home these days.”
“Shh,” John said, waving the empty punch glass. “I do not want all and sundry to hear that, do I?”
“If you don’t want people to know, then just do not go,” Andrew said, shrugging, as it seemed the best solution to him.
“Clearly you have not indulged in such delights yourself yet.”
I have no wish to.
“I must marry, Drew, as I need a wife to produce an heir. That is all.”
“That is all?” Andrew asked, grimacing at the nickname once again. “Do you mean to say that you do not even care if you like the lady or not?” He nearly dropped his own punch glass. “That’s an awful thing to say. No, that is not enough. It is a dreadful thing to even think!”
“As long as the lady is eligible, with a suitable dowry to make our father happy, and beautiful enough that I do not mind taking her to bed, not much else matters to me,” John said, looking around the faces at the assembly.
“Good god, man,” Andrew said, despairing of his brother. “I do not think I have known anyone as cold mannered when it comes to marriage as you.”
“You love me really, I’m your brother,” John said, laughing as he poured himself another glass. Andrew didn’t answer, for he was so angered by his brother’s words. “What of Lady Alice Hengleby? She is certainly a beauty.” Andrew searched the crowd where his brother was pointing to a young lady with black hair and greyish eyes. She had pretty features, elfin in nature, but there was not the trace of a smile.
“I have heard the lady is not fond of conversation,” Andrew said. “Surely you want a lady you could at least talk to?”
“As I said, she needs to produce an heir and have money, those are the priorities.”
“Permit me to scoff and deride such a thing,” Andrew said with mockery. “Even you must here how absurd that all sounds.”
“I am merely being practical. How many people do you know that have married for love, hmm? It’s an illusion only.”
It is not. Andrew had seen enough love matches in his life to know that they were possible, and he also knew well enough to feel the keen sting of love. That was why he was eagerly searching the crowd of guests with such frantic eyes.
“Ah, there you two are.” A familiar voice made the two of them turn round to see their father approaching them. The Marquess of Rembrall was a formidable presence, almost as tall as Andrew and John, with a wide face and sharp blue eyes. His voice was the most commanding thing about his presence though, and he used that voice to urge the two brothers toward him. “Come, quick. There are some people I must introduce you to.”
Andrew sighed with disappointment and looked back toward the door. He had to accept that maybe she wasn’t coming to the assembly after all.
“Well, I say introduction, you have met them in the past, many times, even if it has been a few years since you have seen them. John, do you remember the Earl of Wiltshire?”
Andrew nearly tripped on the floorboards of the assembly rooms in surprise at hearing the name.
“Vaguely,” John said. “Fair haired chap, has a habit of talking for England.”
“Yes, that’s the gentleman. Though for goodness’ sake, lower your voice when you say such things,” the Marquess said, glancing to Andrew, as if pleading for his help. Andrew cleared his throat and nodded his head at the punch glass in John’s hand. The Marquess clearly understood, for he took the punch glass away.
“I was drinking that,” John said calmly.
“Well, you can drink more later, after you have become reacquainted with the Earl of Wiltshire and his daughter.”
“His daughter?” Andrew said, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice.
The three of them passed through a group of people, moving around the violinists that were playing the music for the dancers, before they came to a stop, beside a pair that had their heads turned toward the dancefloor.
“Lord Wiltshire?” the Marquess said, addressing the man. “I have found my sons at last.” Lord Wiltshire turned around instantly, his smile growing wide.
“Look at you two, the last time I saw you both you were far shorter than me, look at you both now. As tall as the clouds,” the gentleman chuckled, pointing up to their greater height. Andrew offered a smile in response, but his gaze was keenly taken by the young lady as she turned around.
Violet.
With blonde hair that was fastened neatly into a myriad of curls, she was striking in appearance. When she turned, her eyes went straight to him, rather than his father or his brother, that startling green color in those large bold eyes took his breath for a minute.
The last time he had seen her was before his university days, before he had left and she had spent more time with her governess. In that time, she had grown up a little more, and was even more beautiful than she had been when they were children. She smiled, making something jolt in his stomach.
Ah…it seems I am as hooked on her as I was all those years ago.
“Lady Violet, do you remember my sons? This is Lord John Weston, Earl of Walden, of course,” he said, pointing to John. Lady Violet curtsied as John bowed deeply. There was a pause in the air as the two fathers seemed to be looking between the two of them, analyzing their reactions to meeting one another. Irked and confused, Andrew slyly nudged his father’s elbow. “Oh yes, and this is Lord Andrew Weston, my second son.”
“How could I forget either of them?” Lady Violet said, curtsying to Andrew as he bowed to her. “I seem to remember racing our horses quite a lot, My Lord,” she said, addressing Andrew alone. He thought for a minute her cheeks had blushed, but it could have been from the heat of the room rather than the memory of what they had shared years ago. “Have you improved since our last race?”
“By leaps and bounds,” he said, “we will have to have a rematch.” He rather hoped the prize of such a race would be the same as it was last time. A kiss. She could clearly remember that day for she blushed a little as she looked at him.
“John has been talking much of you recently, haven’t you, John?” the Marquess said.
“I have?” John asked in surprise, earning a sharp elbow from his father that seemed to go unnoticed by Lady Violet and the Earl of Wiltshire.
“He has been saying how long it is since we saw you last.”
“Oh, yes I was,” John said, evidently cottoning on and trying to continue the bluff. Andrew winced, realizing with horror what was taking place. As the only daughter of the Earl of Wiltshire, Lady Violet had a significant dowry to her name, as well as a grand standing. She would make John a fine wife in terms of being a good match.
The thought of seeing Lady Violet on John’s arm though curdled Andrew’s stomach. John had never taken notice of her before, not like Andrew had. He could remember what a superior horse rider she was, how playful in nature, how witty too. She had fine manners and was considered a perfect lady, but beyond that façade of propriety, Andrew knew something of the heart that dwelled in her breast. She had a kindness to her that few other people had. It was the thing that had first made him fall in love with her.
“Well, my daughter has been talking much of tonight and seeing you both again too,” the Earl of Wiltshire took up the conversation. Andrew was astute enough to see the way Lady Violet frowned a little. Andrew had to hide his want to chuckle behind his punch glass, though Lady Violet saw it. She looked at him and lifted her eyebrows, sharing in a private joke with him for a brief second, as though to ask him silently, ‘how odd our fathers are to tell such fibs’?
Now he had seen her again, Andrew did not see the point in delaying making an attempt to court her.
“Lady Violet,” he said, earning her attention. “Have you come this evening in the hope of dancing?”
“I have indeed.” She presented her dance card excitedly.
“Well, I would be honored if you would –”
“John, you were just saying how much you’d like a dance, were you not?” The Marquess’s words cut Andrew off. He hadn’t even managed to finish the invitation before his father was pushing John toward Lady Violet. “Perhaps you could escort Lady Violet into the first dance?”
“Lady Violet? Would you do me the honor of sharing the dance?” John asked with a charming smile.
“I would be delighted to, My Lord,” she said and placed her palm on his arm.
Andrew felt the sadness settle in his stomach as he watched Lady Violet walk away on his brother’s arm.
***
“You are a fine dancer, Lady Violet,” Lord Walden said as they turned in their cotillion, swapping places to the gentle violin music.
“Thank you, My Lord,” Lady Violet said. Her mind was working quickly, trying to understand something of this gentleman before her, who she had not seen for many years.
She was doing her best not to glance back to the edge of the dancefloor, for she knew what she would find: her father eagerly watching the two of them dance. Her parents had said again and again how it was high time she married, not only that, but that the marriage should be a fine match, with a titled gentleman, and one of some wealth.
Lord Walden certainly fits that description.
He was handsome too, with his strong features and bright blue eyes. He had charm to him, complimenting her as they danced, yet something was missing.
“It was lovely to see you again, My Lady,” Lord Walden said with charisma as they circled one another. “It has been so long, and if you will permit me to say so, you have matured into a great beauty since we have been apart.”
“You are too kind, My Lord,” she said with a small smile. “Tell me, can you even remember when we last met?” She couldn’t resist asking the question, wanting to see how far she could push Lord Walden’s attempt to charm her.
“Well, I…” He was tongue-tied for a minute.
“We were young, My Lord. Time makes us forget.” She couldn’t help teasing him, as he shook his head with laughter. In truth, he’d had no effect on her either all those years ago.
Though another did.
Her eyes involuntarily slide to the edge of the dancefloor, where she looked for another. Lord Weston was watching her.
Seeing him staring at her so intently, her heartbeat raced. She held that look for a minute, even as she circled Lord Weston’s brother in the dance.
To her mind, there was little competition between the brothers. In terms of status, Lord Walden might be the elder brother and the future Marquess, but he had none of the true charm that his younger brother had. Lord Weston was more handsome, with the kind of angular features that made her want to stare at him for a long time. He also had the kinder heart. She could remember vividly going horse riding with him when they were children and when she had fallen off on one occasion, the care with which he had shown to ensure she was well was staggering.
“I believe you must be one of the finest dancers on this floor tonight.” Lord Walden’s compliment was smooth, but it left her feeling empty.
She could marry this gentleman. He was handsome, charming, and well positioned. It would certainly make her parents happy. Yet she wished that Lord Walden and Lord Weston’s places were swapped round. If she could have set her cap at Lord Weston, she would have been infinitely happier for it.
“Do you say all such lines to ladies you dance with, My Lord?” Her teasing wit startled Lord Walden, whose eyebrows shot up on his head.
“Oh, you have a sharp tongue, My Lady.”
“My apologies, I am told I can be plain speaking, but it is merely being playful, I assure you,” she said with laughter, though he did not immediately join in, and it was a little forced when it came.
“I daresay I can grow used to it.”
Used to it? I do not want someone to grow used to me, but to like me!
Even as she thought the words, she could hear her mother’s own warning repeating in her mind.
‘Not everyone is so fortunate to marry for love, Violet. We must marry who we can, in order to be comfortable. That will make you happy.’
“May I request the honor of a second dance with you this evening?” Lord Walden asked as they walked around one another. She bit her lip, thinking of refusing. She had little choice. If she wished to make her parents happy, then she had to encourage the suit of Lord Walden.
“Of course, My Lord,” she said with a forced smile. “I would be delighted.” Though her eyes slipped to the edge of the dancefloor to see that Lord Weston was watching her. She felt her heartbeat quicken again when she watched him, for she longed to be dancing with him instead.
Her parents would never allow her to marry a second son of a Marquess, so she would most certainly not be permitted to approach him. She could never marry Lord Weston.
Chapter 2
“It’s a second dance,” Andrew muttered angrily to himself.
“What was that?”
He flicked his head round to see that his father and the Earl of Wiltshire had disappeared, and at his side was his friend Lord Henry Stirling, having approached through the guests quietly and not yet announced himself.
“Nothing,” Andrew lied, trying to bring a false smile to his cheeks.
“I know you well by now, my friend,” Henry said, nodding his head forward and letting the fair hair bounce at his temple. “Something is amiss.”
“No more than our usual complaints,” Andrew assured him.
“Ah, I see,” Henry said, realizing straight away to what Andrew was referring to. “Being a second son is tiresome, is it not? I have had to spend half an hour standing by my brother as three ladies vied for his attention. Do you know, I think they didn’t look at me once? Perhaps they thought I was a candelabra rather than a person.”
Andrew laughed at the description, for he certainly knew what Henry meant. It happened often enough that they both seemed to disappear into the shadows, with ladies giving only their attention to the older brothers.
“Drink?” Henry asked.
“Yes please, it’s much needed,” Andrew said, looking down at the empty punch glass in his hand. They walked toward the drinks table, leaving Andrew to glance back once at the dancefloor.
Lady Violet had become a fine dancer, delicate and yet bold when she needed to be, quite a striking presence on the floor, but to Andrew’s mind, John was forcing his smiles with her. They did not make a natural pairing.
“Drink that, it may make you feel better,” Henry said. Andrew eagerly took the punch glass and sipped, turning his head away from the floor so that he didn’t have to suffer watching Lady Violet dancing with his brother any longer. “I’ve seen that look before,” Henry said, pointing at Andrew’s face. “John is the cause of your irritation tonight, is he not?”
“That is an easy guess to make,” Andrew said with a sigh. It was not that he had any dislike for his brother. He did love John, as any brother would, but there was such a disparity between their situations that every now and then, resentment creeped in. Andrew had to work hard for his life and livelihood. It had instilled in him a diligent nature, whereas John was delivered everything on a plate. Even as children, Andrew had suffered the stammer that he had to work through, and though John could have been a good brother to help him through it, John had merely teased him for it instead.
“Well, it seems that little society we started when we were children was going to last a lot longer than we ever thought,” Henry said, sniggering as Andrew laughed too. When they had been little, they had started their own society called the Second Sons, to bemoan their difficulties in their situations. Neither of them had expected they would still be suffering in their situations all these years later.
“Your quest to find a wife is not going well then?” Andrew asked, eager to distract himself from the crippling sensation of seeing Lady Violet dance with John.
“No,” Henry said decisively, elongating the word for dramatic effect. “The second son of a Duke is not enough to tempt many a woman. What I would give for the notice of just one lady. That is all I ask. I hardly want the ridiculous attention my brother gets. Tell me, Andrew, does not that look foolish to you?” Henry said, gesturing across the room. His elder brother was currently surrounded by young ladies, all eagerly trying to get his attention. “It looks like feeding time at the menagerie in the Tower of London!”
“Ha!” Andrew laughed heartily. “I think you are right.”
“One lady, that is all I ask,” Henry said again as he leaned back on the wall beside him. “What do you wish for?”
“One lady too,” Andrew assured, “but…it is one lady in particular.”
“Oh? You have me intrigued,” Henry elbowed him, clearly trying to get more information out of him. “Tell me more.”
“It hardly matters,” Andrew said, though his gaze lifted to the dancefloor. Henry’s gaze followed his, and he made a grunt of realization.
“Good god, are you telling me the one lady whose attention you want is now dancing with your brother?”
“Yes,” Andrew said, seeing no point in denying it.
“The plight of the second sons,” Henry said acerbically.
“I know.”
Andrew traced Lady Violet as she danced a second time. He could still remember when they had gone horse riding together, both at just fourteen years of age. That kiss she had won from him at the end of the ride was imprinted on his memory.
“You all right, Andrew?” Henry’s words brought him back to the moment and he looked around, shaking the memory off.
“I am fine,” he said with a lie, feeling anger build in his stomach as he watched his brother lead Lady Violet into a circle. “It’s just I…I wouldn’t want to live life in John’s shoes, for I never wish to be like him, but right now…I was standing in them.”
“Hmm, I know how you feel,” Henry said in agreement.
Andrew’s hand tightened around the glass, thinking how cruel the world was that the woman he loved could be courted by his brother.
By late autumn of their first year of marriage, Eliza was with child. They would have a wonderful, healthy baby boy or girl by the beginning of spring. Matthew didn’t think that his heart couldn’t have been any fuller than it was.
Only, it still swelled even more as he watched his beloved wife float about as she prepared for the first ball they would be hosting that evening in their new home.
The couple had decided to purchase a lovely townhouse not too far away from his family’s estate. Matthew had given Eliza leave to decorate it as she saw fit, and he was more than pleased with her simple yet elegant taste. The decorating was completed last month, and they, along with Matilda, had moved in.
“Do you think we’ll have enough food?” Eliza asked him as she fussed over the floral arrangements nestled in the nooks of the side of the ballroom.
“I think we have enough to feed all of London, not just our attendees,” Matthew called over to her, smiling.
“What about the beverages? We have ratafia, lemonade, and champagne enough, but should I have ordered more brandy for the smoking-room?” she asked, peering around the enormous urn.
Matthew paced over to her and wrapped his arms around her waist to rest his palms against her slightly rounded belly. “Everything is in place. The flowers are perfect. The food and drink will be more than sufficient. Everything will go smoothly, my love. There is nothing else to do but find something to occupy us until we need to change into our finery.”
“Occupy ourselves?” she asked coyly. “I can think of many ways we can occupy ourselves. We could oversee the polishing of the silver or retire to your study to go over plans for the repairs to your country seat.”
He pressed a fingertip to her lips to silence her, then leaned in and replaced it with his mouth. His teasing kisses soon became more urgent, and he moved to place her back against the wall.
Matthew’s hands roamed over Eliza’s body as his lips made their way across her jaw to move down the column of her neck.
“You know, My Lord, I am already with child. This wanton display is entirely superfluous,” she teased.
“I beg to differ, my dear wife,” Matthew said, nuzzling his nose behind her ear, making her shiver. “I can think of myriad reasons why making love to you is anything but unnecessary. In fact, I believe it is very necessary, vital even that I take you upstairs right now and show you just how essential it is.”
He gave her a wicked grin and took her hand as he practically dragged her to the staircase. Once they entered their bedchamber, Matthew made quick work of divesting them of their clothes. He eased Eliza onto the bed and paused to lovingly caress her belly.
“How is little Lydia doing this afternoon?” he asked playfully.
“So you’ve decided it is a girl now, have you?” she teased.
“Perhaps. Or maybe it is a boy, little Mathias.”
She laughed. “We may as well name him Matthew if you want to call the baby something so similar to yours.”
Matthew laughed with her, but soon all talk of baby names ceased as they kissed again, and he proceeded to show Eliza just how important lovemaking was, whether or not it resulted in a child.
*****
Matthew paced the hall at the bottom of the grand staircase, waiting for his wife to descend. They had spent a pleasant afternoon in bed, then had parted to dress for the ball. Matilda had come down a few minutes ago, regally dressed in an extravagant navy-blue gown. After Matthew kissed her cheek and extended some heartfelt compliments, she excused herself to see to some last-minute preparations.
His thoughts roamed to his family’s country estate. The moment the Baron had turned over Eliza’s dowry, he put his plans into motion. He invested a good portion of the funds wisely, and they already saw an increase in the capital. He’d paid off his father’s debts and began the long-awaited repairs to his tenants’ homes and farms. The Earldom was once again financially sound. Everything was as good as he had never even dreamed it could be.
The sound of footsteps above him drew him out of his thoughts. His eyes moved to the top of the staircase, where his beloved wife had paused to adjust one long white glove.
Eliza felt Matthew’s eyes on her and looked up to see him smiling brightly at her. She smiled in return, lifted the hem of her maroon satin ballgown, and slowly descended the steps.
Matthew met her at the bottom and took in the breathtaking side of his wife. Her gown fit her to perfection, and the deep jewel tone highlighted the honey color of her eyes. Her hair was done up in an elaborate coiffure. A few curls were artfully arranged around her face. The diamond necklace he had gifted her with when he learned of her pregnancy glinted just above the tantalizing cleft between her breasts.
He took her hands in his and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. “You are a vision, my love,” he said. She smiled, and they moved to the ballroom arm in arm.
The first of the guests began to arrive soon after. Matthew beamed with pride as he watched his wife greet each guest warmly, often with a personal comment or question about loved ones or mutual friends that made the person feel like the Countess truly cared about them. And they would have been right. Eliza genuinely cared about everyone she met. Her warmth shone through and fell upon the recipient of her smile with a radiance they couldn’t help but respond to. She was the perfect hostess and the best wife he could ever ask for.
Matthew was happy to see that one of the guests was Lady Catherine and her fiancé. Catherine had weathered the storm of their failed engagement and news of her father’s double life better than either Matthew or Eliza expected. And while it had taken some time for the gossip to die down, Catherine’s position was helped by Eliza’s calming presence. Neither Catherine nor her mother was prepared to receive Eliza at first, but Eliza persisted in reaching out to the ladies, and eventually, her kindness wore them down.
While Adeline maintained a reserved but polite distance, Catherine embraced having a sister and was a frequent visitor during the early days of Eliza’s marriage. It was, in fact, Eliza who introduced Catherine to the gentleman she would soon marry.
Much to the surprise of everyone who knew her, Catherine had been smitten with the handsome young vicar Eliza was helping to set up a charity venture. And the vicar was equally enchanted. Catherine’s superior attitude swiftly changed to one of humility and sweetness during her courtship. Eliza was thrilled to see that her formerly snobbish half-sister had softened with love and was pleased that she had played a role in her transformation.
It had taken her longer to heal the rift her existence caused between Adeline and the Baron. Eliza found that she cared for Adeline after getting to know her better. The lady’s only crime had been that she had married the Baron when he was in love with Genevieve, but that was hardly Adeline’s fault. She had no inkling that the Baron had loved another and had done her best to be a good wife to him and a good mother to their child. She hadn’t deserved her husband’s deception, and Eliza felt great sympathy for the lady when the truth of Eliza’s parentage had come to light.
During that difficult time, Eliza discovered that her father did love his wife. It was not the burning passion he had for her mother, but a quieter love that grew over the years to a comfortable love that he mourned deeply when he felt he had lost it. It had taken many months and long conversations filled with apologies and promises to get Adeline to even allow her husband to sit in the same room she occupied. Now they were reconciled, and the couple seemed to be happy for the first time in years.
The ball was a veritable crush which was a sure sign of a successful ton event. There was plenty of food, and the gentlemen did not even come close to running out of brandy.
Near the close of the night, Matthew found his wife leaning against the open doors of the terrace. She was looking up into the starry sky with a wistful smile on her face.
As he approached, he felt the nip in the air and relished the cold breeze coming in from the garden after the heat of the crowded ballroom. “It has turned quite chilly,” he remarked as he put his arms around his wife from behind and rested his chin on the top of her hair.
“It almost feels like it might snow,” she replied dreamily.
“Are you overheated, my love?” Matthew asked. “Do you need to retire early?”
Eliza smiled at the note of concern she detected in his voice and turned in his embrace to face him. She looked up at him and said, “Not at all. I’m merely feeling a bit nostalgic.”
“Nostalgic? Why is that?”
“It was on a night very much like this a year ago when I found an unconscious Earl bleeding in my forest,” she replied with a fond smile. “Little did I know that helping one stranger would lead me here.”
“And I thank God every day that it did, Eliza,” Matthew said as he cupped her face for a kiss.
She giggled and backed away. “Now, My Lord, it is hardly appropriate for you to kiss me in a ballroom full of people. Think of the scandal that would cause.”
He laughed with her and drew her out onto the terrace and into the shadows just beyond the doors. “How about if I kiss you outside of the ballroom instead?” he asked just before he did just that.
After a sweet and loving kiss, he lifted his head and asked, “Do you miss the forest?”
She looked him in the eyes for a moment then ducked her head before she responded. “Yes. I do miss it sometimes. I wouldn’t change what we have now for anything, but I do sometimes miss the simplicity of the woods.”
Matthew pondered this for a moment. The past year had brought many changes into both of their lives, but more to Eliza’s. She had left the solitude of the forest, of the only home she knew, to be thrust into the glittering world of the city and society. And she had never once uttered a single complaint. She had uprooted her entire existence for him, and he knew she would do it again without a thought if he asked it of her. That was how much she loved him. And Matthew realized that he could do something for her in return for her love and devotion.
“Do you think you would like to spend more time in the country?” he asked.
“At your estate? Of course. I know that you will need to be there often to oversee the repairs and help the tenants,” Eliza said.
“Well, yes, I will, but that isn’t what I was speaking of,” he said, and at her questioning look, he added, “I thought we might spend some part of our summers in Thetford Forest.”
When Matthew saw Eliza’s eyes gloss over with tears and the smile on her face, he knew he had hit upon the perfect balance to make his wife happy.
“Oh, Matthew, do you really think we could?”
He smiled and said, “I do. We might even add on to the cottage a bit. Build you a proper library there and a nursery.”
Eliza threw her arms around him with abandon at this and squeezed him tightly. “That would be wonderful,” she whispered through her happy tears.
When she pulled back to smile at him, she felt a touch of cold dampness on her cheek. She looked up and laughed. “Look,” she said. “It’s snowing. It will be an early winter again this year.”
Matthew smiled. “And may this year hold as much love and wonder as the last, my dear.”
“How could it not, with you by my side?” Eliza asked happily.
He grinned at her and murmured, “I love you.” Then he led her back into the ballroom and swept her into the final waltz of the night, holding her just a bit closer than was proper.
No one watching them minded their display of affection, though. The ton was just as enchanted with Matthew’s pretty little forest sprite as he was, and Eliza basked in the glow of their acceptance. She had finally found her place in the world, and she couldn’t be happier.
“He’s not coming, dear,” her grandmother voiced from behind her, pacing in from the kitchen.
Grandmother sighed in such a way that Eliza could hear the pity and dismay in the very breath. Then, to drive the knife in deeper, she added, “The comforting little lies we tell ourselves.”
The elderly woman meant no harm, and Eliza knew that. She was only trying to get her granddaughter to embrace the truth. Eliza was the illegitimate and unwanted daughter of Baron Lockhart. She had been cast into the humble home of her grandmother in Thetford Forest since birth. She would never know of the riches and wonders of the life of nobility like her father.
Many in her region of England had long lists of desires; more land, gold to fill their pockets, a bounty of food on the table for every meal. Eliza’s only want was for her father to be timely in his visits. It seemed like such a small request in the grand scheme of things, but one that would mean the world to her. Every time he was late, her easily troubled mind would work itself into knots. No matter how hard she tried to resist the impending swirl of anxiety, she knew she was already becoming swept away in its dreadful storm.
“We’re having potato soup and some bread tonight,” her grandmother called to her, likely attempting to distract Eliza from her troublesome thoughts. “I think this is my finest loaf so far,” she added with a rueful chuckle.
“I am sure it is,” Elia muttered resignedly in response, just loud enough for her grandmother to catch.
“You would think after all these years, making something as simple as bread would be something I would have evolved into an art form.”
Since the age of seven, bread making was a chore that had fallen into Eliza’s talented hands. As wonderful as she was at growing herbs and vegetables, making stews and porridges so delicious that they would satisfy a King, her grandmother was a horrible baker. In fact, Eliza enjoyed the task, feeling the flour stiffen into a rough dough and then kneading it until it was stretchy and limp. As a child, she delighted in checking the bowl to see how much it had risen every few minutes. Yet, because of what day it was, her grandmother had taken to doing it without complaint.
“Mhm,” Eliza replied, her mind already slipping back to her painful thoughts.
Eliza didn’t have to look at the time to know too much of the day had slipped away. The setting of the sun would bring upon her a bitter and overwhelming sensation of disappointment. Yet, she continued to stand by the window, watching a pair of gentlemen retreating from the woods, presumably to return home to a warm hearth and abundant meal after a day of hunting. They would go about their lives as she remained frozen in place, waiting for an opportunity she had wished for all her life. Eliza practiced holding her spine straight and her face perfectly composed as though being an elegant lady would ever change her father’s mind. She pretended for a moment that her posture and expression would be enough to convince her sire to look upon her with adoration and admiration and proudly fold her into his arms.
Her sage green gown with handstitched seams stared back at her in the faint reflection of the window. She tucked a strand of her mousy blonde hair behind her ear as Eliza recalled the day she picked out the fabric, how she had loved its unique hue. Perhaps it was a lie she convinced herself of, knowing she would never have the fine red dyes like the higher class. She never would be the daughter the Baron wanted, no matter how much grace she possessed. Eliza was the offspring of her commoner mother, who was not his wife, and that was all she would ever be to her father.
It was callous of her to waste so much time in desolation over her absent father when her grandmother had provided her a happy, if humble, life. Their abode was quaint and as modest as they come, but there was never a day that Eliza went unloved or hungry. Eliza had learned to provide for herself off the land alone under the gentle guidance of Mathilda, her grandmother. A skill no pampered young miss of the ton could claim.
As always, her mind split in two. One side encased in the woes provided by her father, and the other berating herself for feelings of discontent. Eliza was usually fulfilled with her role as Mathilda’s devoted granddaughter. Nothing made Eliza happier than going about her chores as her grandmother filled her ears with stories of her past. Often evenings consisted of Eliza reading to the woman after a simple but satisfying meal. And could there be any better sensation than spring moss under bare feet or any better sound than waking to the birds every morning? Anything Eliza could possibly need was before her.
Still, a persistent portion of her mind held onto some hope that she had the qualities of noble blood that ran through her veins. Eliza looked on to the people traveling the narrow dirt road that led from the forest to the little village. Would she ever be in their sphere? Or would she only ever be a dull face in the crowd, going from the grocer to home and back again? There was something in her deeply unsatisfied with that possibility. Yet, that was the very summary of her life. Unnoticed, unwanted, unimportant.
Since she was a young child, the Baron had come on the fifteenth of every month to meet her in secret, providing financial support and a minor fatherly presence in her life. However, in recent years, he had been coming by later and later in the day, making their visits briefer and briefer. Last month he had seen her for mere minutes.
He had never missed their appointment completely. Eliza’s jaw set in place as she held back tears. “I suppose it is his right to not come,” she spoke suddenly in a faint voice. “I am no longer a child. I don’t necessarily need a father about. Perhaps he saw me for the woman I was last month and knew he would no longer be needed. I have all that I need here, and surely he could see that.”
Eliza wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince with her sentiment, and her stomach churned at hearing herself defend the gentleman who caused her such heartache. Why couldn’t he have just sent a letter that he would not come? It was torture for her, waiting by the window all day, thinking of what he would say and how he would act when around her. It provided her too much time to fantasize about a life with him in it, and even more time to realize it would never happen. It was a fantastic arch of excitement and then depression she would go through once a month.
“I think it’s more likely he got tired of the double life he’s been living, love.”
She was thankful her back was still to her grandmother as her lip began to quiver. Some part of Eliza longed to be angry with the woman, but it was hard to when she knew she was right. The Baron had a wife and legitimate children at home, and Eliza was certain he longed to discard her with the hands of time. Had the time finally come for her to no longer exist to her own father?
“Come, join me for supper.”
Biting back tears, Eliza cleared her throat and shook her head. She chastised herself to maintain her composure, to be the strong woman her grandmother had raised. She may be nothing more than a poor commoner, but she had the strength of her maternal family holding her firm, providing her a strong will and pride. Unfortunately, there was no convincing her heart of such a thing, and the terrible sting of a cry began to form in her throat. “I’m afraid I’m not hungry at the moment. I’m going to step out for some air.”
Before another word could be spoken, Eliza hurried across the old wooden floor, snatched up a warm shawl, and slipped out the door. The walls she had known her entire life suddenly felt so close that she struggled for breath. Just as the door closed, tears fell from her eyes. Walking toward the trees, she let out the pained cry she had been managing to smother underneath the surface for too long.
The brisk evening wind stung her cheeks as she lifted her face up to the mulberry-colored sky. Nightfall was approaching, and with that, she knew that all her fears and circling thoughts were proving to be fact. She needed to accept her childlike fantasies of her father were nothing but the idle dreams of a naïve young girl. The looming close of their father-daughter relationship had been on her mind for months, but never did she think it would hurt in such a deep and dreadful way.
Eliza loved her grandmother and the handful of friends they had in town, but she couldn’t help feeling lonely. She was the product of sin and made to be a dirty little secret. It had always defined her, and she would forever be the living consequence of her mother’s actions. Sometimes, she found herself angry and bitter toward her, but it made her feel as horrible as she possibly could. Who was she to think so ill of the dead? Beyond that, she knew her mother had lived in great regret of her daughter never being able to live the life she should have had by right of her blood. Never could Eliza find it in herself to be genuinely angry with the woman who birthed her. After all, had it not been for Genevieve’s and the Baron’s affair, Eliza would have never been conceived and would have never known the beauty and wonders of the woods or known a love as pure as her grandmother’s.
In many ways, it felt like Eliza had been living in the shadows all her life simply because she existed. And just for once, Eliza would like to be in the light. The thought alone seemed pitiful and silly to her, but was she to deny her emotions even to herself? Her chin lowered as she took in a sharp breath.
Perhaps this is what madness feels like… Feeling so conflicted with your own thoughts. Wanting to fight your inner self if for no other reason but to have some solace.
The tears continued to flow as she thought back over all the hours she had spent waiting at that window for her father. Why must he be so important to her? Sure, he gifted her books and provided some financial support, but what else? The Baron had missed out on her life. He should be the one feeling so awful. It wasn’t fair Eliza was the only one grieving for something that never was.
Nevertheless, she knew she was lying to herself. Her only wish wasn’t for the Baron to keep his appointment—it was that he would love her as a daughter instead of viewing her as a secret burden.
Chapter Two
“Is there any better way to live, old chap?” Matthew bellowed to his dear friend after the deafening blow of a rifle echoed through the woods.
“Only thing that comes to mind is the company of a fair lady,” George replied, a sly grin stretching the length of his face.
Matthew’s ivy-green eyes slid away from his friend and back to the wilderness before them. They were there to hunt partridges, perhaps the elusive and rare quail, and any other sort of fowl they fancied – not to discuss women. He scowled at his own thoughts, knowing he sounded more like a school-aged boy who still feared the company of their female counterparts. However, the Earl fancied a beautiful lady as much as any other gentleman. He simply didn’t want the conversation to find its way onto the topic of marriage.
“Come now, old chap,” George continued. “You can’t say being out here in the stinging cold is better than having a gorgeous, vivacious lady in your arms.”
“How many ladies do you know that are vivacious?” Matthew grumbled as he packed another shot into his firearm.
“I recall us reuniting at such a lively woman’s ball,” he retorted with a wiggling of his eyebrows.
They had, in fact, run into each other at a ball hosted at the Clifford estate, held in honor of Lady Emily Clifford’s debut the year before. While it was meant to be the final hoorah of the season, it had been a rather dull affair until the two men met up and proceeded to attempt to drink their body weight in cognac. It led to a smashing evening and a smashing hangover the following day.
“Now, now, George. Best not speak too fondly of a married lady.”
His friend opened his arms wide in an exasperated gesture. “Am I not here with a dear friend? Or do I suspect a rat for the Daily London Report?” His query was in jest, a humorous twinkle in his walnut eyes.
Finally, George earned a short burst of laughter from Matthew. “I assure you, while I may have stooped low in life a time or two, my friend, I am happy to inform you I have never gone that low. Do you really take me for a gossip monger? I must say, I’m hurt, old chap.”
“No, not a gossip monger,” he tutted, drumming his fingers against the butt of his rifle as he leaned against it. “Just a depressed bachelor.”
Matthew knew he was trying to get him to open up about his love life, and he simply wasn’t in the mood. George always meant well and likely was trying to assist with some friendly arm-twisting over the matter of marriage. He was of the age that marriage and children were expected, and it was only a matter of time before his name began to be whispered amongst the ton. Hell, it already was. However, he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it for idle gossip. He leveled another shot at a rustling bush in the distance. After the explosion of gunpowder and lead, the woods fell silent. He hadn’t struck a single thing that day. He sighed and looked over to his friend once again. “Perhaps we will have better luck hunting foxes next time.”
“I won’t hold my breath with your poor aim,” George chuckled.
“Careful what you say to an armed man,” he warned his friend, flashing a toothy smirk.
George only rolled his eyes and waved a dismissing hand at the Earl. “We should be getting back to the estate before dark.”
Matthew gazed up to the sky and was surprised to find the colors of a setting sun above. It was a glorious display of deep purples and maroon, reminding him of the tales his mother told him as a boy. She’d said that angels took turns painting the sunrises and sunsets, and each was as unique as the last. A deep wave of satisfaction washed over him as he recalled those simpler times. Though, perhaps they were only so simple because he had not yet realized his place in society and the duties that would fall upon his shoulders.
“Well, we certainly know how to kill an entire afternoon.”
“And evening. We’ve missed dinner, and I’m utterly famished,” George corrected.
With another deep breath, he came to terms with the fact they would have to go back. Matthew was delighted to be spending some time with George at his estate in the North. It was not only a joy to catch up with his friend after years apart but also a wonderful break from the stresses of the city and his home life. Maybe some would view him as selfish for going away for so long, but he didn’t much care. It was time for him to relax and gather his thoughts before returning home. For the time being, he had to agree with George. It was late, and his stomach was beginning to rumble.
“Fear not, my dear George. We will return just in time for supper and pudding.”
The two men found their way back through the woods, their hunting boots leaving small imprints in the soft moss. Matthew absently wondered if they would still be there the next day if they happened to find their way back to the same place. His eyes wandered about the trees and foliage, finding himself at peace and hoping that they might return there. Something about that place felt like a piece of him, or maybe he was only romanticizing.
Once they had untied their horses and mounted, Matthew followed his friend’s lead back through the woods in the direction of the estate, though if left to his own devices, Matthew knew he wouldn’t know his east from his west. The wind was much colder that evening, hopefully marking the arrival of an early winter. Getting snowed in at George’s was an attractive idea. Just the two men, hunting, smoking cigars, and arguing philosophy and literature by a roaring fire. It sounded like a dream or like the only way to get away from his obligations.
George briefly looked over his shoulder at Matthew before kicking his horse into a full gallop. Brimming with excitement, he followed suit. A boisterous laugh escaped him and fled into the autumn air as they soared between the trees, feeling a rush of life fill his body. Never before had he been able to ride so wildly. Sure, there were plots of land his family had designated for riding horses, but this was a different sort of feeling. His mind slipped into daydreams about riding endlessly through the wild country, seeing the land for what it was before civilization took it in its cold, firm grasp.
I feel alive out here. This is what living is meant to be, isn’t it?
It was dangerously delicious, something he was sure he could get addicted to if provided such an opportunity. His steed, Excalibur, was a beast once more, not all regal and proper the way he had been trained to be. Matthew felt that Excalibur, too, was feeling a sense of freedom come over him. He moved with fascinating precision but with a strong sense of will and force that made it seem as though the horse was the one commanding the land instead of merely navigating it.
When was the last time I felt this much happiness? Why must it be fleeting?
Then, at the peak of his exhilaration, he heard something in the near distance. It sounded like a moan or a cry. It was distinctly human, not at all animalistic. In an instant, he feared for the person, worried that someone was hurt or lost. He peered in the direction of George and called out to him, “Did you hear that?”
George merely shrugged. “It’s the sound of the woods, Matthew. You can’t be worrying over every little sound.”
“No. It was a cry, I’m sure of it. Perhaps someone is in distress.”
“What business is it of ours?” George snorted.
For a moment, Matthew was offended by the crassness of his friend. Then, the crying grew louder. “If someone is in need, we should at the very least see what the concern is. Assess if we could lend a hand, if nothing more than getting word back to the nearest town. It shouldn’t take long, George.”
George only faced forward again, dismissing the very notion of assisting others. It was only a moment that Matthew debated on what to do before he turned his horse toward the sound and began to ride away.
I will be quick, just long enough to make sure there isn’t any danger. Then I’ll turn back and catch up to his friend.
A pang of anxiety hit him, knowing it would be a feat to find his friend in the dense forest. However, he could not resist the instinct to help the person in duress. He slowed his steed down to get a better idea of where the sound was coming from. The cry had softened, so much that he felt he was blindly searching. If he heard it over the sound of Excalibur’s hoofbeats, surely, they had to be close.
“Is anyone there? Are you in need of assistance?” Matthew called into the empty air.
It sparked another soft cry, and he turned left to right, trying to see if he could spot anything at all. Daylight was slipping away from him, causing his eyes to squint to see the finer details of the landscape. Still, he saw nothing and no one. Was his mind playing tricks on him?
Just as his mouth opened to call out to the person again, he heard a sound from behind him. Turning his head in hopes of finding his friend coming back to help, Matthew wasn’t provided the time to see the face before a sharp pain overtook him. Before he could register anything at all, he felt himself fall from his horse, and the world grew black at an alarming rate.
“But Mama, must I really do another season out?” Charlotte looked down into her teacup and pushed her spectacles up her nose.
“Of course you shall, Charlotte! What else would you consider doing?” Charlotte’s mother pursed her lips as she took a sip of her tea.
“Well, I had thought that since I have been so unsuccessful in the last two, I might be spared this one,” Charlotte said haltingly. She hated discussing this with her mother, but it seemed completely inevitable that eventually they would. Her mother’s frustration that Charlotte had, so far, been unable to secure a husband was steadily pushing mother and daughter further apart.
“And I should think that since you have failed so frequently in the past you should be more than eager to succeed this time,” her mother said, voice tense. Charlotte winced. It was hard to think that her mother considered her a failure. Charlotte couldn’t help being awkward and dowdy.
“Oh, my dear girl,” her mother put down her teacup and leaned forward, taking hold of her daughter’s hands. “I know it is frightening for you. I know you are a wallflower, but you cannot expect to hide away in your brother’s shadow your whole life.”
“Why not?” Charlotte answered a little sullenly. “He is dashing and engaging and Papa’s heir, there is no need for me to secure a great match. Surely someone will turn up eventually.”
“Ernest shines so brightly because he knows he has to,” her mother answered, slipping into the role of defending Charlotte’s older brother so easily. “He tries Charlotte. You must learn to try too.”
Charlotte did not think it was a matter of merely trying. She could try all she wanted, but nothing would make her eyesight better. Nothing would make her face more comely. Nothing on earth would make her the kind of lady who was as an appealing to gentlemen as Ernest was to the ladies.
“Besides, you cannot pitch your future on the hope that a man somehow falls down outside the house and decides to marry you,” her mother snorted. “Really Charlotte. Gentlemen seeking wives do not ‘turn up eventually.’ A lady must be proactive.”
Charlotte said nothing to that. She knew what her mother meant. She wanted her to dress prettier, dance more, flirt as much as she was able. Her mother had been a great beauty in her day, taking the Ton by storm with her golden curls and blue eyes. Even now, decades later, she retained the grace and elegance of a lady who had once been adored. Charlotte had inherited none of it and her mother had always made sure she knew that.
“Charlotte, if your hair must be such a dark, dirty blonde, the least you can do is it arrange it, so it is a little bit alluring.”
“Charlotte, if your eyes are determined to naturally be so dull then the least you can do is let them sparkle with wit.”
“Charlotte, if your skin is destined to be sallow, the least you can do is apply some rouge before coming down to breakfast!”
Even if Charlotte had been able to assure herself that she was, despite her mother’s words, a little bit beautiful it would make no difference. For she was a terrible dancer, a shy conversationalist, and a prolific reader. She struggled in company and thrived caring for animals. Ernest used to joke when they were children that she was really a fey person from the woods who could only commune with the spirits of creatures. There had been times in her life when Charlotte had wished that were true.
“Perhaps it is hopeless, Mama,” Charlotte dared to say, staring into the dark liquid inside her teacup. “Perhaps there is no one alive who would want to marry me.”
“Utter nonsense,” her mother snapped and for a moment, Charlotte was filled with hope. Maybe this would be the time her mother said something polite about her, how she was deserving of a good husband because she had a kind heart and gentle spirit and those were the things that mattered most. “You have the Beeching name. Your father is Viscount Lisle. Of course someone will want to marry you.”
Charlotte’s heart sank. She shouldn’t have been surprised by her mother’s attitude, reckoning that if Charlotte could not trade on looks or grace, she would have to trade on family status, but she still found it painful to bear. She sipped her tea and tried to keep her feelings hidden, wishing that Ernest would come home. When her brother was around her mother was much less focused on her deficiencies. She recalled what Ernest had said to her, not two days ago, when the two siblings had taken a walk together in the gardens.
“Mother only worries for you,” Ernest had said, plucking a long reed from beside the pond and beginning to thrash the tall grass, just as he used to do when they were little children. “She wants you to be happy, Lottie.”
“She wants to get rid of me, Ernie!” Charlotte had raged. It was only in her brother’s company, spending time with her one confidante, that she could truly express her anger. “I embarrass her, with my awkwardness and my spectacles, she doesn’t know what to do with a daughter like me. She wishes I was different.”
“How could anyone wish you different?” Ernest had nudged her shoulder playfully, making Charlotte smile reluctantly.
“Mama does,” Charlotte replied. “By wishing me prettier or sweeter or more inclined to balls and shopping.”
“It’s true you are remarkably without vice,” Ernest mused. “Unless you count a voracious appetite for books and the company of hunting birds a vice.”
Charlotte had pushed her brother in the shoulder, so he stumbled towards the pond, grinning at her. He always teased her about the hunting birds. When they were adolescents, their father had bought a few birds of prey to help him catch pigeons. He had warned his children not to approach them, since they had sharp beaks and sharper claws, but Charlotte hadn’t been able to keep away. She had been fascinated and within two days was walking around the grounds with a small hunting buzzard on her arm, much to her mother’s dismay.
“That is because you have more than enough vice for the both of us,” Charlotte retorted.
“Oh, I know,” Ernest rolled his eyes, brushing golden curls from his forehead. “I’m terrible. Utter rogue. You should disown me as your brother.”
“Or you could give up the cards and the dogs and the carriage racing,” Charlotte said drily. “For a month, at least.”
“A whole month!”
“Two weeks. A week. Good Lord, Ernest, what kind of gambling habit have to developed?” Charlotte exclaimed. She knew her brother was prone to epicurean pleasures, but she had no idea it was so extensive.
“Ah, it’s not a gambling habit, not when you’re the honourable Mr Beeching, son of Viscount Lisle,” Ernest smirked. “Then it’s just business deals.”
“Lord in heaven, Ernest, one day your luck will run out and then where will your smile get you?”
Charlotte had tried to control the resentment in her voice. She loved her brother more than her own life, but he was phenomenally lucky. He lived a charmed life with people always remarking on his pleasurable company and hilarious wit. Though she loved him in spite of them, she did sometimes wish other people, particularly their parents, would recognise his faults.
“Hopefully, all the way home to you, little Lottie,” Ernest laughed, reaching forward to tap her on the nose.
“I shall not harbour you when you are a fugitive, Ernie,” she warned but they both knew she was not serious. They both knew there was nothing she would not do for her magical elder brother.
“I’m sure,” Ernest took her hand and squeezed it fondly. “I mean it, Lottie. No one should want you to be different. You’re perfect as you are, little sister. My little Lottie bookworm, my little Lottie bird tamer.”
“Little Lottie old spinster,” Charlotte had grumbled but Ernest had put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close.
“I don’t care if you never marry, precious sister,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I shall always be here for you.”
It was that kind of devotion, that kind of unquestioning love that Charlotte had never once felt from her mother. Whereas Ernest only saw her as she truly was, her mother saw all the ways she was lacking. It was exhausting. Sighing as she pulled herself out of her reverie, Charlotte looked at the carriage clock on the mantlepiece and frowned.
“I am surprised Papa has not yet joined us, it is past nine,” Charlotte commented. “And has not Ernest come down yet?”
“I am not entirely sure your brother came home last night,” her mother said, voice as prim as a widow. “No doubt he had business to attend to.”
Yes, business, Charlotte rolled her eyes. Cards and dice and betting on horses.
Then suddenly, the door to the breakfast room was flung open. Charlotte’s father stood in the doorway, a crumpled letter in his hand and expression of deepest despair etched into his face. Charlotte’s stomach rolled. Something terrible must have happened.
“Gregory, what has happened?” Charlotte’s mother cried, springing to her feet but oddly, her father did not let her mother approach. Instead, he held up his hand, stopping her in place, staring at his wife and daughter with skin as pale as the moon. He held up the letter, hand shaking.
“I received a letter by fast horse just a moment ago,” he said, voice trembling. “It is … it is unbearable.”
“What is unbearable?” Charlotte’s mother cried, trying to step towards her husband but having him only hold her away. “What terrible thing could have happened to affect you so? You must tell me immediately, my darling!”
Charlotte realised then that her father was barely breathing, barely standing. Whatever news had arrived, it was nearly killing him. It was then she knew. The realisation filled her up like water in her lungs and she gulped for air.
“Where is Ernest, Papa?” she whispered. Her father stared at her bleakly, his shoulders slumping.
“What do you mean?” her mother looked between the two of them, the lines on her face deepening as if she was ageing more every second. “What does she mean, Gregory?”
Her father seemed unable to speak any more. Charlotte found her voice, her need to guess it, to speak the dreadful truth into being, overcoming the rising sensation of drowning.
“How … How did he die, Papa?”
“Die? Die?” Charlotte’s mother began to shriek, her hand squeezing the back of the chair beside her fiercely as if it would stop her from falling into an abyss of grief. “What is she speaking of, Gregory? Where is my son?”
Her father didn’t answer those questions, instead he only looked bleakly at his daughter. Charlotte wondered briefly if he was grateful, she had guessed so quickly, so it saved him from saying the accursed words aloud. She was proud, for a millisecond, that she could do this for him at the moment their world fell completely apart.
“A carriage race,” her father whispered. “He turned it on a corner, collided with another carriage. Killed a man. They say it was nearly instant,” he swallowed hard, staring at the letter in his fist. “So, he … he didn’t suffer.”
“No,” Charlotte’s mother breathed. “No, sweet Jesus, no. No, not my boy! Not my baby! Not my darling son!”
Her mother collapsed to the floor and in an instant, her father came back to life, rushing to embrace his wife. Charlotte wondered if this was what he needed — not to be comforted but to give comfort, to offer solace to someone rather than feel the gaping chasm of a lost son inside of him. Charlotte watched them, a faint buzzing in her ears. She stared at the letter her father had dropped on the floor and slowly picked it up, smoothing out the surface. It was one thing to infer what had happened, but Charlotte was a lady of letters. She needed to see it written down to truly understand it was real.
My dear Viscount Lisle,
I write with haste but bear the worst of tidings. It is with heavy heart that I am burdened to inform you of the death of your son, the Honourable Mr Ernest Beeching, who died in the early hours of the morning in a carriage race in Brixton …
Those were all the words Charlotte needed to read. It was real. She knew Ernest went to gamble in common parts of the city, seeking out seedy boxing clubs and dog tracks for a little flutter. She had known last night that he would likely be out on the prowl when he had leaned over to her after brandy and kissed her head.
“Don’t wait up for me, dear sister, I believe I shall have a late evening out,” he had winked, standing up and smiling down at her. “I shan’t be gone long.”
A million conversations and smiles and jokes seemed to be streaming through Charlotte’s mind, too quick to catch, like trout in a river. A million moments of Ernest’s happiness, sadness, hilarity, and stupidity unreeling like cotton on a pin. Then Charlotte realised, with a hideous jolt of her heart, they were all that was left. Ernest was gone and now all she had were memories.
I shall always be here for you, Ernest had said. Ernest had made promises easily, lightly, with the confidence of a man who never considered a reality in which he would be forced to break them. That was Ernest to a tee, living his life as if he were riding a fast horse, laughing and joking, never stopping for a moment to consider what might happen to those who he left behind him.
“Oh Ernie,” Charlotte whispered, closing her eyes. “You lied to me.”
Charlotte had never imagined what heartbreak would be like, not being prone to romantic notions. If she had thought about it, she might have suspected it was something like the dull ache she felt when her mother put her down, over and over. She had not anticipated that she would feel, in the moment, the snap of something inside her. Something breaking and behind it, a flood wall of tears and agony that she could only drown in.
He’s dead. My brother is dead. My best friend, my other half is gone. Who is Lottie without Ernie?
Charlotte took a deep breath. It was too much to bear. With a sob, she sank to her knees, and let the grief drag her under.
Chapter One
The Spanish front.
“A letter for you, commander!”
“Thank you, soldier.”
Robert smiled at the young foot soldier who had delivered his letter. He was one of the newest recruits, barely out of leading strings, but here fighting for his country. Robert felt proud when he thought of that.
“Barely weaned, that one,” Captain Drew grunted beside him. He and Robert had developed an amicable banter in the time they had been serving together in Spain. Captain Drew was a hardened soldier, a man who had achieved his rank by many long years in the forces rather than an English title. Yet despite the fact he had not set foot on English soil in many a year, he still found it necessary to constantly complain about the foreign climates, foreign food, and foreign ladies. Robert, who had also been serving for his whole adult life, found it very entertaining.
“He’ll learn,” Robert smiled. “Get a few campaigns under his belt, he’ll be as hardy as you, Drew.”
“I doubt that, my Lord,” Drew shook his head. “I had a rough childhood too, milord. A man cannot be a soldier if he’s not been one all his life.”
“We all have our own private wars, Drew,” Robert sighed. “Far be it from me to judge another man unworthy.”
“That’s mighty polite of you, my Lord,” Drew cackled. “Since you are in command, and it is your duty to judge men both worthy and unworthy!”
“Yet I would not dare draw conclusions without your input, Captain Drew,” Robert joked. He turned over the letter and frowned. “Odd. It is my solicitor’s seal.”
“Right bastards the lot of them,” Drew spat. “Never met a law-man I could trust as far as I could throw him.”
Robert grinned at the joke. Drew, seasoned as he was, only had one arm. The other he had amputated at the elbow in India due to an infected bayonet wound.
“Though I suppose being his lordship requires much discussion with men of the law?” Drew teased gruffly.
“I am not ‘his lordship’ yet, Drew. Not until my father sees fit to pass on his title,” Roberts broke the seal and opened the letter. “Until then, just ‘Commander Marshall’ or ‘sir,’ will do.”
Robert liked Drew considerably, but he was often a little bit of a rogue when it came to the rules about proper address. Drew cared little as long as he never brushed against a court martial offence. He often said that there was a bayonet or bullet out there with his name on it, it was only a matter of time. Robert had always found it hard to argue with a man who considered himself among the walking dead.
My dear Mr Marshall,
It is with heavy heart that I am duty bound to inform you of the passing of your father, Lord Andrew Marshall, Baron of Doormer, on Monday of this week.
Robert numbly checked the date on the letter. It had taken three weeks to arrive. His father had been dead for three weeks and he had not known it. They would likely have buried him by now. Robert clenched his fist, biting down the pain, and continued to read.
Unfortunately, he died under unpleasant circumstances which I would prefer not to expound upon here, for the sake of discretion. As your father’s only surviving relative and heir, you naturally inherit his estate. I would urge you to apply for dispensation from your General to return to England at your earliest convenience. As your and your father’s legal representatives, I shall proceed apace with the burial arrangements since I anticipate it shall be some time before you receive this missive. Upon your return, you shall find me at our new practices in Duncan Street, London. We have much to discuss. Upon instructions left for me by your father in the case of any sudden death, I have taken the initiative to freeze all non-essential business transactions until your return to England. I hope you shall find that satisfactory.
In closing, I wish you to know that I was fortunate to have been an acquaintance of your father these last twenty years. I do not think I am too forward in assuring you of how very greatly he shall be mourned and missed.
Yours in good faith,
Mr Rawlings,
Of Rawlings, Rawlings and Sons.
Robert stared at the letter. In all the years he had been abroad, fighting for King and Country, he had never anticipated a letter like this. Many times, on the eve of battle he had penned letters home, anticipating that he might never see his beloved father again. He had struggled with pen in hand, parchment in front of him, to put into words everything he would have his father know if this was to be last time he spoke to him. Sentences from those letters now bustled around Robert’s mind, mocking him with their ineffectuality.
Thank you for raising me after mother’s death … a lesser father would have sent me away to be raised elsewhere. Thank you for teaching me to shoot …. I wish you to know that even though I have perished in the service of the King and God, I have only ever wished to make you proud…. Thank you for setting such an admirable example.
Every single one was useless because none of those letters had been sent. Robert had survived every battle, every skirmish, every wound, and the letters he sent were perfunctory and devoid of emotions, simply telling his father that he was well, that he had survived. His father would write back, thankful for his safety and proud of his service.
I should have sent those letters, Robert thought bleakly. I should have sent every single one. I should have told him how much he meant to me. How much I loved him.
As it was, Robert could not even remember now the last conversation they had.
He took a deep breath and shut his eyes, unable to hold back a soft moan of despair.
“What is it, Commander Marshall?” Drew asked, looking at Robert out of worried, beady eyes.
“That’s just it, Drew,” Robert said hoarsely. “It’s not Commander Marshall anymore.”
“Oh?” Drew looked at him curiously.
“No,” Robert stared down at the letter, swallowing back his grief. “It’s Lord Doormer, instead.”
*****
“Thank you for coming, Lord Doormer,” Mr Rawlings said, gesturing for Robert to take a seat in front of his desk.
“Thank you, Rawlings,” Robert said, trying not to wince at his new title. He’d had several weeks to become accustomed to it, travelling home to London through Europe with servants and associates calling him by it, but hearing it from Mr Rawlings was something else entirely. The solicitor had known his father, they had liked one another immensely. It felt strange and heretical for Rawlings to call him by the title that belonged to his father.
“Did you travel safely, my Lord?”
“I did.” Robert had been eager to return to England for his father’s sake, but also hated having to leave the army. Consequently, he had travelled at a fast pace, both to motivate his journey and to spare himself the pain of too much time to think about what he was leaving behind. Though he was glad to be away from the stress of conflict, being a soldier was what he knew best in the world. He would miss his comrades, his brothers in arms.
“Let me tell you about the arrangements I made on your father’s behalf,” Rawlings said, opening up a large ledger.
“Please do.” Robert was anxious to hear where exactly his father had been buried. Every night since leaving Spain he had dreamt of it, of standing in front of his father’s headstone and speaking the words aloud that he had never sent in letters. I was proud to be your son. I loved you tremendously. I miss you.
“The late Baron has been buried in the family plot next to the grave of the late Baroness,” Rawlings said. “In Doormer churchyard, as was his wish.”
“Thank you, Rawlings,” Robert let go a soft exhalation of relief. He had been worried that his father had not made his wishes known prior to his death. It would be terrible for Robert to worry constantly that his father had not been laid to rest in a manner that he desired. It also touched his heart to know that his father had made arrangements to be buried beside his mother. She had died giving birth to Robert, yet he knew his father’s devotion to her had never waned.
“It is good that they are together once more,” Robert smiled softly. “That would have made him happy.”
“Indeed, Lord Doormer.” Rawlings looked down at the ledger and Robert thought he saw the gentleman blinking hard behind his thick spectacles. “These are the non-essential items that have been frozen for the last six weeks. If you can peruse them and provide instructions, we can have business up and running in the next two days.”
Rawlings handed him a long piece of parchment with lists of names and accounts on them. Robert looked at them with unseeing eyes, trying to make himself care, but finally, he could do it no longer. He set the parchment down and looked into Rawlings’ eyes.
“I am sorry, Rawlings, I shall apply myself to this as soon as I can, however, there is a matter on which I am yet to be enlightened that is more pressing to me.” Robert leaned forward. “Please explain to me how my father died.”
Robert had already discerned it could not be sudden illness, because Rawlings would have no business concealing that in a letter. It could only be something criminal. For the last three weeks, his mind had been afire with the idea of bandits, of rebel uprisings against his father, of a murderer stalking him through the streets of London. Robert was eager for the truth, if for no other reason than the hellish imaginings could finally stop.
“Of course,” Rawlings nodded and looked suddenly much older and graver. “I am more sorry than I can say that I must inform you he was killed in a carriage collision.”
Robert stared at his solicitor in astonishment.
“That seems impossible,” Robert said. “Father does not, father did not, dabble in carriages. Our drivers are all notoriously safe. What could possibly have happened?”
“Your father … Your father was not in either carriage.” Rawling looked like each word was causing him great pain. “He was a pedestrian, caught between the two.”
“Good God!” Robert covered his face with his hand, hiding his sudden grief. He could not stop imagining his father’s body falling beneath thunderous hooves, his bones breaking under carriage wheels. It was intolerable. He was almost glad his father had been buried whilst he was abroad. At least he had not had to witness the hideous mangling of his body.
“I regret there is more that must be said, Lord Doormer, if you permit me to continue?” Rawlings asked gently.
Robert nodded and sat up again, fighting down the rising tide of nausea inside him.
“Yes of course,” he coughed quietly and met Rawlings’ eyes. “Please continue.”
“I was astonished when I was told of the nature of the late Baron’s death, so I began to conduct an investigation into all parties concerned.” Rawlings pulled a piece of paper out from under a ledger on the desk. “I discovered the names of the drivers —”
“Tell them to me,” Robert demanded. “Who was responsible for such a hideous event?”
“One of the drivers disappeared into the night, his carriage was not so badly broken, since your father …” Rawlings gulped and started down at the paper. “But he was not responsible for the collision in any case.”
“Who was?” Robert growled.
“A young heir, known for racing and gambling.”
“He was racing?” Robert shouted. “He was racing on the streets of London, like some buffoon, and killed my father?”
“That is how it appears, yes.”
Robert stood up restlessly and paced the room.
“The bastard,” Robert’s couldn’t control his anger, he felt like it was bursting out of him in waves so hot and intense they couldn’t be contained. “The selfish, arrogant bastard.”
“I had much the same thought, Lord Doormer,” Rawlings said, eyes gleaming with his own urge for revenge. This is what Robert wanted, he realised. If he could not be charging into battle with his sabre raised, then he wanted this. To avenge his father’s death and make the bastard whose foolishness had cost him his life pay.
“Where is he?” Robert snarled.
“I am sorry to say that he is dead,” Rawlings hands tightened into fists. “He died at the scene of the accident, along with your father.”
Robert slumped back in his chair. “So, there is no one who can be held accountable for his death? No one at all?”
“I am afraid that legally, yes, that is the case,” Rawlings said quietly. “Though it is a bitter pill to swallow. He was too fine a Lord for such a dreadful demise.”
In his various versions of his father’s death that he had imagined in his journey across Europe, all of them had included a villain whom Robert could seek justice from. A bandit who could be hanged, a bitter rival who could be brought down with manipulation and money, he had even accounted for the small possibility that there might even be a jealous lady somewhere who might need to be exposed and brought down. He had not imagined this. That the culprits responsible for his father’s death would have already been dispatched with. There was no one to hold to account. No one to maim or murder or bring low in the name of the late Lord Doormer.
“You say legally,” Robert said slowly. “Do you know something else, Rawlings? Something you are not telling me?”
Rawlings looked at him for a moment, as if he was agonising over something.
“I have had many sleepless nights considering this information,” he said in a low voice. “I honestly do not know how to present it to you, as fact or fiction, but I feel that if I do not offer it to you at this time you may never forgive me, my Lord.”
“Then speak.”
Rawlings nodded, took a deep breath, and continued.
“The young gentleman who also died at the scene of the collision, the one with whom the fault lies, it was put around far and wide that he died instantly. I accepted it as truth, thought nothing of it except to rejoice that he had been punished according to the will of God for his crimes. Then, a week afterwards, I received this anonymous note.”
Rawlings handed it to him. Robert stared down at the words.
Lord Doormer’s death was no accident. The future viscount could have saved him but tried to flee the scene, only to die in his escape. He left Lord Doormer to bleed to death from his wounds and was dishonourable to the last.
Robert felt a cold brutality settle on him that he had never felt outside the field of battle. The last time he had felt it was when Drew had been struck with a nearly deadly wound on the field of war. How he had sliced his way through his enemies then. How furious his avenging arm had been. Whoever the bastard was who had left his father to die would not sleep peacefully. No, Robert would wreak revenge upon every person the devil had ever loved.
“The name, Rawlings,” Robert growled lowly. “What is the name of the bastard who did this to my father?”
“His name was Ernest Beeching. The son of Viscount Lisle.”
Mary blinked a few times as the sun woke her. The sun streamed bright white light that day, rather than a creeping dawn. It shone starkly across the room and through the gossamer-thin curtains that adorned their bed, white and rippling in the breeze through the open window.
With all traces of sleep now gone, Mary sat up a little in the bed and turned to gaze upon the view out of the window. She smiled at the sight, just as she had done every morning she had woken in this place. The painted blue window frame, the color of the sky beyond, was set within a white stone wall, framing the view beyond perfectly, as though it were a landscape painting.
It was very different from England. Though she loved the view of the ocean that could be found a short walk away from the Meadowbank estate back home, the ocean before her now had a crystal-blue tinge to it, cresting with gentle white waves every now and then. With their lodgings on the very edge of the Greek island of Mykonos, set within the clifftops, they had a grand view down to the bay beyond and the beach nearby, as well as across the open water. Many mornings since they had arrived, boats had bobbed on the water, and this morning was no different, with fishermen moving to and fro across the bay.
“You’re awake early.” A sleepy voice made her smile and turn on the white bed to see Walter lying down beside her. His hair was mussed from tossing and turning on the pillow in the night, and the sheet that laid over him only just reached up to his waist, exposing his naked chest and trying to keep the secret that Mary already knew: he was completely bare beneath. It reminded her of what they had shared the night before. They had made love in the depths of the night, with the stars visible beyond the window.
“Jonathan is usually crying by this time,” Mary pointed out as Walter smiled and stretched in the bed. “What if he needs me?”
“We have a nursemaid for that,” he said, gesturing through the door. “So that we can share the care for him.”
“I know, but I never like leaving him too long,” Mary complained and shifted in her seat on the bed, showing that she wished to stand to her feet and go to see their son.
“I have noticed. I had to persuade you very hard last night to leave him alone to come and have dinner with me,” Walter said, chuckling. “I think you are being overprotective.”
“Overprotective?” Mary scoffed, moving on the bed until she was on her knees. “I think it’s love!” Her words brought another laugh from Walter. He knew she adored their son as much as he did. Mary was sure she would never forget the day Jonathan had been born. She was not the only one to cry tears of happiness. Walter had too as he held their baby for the first time, silent tears running down his cheeks.
“Yes, I had noticed,” Walter said and reached out toward her. “If I’m going to be able to keep you to myself for a little longer, I will have to find a way to distract you.”
“Well, maybe I’ll just quickly go and check on how he’s doing, then I’ll come back,” Mary said as he took her hand and tried to draw her down to be with him.
“He is fine,” Walter said. “Stay with me for a little longer.”
“Well…maybe just a little longer.”
“Thought I might be able to persuade you,” Walter said as he pulled her down, so she was laying on top of him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, nestling her body against his.
“You have quite a knack of persuading me,” she said softly as he moved his lips toward hers. He teased her for a second, hovering above her lips before he moved his face down a little, angling to move his lips to the top of her neck and set small kisses at the top.
“I know how to persuade you,” he said sultrily between kisses.
“We cannot stay in this bed the whole time we are on this island!” Mary said, laughing as he nibbled her, tickling her softly.
“I beg to differ,” he said within an even deeper voice, tickling her. She giggled and tried to roll away from him. He went with it and rolled the two of them over until she was underneath him, then he braced himself above her, lifting his weight on one forearm as he lowered his other hand down to her stomach and placed a gentle palm to the curved belly there.
“How surprised do you think they will be when we get home?” Mary asked in a whisper as she followed her husband’s gaze down to her swelling stomach.
“Rather surprised,” Walter said in jest, prompting Mary to laugh and her belly to shake slightly. “Lucy will be upset that we haven’t mentioned it in our letters.”
“I know,” Mary sighed. Since she and Walter had married two years ago, there wasn’t a thing that she and Lucy did not share. As soon as Mary had discovered she was pregnant the first time, Lucy had been the second person in the world to learn of it, after Walter.
“Father will forgive us. Though he may be a little upset that he does not have more time to buy this second baby presents.”
“He has bought so many for Jonathan already that we couldn’t bring them all with us!” Mary pointed out with arched eyebrows.
“Jonathan is his first grandchild. He’s entitled to be a little…doting,” Walter said, caressing her stomach a little more. He had done the same action when she was pregnant with Jonathan, this soft, sweet touch that calmed her. She expected it calmed the baby too. With Jonathan, when he had kicked and been restless, this gentle touch had usually soothed him.
“Well, maybe after this child is born, your father will be able to dote on both of them,” Mary said, lowering one of her hands from Walter’s bare muscled shoulder and placing it down to her stomach. “We shall just have to see Lucy married quickly, then there will be even more children for him to buy gifts for.”
“Married!?” Walter flinched and practically shook the bed with his surprise, pulling a hearty laugh from Mary. “Lucy? Married?”
“What did you expect, Walter? We are going home in a few weeks so I can help her with her debut. Do you think she will not turn any gentleman’s head?”
“Oh, I really do not want to think of my sister being old enough for that!” Walter cringed and lowered his head, practically hiding in Mary’s shoulder. She giggled and lifted her arms around him, holding him down to her.
“She’s growing up. She won’t be married before she is ready, but you must prepare yourself for the possibility,” Mary said softly as she lifted a hand and wove it in his hair.
“No, I do not want to think about it,” he said and turned his head a little so that he could kiss her neck. Mary arched into his touch, elongating the moment for as long as possible. “All I want to think about, while we are traveling is right here with me now and in the next room.”
“Should I go check on Jonathan then?” Mary asked with a tease, tangling her hand more in his short locks as he picked up the pace of his kisses.
“Not yet,” Walter said, his voice slightly muffled by his kisses.
“You want me to stay here?”
“Very much.” He lifted his head a little, kissing up her neck and across her cheek until he hovered over her lips, teasing her with another kiss that didn’t quite come. “In fact…I do not think we should leave our lodgings at all today. Let’s stay here. We can go see Jonathan, play with him for a while, then come back here and spend the entire day in bed.”
“What will our nursemaid think at that?” Mary said with laughter.
“She’ll think that you are resting because you are with child.”
“Then why would you be with me?”
“She’s a woman of the world. She can use her imagination.”
Walter’s words made Mary laugh another time before he pressed his lips to hers, cutting her off. The kiss was intense and fast. With the passion that had always been between them, every time they made love was equally intense, whether it was slow and loving or fast and full of need. This time was no different.
Walter moved slightly, moving to Mary’s side so that he could begin to lift the thin nightgown over her body, breaking the kiss just long enough to lift it over her head and discard it on the floor nearby.
“You do not need that anymore,” he said with a teasing whisper before settling himself between her legs. “It’s too hot to sleep with a nightgown anyway.”
“Right now, I’m wondering why I even bothered.” Mary agreed as he began to kiss down her body. He started high at the top of her neck, then traveled down her chest, through the valley between her breasts, lingering just long enough to plant two kisses to the curves of her breasts, making her arch against him. He moved further down, placing loving kisses against the baby bump before he went even further down.
These kisses picked up in heat. Walter settled between her legs, planting soft nibbles to the inside of her thighs, teasing her even more, before he kissed her center. Mary gasped and bit her lip, trying to muffle any moans that she made. God forbid the nursemaid heard them in the adjoining room!
Walter hooked one of her legs over his shoulder as he kissed her center, he started outside of her, then delved deeper with his tongue, making her gasp and tip her head back on the pillow.
“Shh, love,” he said as he paused in his kisses, then moved down to her again.
“If you wanted me to be quiet, then we should not be doing this,” she said in an amused whisper. As though taking on the challenge of her words, he delved even deeper, making her moan his name.
Once she was wet and ready for him, he moved above her. She was already sweating, partly from the heat of the day that was basking through their windows, but mostly from his actions. When he entered her, it was easy, with the two of their bodies moving together in a natural rhythm that had become theirs from the first time they made love.
“Mary…” he whispered her name as he braced himself above her with both palms planted down to the pillow on either side of her head. She widened her legs as much as she could, panting as they moved together.
“So…” he said between breaths. “Do you see any reason why we should leave our lodgings today?”
“With you and Jonathan here?”
“And our new baby too,” Walter said, laying a hand to her stomach.
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