Chapter One
“You can’t be serious,” Amelia Gillingham said blankly, staring at her dissolute brother-in-law. It was a feeble protest, she knew, as she gazed at his florid coloring and dull eyes. Once considered a handsome man, George Gillingham had gladly sacrificed his looks and health – for the indulgent life of a rake from the moment he had come into his brother’s fortune. In one short year, George had managed to scandalize the good society of the ton with his exploits, to the extent that Amelia had willfully ignored every story that was brought to her ears.
“Surely it can’t all be gone, George.”
“Surely it can be, my dearest sister,” George sneered back, no trace of remorse or shame evident in his face or tone. “There is very little indeed left of the family fortune. You must accustom yourself to that idea.”
“But how? My understanding was that Richard left us comfortably provided for when he died.”
Even now, a year later, the idea of her husband being gone seemed impossible.
“I can appreciate that as a woman you have no idea of the sort of expenses a gentleman must necessarily incur,” retorted George in an insufferably superior tone. “But I assure you-”
“A gentleman?” Amelia scoffed, her generally mild temper pricked by his condescension. “From the tales which I, unfortunately, have not been able to avoid hearing, your expenses have very little to do with anything a gentleman would associate himself with. Why don’t you tell me exactly what you squandered my husband’s fortune away on?”
“I have spent my fortune exactly as I have seen fit,” George snapped, an angry red color rising to his stubble-strewn cheeks. “I’ll not be questioned by you. I merely came here to inform you of the change in your circumstances.”
“You know perfectly well that Richard meant for you to provide properly for Emily and myself. You have disgraced his memory, as well as the family name. I hope it was worth it to you, George.”
“As I said, I have only come to inform you of the realities of your situation. I should think that you would be content enough to live a simple life now – after all you do retain possession of this house, and you and the girl are hardly on the brink of starvation. There will be nothing in addition to the sum that I already gave you at the time of Richard’s death.”
“But that amount was scarcely enough for Emily and I to live on this past year, and it is quite entirely gone now,” protested Amelia. “Emily is the daughter of a respected and wealthy baron, and it is shameful for her to be forced to live beneath her station simply because her uncle could not be bothered to temper his reckless ways, even for her sake!”
“I am afraid that can’t be helped. There is no more money. You will simply have to find a way to manage, and I insist that you do so without involving me,” George stated flatly. Amelia realized with the vacant expression in his bloodshot eyes that his mind had moved from his responsibilities to his sister-in-law and niece, and back on to the seedy opium dens, gambling halls, and houses of ill-repute that had proven so irresistible to the weak-willed young man.
“I can assure you that I will never bother you again with such trivial concerns as the future and well-being of your niece or myself,” snapped Amelia tartly. “I will rely on providence to trouble you sufficiently on that front in due course of time. Good day, George.”
Lord George Gillingham did not bother to respond to her parting shot, but turned and left Amelia’s parlor immediately, most certainly making haste to further his own ruin. Amelia sank down onto an armchair, indulging for a moment in the unfamiliar sensation of panic that fluttered through her breast. She always prided herself on her ability to remain calm and unflappable no matter what, but then she had never before encountered a situation that seemed quite so desperate as this.
If only Richard were alive! She had not married her late husband for love, but they had undeniably grown to be quite fond of one another over the course of ten years. Their marriage had been comfortable and contented. They had especially delighted in raising their daughter, Amelia thought, with a fresh wave of grief surging through her at the memories. Richard would have been outraged if he could have seen how his younger brother had squandered the family fortune and left his beloved daughter Emily with such terribly limited prospects. What on earth was to become of the child with no money, even for a new dress, let alone a Season when she came of age? The disparity between the girl and her peers would only increase as the years went on, and Emily might be doomed to a miserable, inescapable spinsterhood marked by poverty and want – a cruel fate for the sweet, charming girl.
Amelia caught sight of her own appearance in the parlor looking glass as she considered such a future for her darling child. Against the flame of her red hair, her face looked pitifully pale and woeful. Her usually vivid green eyes were reddened with the tears she couldn’t quite suppress. The sight made her stiffen her spine resolutely. If Richard would have been outraged at George’s reprehensible conduct, surely he would be nearly as disappointed with her weakness. George was right, she had to begrudgingly admit, she would have to find a way to adjust to her new situation.
Her child deserved nothing less than the very best and strongest nerve that Amelia had to offer.
Rising smartly from the comfort of the armchair, Amelia shook herself and swiped briskly at the tears that had escaped onto her pale cheeks. If money was needed, she decided, then there was no sense in holding onto her jewelry.
Amelia marched up the grand, sweeping staircase to her chambers. In the past year, she had barely touched the locked case that held her jewels, leaving them to collect dust in the dark while she wore the black of mourning. It hadn’t irked her the way it did many young widows, who often chafed to dress gaily once again long before the year-long mourning period ended. Bright gowns and social activities had been the furthest thing from her mind, especially as the small sum that George had given her had dwindled and he had refused to respond to her increasingly distressed letters.
Unlocking the heavy velvet-lined case and opening it, she caught her breath for a moment. The late afternoon sunlight slanted in through the parted drapes and lit the contents of the case with a dazzling burst of color. She was overwhelmed with the rush of memories associated with each piece of jewelry. Richard had given her nearly every single gem, except for a few simpler necklaces and rings that had been given to her by her parents before her marriage. Parting with Richard’s gifts felt like a betrayal, but of course, that was foolish, she told herself sternly. Richard would expect her to provide for their daughter first and foremost.
Amelia took a deep, steadying breath and began the process of setting aside a few special pieces for Emily to have in the future – she would need to do her best to give the poor girl at least a semblance of a dowry– and bundling up the rest unceremoniously into her sensible black reticule.
Locking the jewelry case once more, Amelia realized that the true obstacle in this endeavor was not her own sentimental attachment to the memories – the lovely sapphire brooch that Richard had given her on the day of their wedding, the ruby and diamond ring that he had presented her with on the occasion of Emily’s birth, and countless others – it was the simple fact that she had no earthly idea of how to go about selling the jewelry in the first place. What proper lady did? George would undoubtedly know, but Amelia dismissed that idea immediately. She would scarcely stoop to asking him for assistance, and anyway, she had no doubt that he would feel perfectly comfortable pocketing either the jewels or the proceeds from them. How two brothers come to have such markedly different characters as Richard and George was a baffling mystery, but it was one to ponder another day.
It wouldn’t do to be spotted trying to sell off her jewels by any of her friends and acquaintances, Amelia knew. She ought to go to the sort of place that none of them would ever frequent – Cheapside came the most readily to her mind – and perhaps it was also wise to attempt to conceal her identity at least a little.
Not wanting even her maid to know what she was planning, Amelia dug out her largest and plainest bonnet and a simple cloak. Satisfied that her appearance was obscured for the most part, particularly with the glowing flame of her hair covered by the bonnet, she snatched up the reticule filled with jewels and swept from the room. Luckily, Emily was away at her riding lesson for most of the afternoon and would not have any reason to question her sudden, urgent errand.
“I am going out for a bit,” Amelia informed the housekeeper airily, pausing in the foyer with what she hoped was a natural attitude. “If Miss Emily returns from her riding lesson before I am back, tell her that I will be home shortly.”
“Yes, my lady,” murmured the housekeeper, keeping her expression carefully blank and neutral. She had, of course, overheard the entire exchange between Lady Gillingham and her rake of a brother-in-law. Indeed, she had felt it necessary to air out the parlor as soon as it was vacated for the odor of stale smoke and whiskey had clung offensively to the air in Lord Gillingham’s wake.
Even while avoiding meeting her housekeeper’s eye she had sensed that the woman had at least a suspicion of what had taken place between herself and her brother-in-law earlier in the afternoon. It was too bad, really, Amelia thought, for it would have been better if the servants could have been spared the distress of knowing that the household was in such dire straits. It was a bleak prospect and one which Amelia would much rather not contemplate. However, there was no realistic way that she could afford to keep the full staff employed if her situation failed to improve.
Contemplating which servants she ought to let go, and which she could hardly do without, gave her the determination required to keep making her way down the increasingly shabby streets leading from her own fashionable section of London, and into Cheapside. Perhaps if she could barter the jewelry for a healthy enough sum, she could keep everyone on staff – that would certainly be the best-case scenario. If not, at the very least, she was determined to get some new frocks for Emily so the child would no longer be embarrassed around her friends.
Emily did her very best to hide her embarrassment from her mother, but Amelia could easily sense it. Only the other day the girl had forgotten herself long enough to mention wistfully that it had been ages since she had had ice cream, a treat that Richard had once insisted on having every Sunday. Emily had caught herself quickly, saying that after all the treat gave her a headache sometimes. So it was probably for the best. But Amelia had experienced a pang of distress at the conversation, nevertheless. Looking back on it, she realized that no matter how carefully she had attempted to keep their financial difficulties hidden from her daughter, the child probably knew at the very least, as much as the servants suspected.
Lovely new dresses and ice cream, then, she told herself decisively. Surely the gleaming jewels would fetch enough for that much at least. Richard had certainly spared no expense in purchasing them, after all.
Chapter Two
“Papa, are you a terribly lonesome and miserable creature?”
Lord Christopher Lockhart, Earl of Berkshire looked up from his correspondence, bemused by both the question and the indignant tone of his daughter.
“Oh, now, I wouldn’t say terribly lonesome and miserable. Perhaps just the ordinary amount.” He laughed shortly, focusing on twelve-year-old Harriet’s pretty scowl. The girl had inherited his own striking, bold coloring, but the dark hair and rosy complexion combined with her more delicate, feminine features gave her a beauty that was sure to drive suitors wild in a few years. “Did you have a particular reason for asking such an oddly specific sort of question, my love?”
“I just overheard…” Harriet trailed off, her expression of outrage suddenly melting into confusion and embarrassment. “Nothing. I mean, never mind, Papa. It doesn’t matter.”
“I can hardly believe that,” Christopher countered mildly, despite the sudden sinking feeling in his stomach. “Go right ahead and tell me what you overheard – if it was gossip about myself then I ought to have the chance to confirm or deny. Or at the very least give you my side of the matter, don’t you think?”
As he had known it would, the appeal to Harriet’s deep-seated sense of fair play overpowered her instinct to protect him from being hurt.
“It was only foolish, idle gossip, I’m sure. Mrs. Jameson’s cousin is visiting her this afternoon and I just happened to overhear her…she was asking Mrs. Jameson why she wouldn’t consider taking a position near her in Hampstead, and how she could bear working for such a miserable creature as you,” Harriet confessed slowly, a flush of crimson color rising to her cheeks.
“And what did Mrs. Jameson say?” asked Christopher evenly, although the thought of being the object of derision and revulsion to his long-term housekeeper’s cousin stung his pride considerably.
“Oh, she wasn’t having any of it,” Harriet answered, a war-like gleam sparking in her deep brown eyes. “She told her cousin that you were hardly a miserable creature, just perhaps a bit lonesome at times, and she would never consider leaving us, or Berkshire Manor. Then her horrid old cousin started arguing, asking about all the tales she’d heard about you, and Mrs. Jameson said she was hardly going to entertain her while discussing such matters and if that was all she had come for, then she may as well leave at once. And her cousin did leave pretty quickly after that.”
“Mrs. Jameson is really something of a treasure, isn’t she?” Christopher smiled, feeling a sudden warm rush of affection for the woman.
“She’s as good as gold,” Harriet agreed promptly. “And you needn’t tell me anything about whatever rumors her horrid old cousin wanted to drag up – I’m certain it’s none of my business, and a pack of lies as well.”
“Perhaps I should, though,” Christopher considered slowly. His experience with children was limited to his own daughter, but it seemed to him that she was somehow more mature than her twelve years. Perhaps this was due to growing up as she had, in their rather solitary and isolated lifestyle, with only her father for company. Regardless, it was only a few years before she would come out for her first Season, and it was better that she have time to prepare herself for the sort of gossip that London society would happily drag up when confronted with the Earl of Berkshire’s daughter. “I’m afraid that you are bound to hear more such talk, from other, more credible sources the older you become. As painful as the subject is, I think it would better if you hear the thing from myself first.”
“Very well, Papa.” Harriet nodded slowly, looking very serious as she lowered herself to sit on the ottoman nearest her father’s chair.
“You know, of course, that I have no male heir. And that without one this estate, and the bulk of my fortune, will pass to a distant third cousin of mine?”
“Yes, but I don’t care about that-” began Harriet stoutly, dismissing her own uncertain future with a naive wave of her hands.
“You ought to, considering the difficulty such an eventuality would leave you in if you do not make a good match. But surely you have wondered why I have not simply remarried and attempted to produce a male heir. Such an arrangement would be likely to give you a far greater measure of security, after all.”
“It might,” Harriet interjected with a rather dark expression. “If you ignore all the dozens and dozens of tales of wicked stepmothers who hate their husband’s daughters.”
“I am not speaking of fairy tales, child.” Christopher smiled despite himself. “But in any case, you have little fear on that front. The plain and simple truth of the matter is that I have not remarried because there is no suitable woman who would consider marrying me.”
“Why not?” demanded Harriet indignantly, her outrage on her father’s behalf causing her to bounce half off the ottoman. “I don’t believe that can be true, Papa. Any woman in her right mind would think you a perfect catch – you are handsome and wealthy, and so very kind and pleasant, too. If it’s because you are a little sarcastic at times, well then what would you want with a wife who has no sense of humor, anyway? And you aren’t so very old, after all.”
“Thank you for that rousing endorsement, my dear,” laughed Christopher. “But it is rather more complicated than that. I would prefer not to go into all of the reasons with you as of yet, but suffice it to say that it has been far simpler for me to live a rather more solitary life, than is quite ordinary, as the alternative would be to waste my breath a great deal in attempting to dispel some nasty, untrue rumors. I will tell you in more detail when you are older, but if someone else repeats them before I do so, I would beg of you to withhold your condemnation of me.”
“Papa, I don’t care if someone tells me that you were once a pirate marauding the high seas. I simply cannot believe anything bad of you,” Harriet averred stoutly.
“Oh, no my dear, that rumor is entirely accurate. The stories I could tell you of my marauding days!” Christopher rolled his eyes skyward in an exaggerated fashion, making his daughter giggle and breaking the tense mood.
“Well, I won’t pester you for the details, Bluebeard,” teased Harriet. “But I will say that I hardly see that anything should keep ladies from agreeing to marry you, Papa, if you really wanted to get married again. Why, Sadie Jenkins brother lost every bit of his fortune, and still had his choice of young ladies last season, Sadie told me. She said a bit of tragedy just makes a gentleman more interesting. Surely you could find a lady with a bit more sense if you really wanted to marry.”
“Well, it may be that I haven’t made every effort I might have to find a new wife,” Christopher admitted with a smile, not wanting to disabuse his daughter of the notion. “I haven’t been unbearably lonely, after all, with such a madcap daughter to run after I’ve barely had time to think of such things.”
“You’re just teasing, but you ought to be careful,” Harriet laughed merrily. “Perhaps statements like that will only inspire me to think of heaps more adventures for your benefit!”
“Heaven forbid!” Christopher exclaimed with mock horror. He was glad to see that the conversation had not seemed to upset his daughter overmuch and was more than willing to laugh off the serious mood along with her. Once she had run along to her drawing lesson, however, he felt an old and familiar melancholy threaten to overtake him. He did his best to either ignore or avoid altogether the murmured gossip that hovered over his name and could generally go weeks at a time without being forced to contemplate the unfortunate fact that he must produce a male heir and could not, for the life of him, find a lady willing to marry him. Perhaps he deserved it, but it seemed rather harsh that his own personal tragedies be compounded by the social ostracism that he suffered in their wake.
He had failed his wife, Christopher acknowledged to himself, and he had failed his former fiancé before that. There was a great deal of detail, about both of those situations, that he had not been able to bring himself to tell Harriet – and indeed, even if he could have born the pain of speaking the words aloud, they would hardly have been fit for such a young girl’s ears. But he would not deny to himself the bare truth that he had failed both women. The thought stung, even years later. How much worse would it feel, Christopher asked himself, to fail his daughter? And surely that was what it would amount to if he allowed himself to continue avoiding the problem of producing an heir.
Harriet might be able to laugh off the idea of trouble looming in her future, but Christopher could not. If he died without a son to inherit his lands and wealth, then Harriet would be at the mercy of his third cousin, a miserly and unscrupulous sort of merchant. Christopher had no delusions that the man would treat Harriet with any sort of kindness or generosity out of the goodness of his heart – for according to all reports he had none. If Harriet were not married before Christopher’s death, then her prospects were grim indeed.
It was a gamble that he could not bear to take. As much as he might resent being an object of gossip for creatures such as his housekeeper’s cousin, he could be grateful that the conversation had come to his attention, for it had had the effect of jarring him out of complacency. Surely there was some well-born lady who could manage to overlook his ill reputation – after all, as Harriet had said, he was not so very old at thirty-five. Although a bit of silver had begun to thread the dark hair at his temples, he could flatter himself that he was still tolerably handsome. He would have to renew his efforts to find a bride, he resolved firmly, shaking his head a bit at the very idea. Although he had scarcely any notion of how to go about such an undertaking at this point in his life.
He could hardly expect a fresh young debutante to be interested in him, and besides, the very idea of such a match made him feel more tired and elderly than before. But of course, he must marry someone who was still young enough to bear children, or else what would be the point? The thought occurred to him that his own personal preferences ought to have little bearing in this third attempt at wedded bliss, but the thought was repugnant. Even if he could bring himself to marry a woman whom he disliked or found unattractive, he could not put Harriet in a position where she might someday be at the mercy of an unpleasant stepmother and half-brother. At the very least, he would have to find a wife who was kindly and of a sympathetic nature, someone who could appreciate Harriet’s fiery, strong-willed character and attempt to guide her rather than repress her. The more he contemplated his criteria, the more hopeless the situation seemed Christopher thought with a fresh wave of despair. Refusing to succumb to it, he took up quill and ink and composed a letter to his solicitor requesting a meeting at the man’s earliest possible convenience before he could lose the courage of conviction that talking with Harriet had given him.
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