Prologue

London, England

1810

“Will you stand still?” Timothy turned to Andrew at his side. “You’re making me nervous.”

“Aren’t you? You’re the one getting married,” Andrew pointed out with raised eyebrows.

Timothy just laughed in response. He wasn’t nervous, of course, he wasn’t! Today was the day he had been dreaming of for so long. Any minute now, Diana was going to walk through that church door, and she would no longer be just Diana Bartlett, daughter of Baron Wharton, but Diana Dunn, Countess of Moray and his wife.

“In your position, I would be breaking a sweat by now,” Andrew said, pulling at the collar around his cravat.

“It looks like you are breaking that sweat,” Timothy gestured to what his best man was doing with his collar. “Would you relax? Everything will be fine.”

“She’s late, in case it hasn’t escaped your notice.”

“This is Diana we’re talking about,” Timothy held Andrew’s gaze. “Not some chit with a changeable heart that I have just met.”

“I know,” Andrew nodded, though, in truth, Timothy knew his friend did not know all. Andrew could not see into Timothy and Diana’s hearts.

Timothy had known Diana since they were children. At the age of fifteen, he had met her roaming one of the sprawling parks in the center of London. She had been only twelve at the time, astride a horse. She had nearly knocked him over, hence her mad dash to climb down from her horse and check that he was alright. Diana…his Diana had been flushed with exercise and had sprigs of flowers in her hair. Apparently, she’d gained the blossoms just by riding through the trees and bushes all day.

From that first moment, he had been hooked. She like Diana, the Roman Goddess of wild animals, the countryside, and the moon. Even at that tender age, she had been a beauty, and that fact struck him harder than her horse did, nearly toppling him over a second time.

After that first meeting, they crept out of their houses every week to see each other, growing up, side-by-side. By the time Timothy was twenty and she seventeen, they had shared their first kiss. Oh, Timothy had orchestrated it very well indeed! He had imagined for so long kissing his Roman Goddess that he had arranged a horse ride for the two of them along with her chaperone, of course. Knowing the chaperone, he had purposely led Diana to race through unkempt bridle paths and even across a river, leaving her poor chaperone far behind. They had both been in trouble for it later, with their parents arguing how fortunate it was that no one saw them lose the chaperone, not that Timothy cared. Their reprimands were worth those few stolen minutes together.

They’d climbed down from their horses under a sweet chestnut tree. He had drawn her close so that the leaves concealed them a little. There they’d their first kiss. It began as just a brush of lips, each of them exploring and testing this new territory. By the end, Timothy had to cling to the tree trunk behind Diana’s head to keep from tumbling them both to the ground. The teasing of her tongue against his own had driven him wild and made his arousal very evident through his breeches. She had not been worried in the slightest when she felt it, only intrigued, making jokes on the subject, with her green eyes sparkling up at him.

Now, they were to be married. That first kiss was three years ago. They had waited, just as his father had requested, for him to be a little older before taking a wife. Today was the long-awaited day.

Timothy looked away from the ornate church altar to the back of the room. Down the aisle lined with pews full of guests, the wooden doors at the end of the church stayed closed, with the black steel handle still in place.

“That makes half an hour now,” Andrew said at his side, checking his pocket watch.

“She’ll be here,” Timothy said again, beginning to grow resentful of Andrew’s comments. Diana was coming. She loved him as much as he did her; there wasn’t a doubt in his mind! They had lived in each other’s pockets for the last eight years. They were best friends, and he had seen how much she loved him. She would come.

Though Timothy’s eyes began to wander around the people in the pews. Where happy smiling faces had been before, there were now frowns and curious gazes. People were leaning toward each other, speaking in hushed breaths. Timothy looked across the church, even the vicar was reaching under his white robes to check his own pocket watch. Behind him, at the far side of the room, the organist had practically fallen asleep on his chair for waiting.

She will come.

Timothy kept repeating this in his mind as he looked away from all the apprehensive faces. He had seen Diana only two days ago. They had stolen a few minutes alone in the hothouse at the back of her father’s townhouse. His Roman Goddess Diana had been dressed all in white, her elegant features resembling that of the marble statues he saw so often in ornate gardens. She had whispered in his ear how much she was looking forward to their wedding day. Even now, he could practically hear her words in his ear.

“We’ll never have to part from each other again.”

It was all he had ever wanted. He had stolen a kiss then. Diana had clung to the lapels of his tailcoat, pulling it so tightly that she nearly tore the seams. At least tonight was their wedding night, and he wouldn’t have to imagine any more what being with her entirely would be like. He wouldn’t have to take his own pleasure beneath his bed covers but take pleasure with her, making love to her as often as they wanted.

“Timothy,” Andrew said at his side, his voice wary. Timothy looked up from his musing to his friend. He and Andrew, Viscount Boyne, had become fast friends, seeing each other at least twice a week, if not more. Timothy had never seen the concern that now resided on Andrew’s face.

“Don’t say it,” Timothy pleaded. Andrew just winced in reply.

There was a sound at the church door. Timothy whipped his head toward it. She was here, at last. Diana would walk in now, with her dark hair flowing behind her, wearing the brooch he had given her: a crescent moon, the symbol of the goddess.

“I told you, she’d be here,” Timothy smiled, then the door opened, and his smile faltered.

There in the doorway was Baron Wharton, and Diana was not at his side.

Whispers erupted in their congregation, so loud that they could hardly be called whispers anymore. Timothy walked down the aisle, going to meet Baron Wharton in the middle, his feet so shaky beneath him that he feared he might collapse to the cold grey stone floor. The Baron was sweating, with his complexion flushed, as though he had been running.

“Where is she?” Timothy asked in trepidation, his voice barely audible.

“I don’t know,” the Baron shook his head. Those nearby spreading the news to the rest, each utterance growing in volume.

“What?” Timothy felt his voice echo off the stone arches around them, momentarily silencing the mounting gossip.

This is not possible. Where is my Diana?

“I cannot find her anywhere,” the Baron said quietly to him.

“This makes no sense,” Timothy said, as much to himself as to the Baron. “She loves me. She has told me as much for…” he trailed off. For at least the last three years she had professed to love him.

“I’ve checked everywhere, she’s not in her room or anything,” the Baron shrugged, seemingly defeated. “I found only this,” he lifted his hand. Timothy hadn’t noticed it before, but the Baron clutched a crumpled piece of folded parchment. Across the top was Timothy’s name. Just Timothy, no title or formality, written in Diana’s familiar hand.

Timothy wrenched it from the Baron’s hand and tore open the missive. It couldn’t even be called that; in fact, it barely constituted a note. There were only three words in the center of the page, the lettering so tiny that it was as though as spider had been squashed between the folded parchment, forming the devastating words.

‘I am sorry.’

Chapter One

London, England

1815

Timothy tossed back what was left of the brandy in his glass, enjoying the burn as it traveled down his throat. It was gone all too quickly. His glass always seemed to empty too quickly these days. One snifter was never enough; neither was two. Maybe five or six would do the job if he’d already had claret earlier in the evening.

“My Lord, it’s your bid,” the gentleman at his side urged him.

Timothy placed the glass back down and looked around the table. This gentlemen’s club was not the most reputable, but it did serve its purpose. Timothy liked the miasma of danger that permeated the place. It made him tingle as though a wrong turn in its shadowy corridors could lead to disaster. The room he was in was clothed in near darkness, with just a few candles to chase the shadows. The scant flames revealed a green baize card table with five players, including himself, all with chips piled in front of them and a dealer.

“I’m in,” Timothy picked up his chips and added them to the pile, aware that he hadn’t even looked at his cards yet.

The man beside him puffed on his cigar, the smoke curling in the air billowing around Timothy’s face.

“You’re an odd player, my friend,” the man said, never taking his eyes off Timothy as he peered through the smoke.

“Odd, how?” Timothy asked, slurring his words as he sat back in his chair and pulled at his cravat, unraveling it completely.

“You didn’t look at your cards,” the man explained as he too added his chips to the betting pile in the center. It was growing more significant as they started their next round. “Do you not care if you win or lose?”

“Should I?” Timothy laughed as he asked the question. This was how he lived his life, with no heed to anyone or anything.

“Well, you’re running out of chips,” the man gestured down at the table in front of Timothy.

Timothy’s head lolled to the side, his focus going slightly blurry as he stared at where his chips had been before.

“I need two cards,” the man opposite said to the dealer. This was the Duke of Rutland, one of the wealthiest men in all of London. Timothy had been surprised to see such a well-respected man at such a seedy establishment. It had made it far too tempting for Timothy to sit at this particular table. The thrill, the adrenaline rush of taking such a man’s money…it was all Timothy lived for these days, that all too brief rush.

“My Lord, it’s you again,” the man puffing his cigar said at his side.

Timothy picked up his cards for the first time. He had two Queens in his hand, plus some others that weren’t of any note.

“Three,” he said to the dealer, discarding the cards he didn’t need. “More brandy!” he called behind him to one of the ever-present servers.

“Don’t you think you have had enough?” The Duke of Rutland asked tightly. He was an interfering man, tall with white hair that was coiffed back impossibly tidily.

“Not by half, your Grace,” Timothy looked away from the Duke and beckoned the server again to refill his glass. “Thank you,” Timothy muttered as the brandy sloshed into the wide-bottomed glass. He stared at the Duke. His officious interference had stirred Timothy’s need for that rush even more.

“I’ll raise two,” the Duke added to the pot in the middle, followed by the others. As they turned and waited on Timothy, he checked his hand. He now had three Queens.

“I’ll raise…five,” Timothy threw what was left of his chips into the middle, leaving the green surface empty in front of him.

“I’ll fold,” said the man puffing the cigar.

“Me too,” said another.

“I’ll see your five, and…I’ll raise you two,” the Duke’s smile grew greater. “And I see you have nothing left to bet with now, my Lord.”

The remaining players folded, leaving Timothy and the Duke alone in the game. The excitement was burning now; he could feel it like a growing fire deep down in his gut.

“I’ll raise you,” Timothy sat up in his chair, aware as he did so that the world seemed to spin.

“With what?” the Duke laughed and gestured down at the empty stretch of table in front of Timothy.

“My townhouse in Oxford Street,” Timothy beamed, watching as this news rippled around the group. They all shifted in their chairs, their eyes now avidly watching the game.

“Then I’ll meet it,” the Duke added more money to the pile. “That should be worth your house.”

“Very well,” Timothy paused again. What he was about to do was a foolish risk, but he wanted to do it. No, he needed to do it. “I’ll raise my country seat in Buckinghamshire.”

“Pardon?”

“My Lord, think of what you are doing, I beg of you.”

There were pleas around the table, panic too, but he could feel it even more now, that rush, that buzz. It was as though his body was tingling with anticipation.

“As you wish,” the Duke sat back in his chair, staring down his long nose at Timothy. “I’ll call you with one of my country estates. There’s one in Devon.”

“Is it of equal value?” Timothy asked.

“Do you even care if it is?” the Duke’s question made Timothy smile greater. That was his only answer.

“Then it’s time to show,” the dealer looked to the Duke first. “Your Grace?”

Something in the Duke’s face twitched. It was tiny, just a flicker, yet somehow even in Timothy’s drunken state, he saw it anyway. He supposed he was used to looking for the signs of someone’s bluff when he was this drunk.

The Duke turned over his cards. It had been a bluff. All he had was a pair of Jacks.

Timothy smiled and drew out the moment. One by one, he placed his cards down on the table, revealing the three Queens.

With the placement of the final card, the Duke struck the table and stood abruptly.

Timothy laughed heartily; the rush had overtaken him now into a temporary thrill. He scooped up the chips, dragging them toward the dealer.

“Cash me out, please,” he nodded to the dealer and tried to control his mirth before looking back to the Duke. “And the deeds to your estate?”

“I’ll send them over,” the Duke shook his head, his pale face now turning red. “You – get me another drink!” he ordered a nearby serving boy who went off running.

Timothy placed the money the dealer handed him in his pockets. It was so much that it couldn’t all fit into one; it was practically falling out of his tailcoat from every side.

“You will pay for this humiliation,” the Duke’s voice was so sharp that Timothy looked to him, blinking through his drunken haze.

“You lost, your Grace. Accept it.” Timothy offered one last smile and staggered through the club. He could feel someone walking behind him, but he did not look back.

Even as Timothy walked away from the table, he could feel the thrill fading. It made his smile vanish entirely.

This was how he had lived his life for the last five years. Since the day Diana had left him. Always searching for the next thrill. Whether it was cards, dice, or horses, he bet on anything. He needed the danger and the excitement. He paid for women, visited brothels in the dodgy sides of town, almost hoping he would run into trouble. He’d had run into such trouble, more than once, with thieves and pickpockets trying to steal from him in the dead of night. Even drunk, Timothy was able to pull out his pistol, and they soon all went running. He’d attended illicit duels too, fighting when there really was no cause to fight, just as long as he could have another one of those sparks of excitement.

It was like an addiction. One that opium or cigars couldn’t feed, only danger could.

“May I congratulate you, my Lord,” the words made Timothy turn around. He was standing in the center of the gambling hall now rather than one of the antechambers. Here they were surrounded by dice tables and roulette wheels. Under a shabby chandelier, Timothy stood staring at a face he didn’t recognize.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Timothy squinted, trying to focus on the man’s features through the blurriness. He was middle-aged, with a large round nose and puffy cheeks that were so large they almost hid his beady eyes. Even the tailcoat he wore had a tough job trying to button together at the front around his protruding belly.

“My name is Ellis,” the man offered his hand, “Mr. Josiah Ellis. I own this establishment.”

“Well, good to meet you,” Timothy shook the man’s hand, retracting his own quickly when he discovered how sweaty Mr. Ellis’ was. He tried to dry his palm on his jacket, watching as Ellis frowned at the move.

“I happened to be watching your game,” Ellis tilted his chin up. “Quite remarkable luck you had there. I couldn’t help thinking it might not just be luck,” he went on.

Timothy wobbled a little on his feet, his drunken mind struggling to follow the conversation. .

“I am not a cheat,” Timothy said harshly. He would never cheat; it wouldn’t give the same excitement. There would be no unknown, no stepping off the edge into the precipice of the darkness to see what would happen.

“Aren’t you?” Ellis asked, tilting his head to the side.

“How dare you…” Timothy trailed off when someone appeared from the shadows beside Ellis. He was tall, stacked more like a beast than a man. Ellis nodded to him, and Timothy took a step back, slowly realizing what was to happen. “You would throw me out of your hall just because I won a game of cards?”

“Cheated. Cheated at a game of cards.”

“I didn’t cheat!” Timothy didn’t care if he earned the attention of other gamblers nearby anymore.

“Timothy!” There was a hand on Timothy’s shoulder, but it did not belong to the thickly set brute. Timothy flicked his head to the side to see Andrew. “I found you. What are you doing here?” Andrew turned his head to assess Ellis and the other man. “Time to go, I think.”

“No, of course not,” Timothy held his ground. “Mr. Ellis and I were having a charming conversation.”

“Well, I think that’s enough of conversation for one night,” Andrew tugged on his arm again, this time so firmly that in Timothy’s drunken state, he couldn’t hold his ground. He nearly fell backward as he stumbled. “Excuse us,” Andrew said to Ellis and dragged Timothy away.

“What did you do that for?” Timothy asked under his breath as they moved toward the exit. “It might have been fun.”

“Fun? Fun!? Have you taken leave of all of your senses?” Andrew asked, clearly flummoxed.

“I will admit that my sight sense right now is a little limited,” Timothy blinked a few times, aware that Andrew was opening a door for him to step through.

“How much have you had?”

“Ha!” Timothy laughed. “You think I can remember that?”

“You’re getting worse,” Andrew muttered. “I would stay away from this place, Timothy. Pick another gambling hall.”

“Why? I made quite the winnings here tonight,” Timothy nearly fell over again. The only thing that kept him standing was Andrew’s hand under his arm. Andrew dragged him out of the door and down a dark alleyway, stepping out into the main square of Covent Garden. Timothy recoiled from the brightly lit streetlamps lining the area.

“You just met the owner, Josiah Ellis.”

“Yes, he introduced himself and fancied I’d cheated. Can you imagine that? Pah!” Timothy laughed. “I’ve never cheated at cards. Where would be the fun in that?”

“I believe you, but Ellis didn’t. Have you not heard of that man?”

“If we’re to talk, can we stand still for a moment?” Timothy pleaded, suddenly feeling a wave of nausea. Andrew released him, and Timothy reached for a nearby wall. He leaned his forehead and palms against it. “No, I haven’t heard of the man.”

“Ellis owns half of the most disreputable gambling halls in London,” Andrew leaned his back on the wall beside him. “Not to mention the brothels too. Though those brothels are the ones that will steal from your wallet. They’re riddled with syphilis too.”

“You seem to know a lot about them. Have you been enjoying the wares at such houses of ill repute?” Timothy teased. He knew Andrew had no liking nor need for a brothel. Andrew was just as tall as him, though built a little leaner. His fair hair and blue eyes made him a handsome enough gentleman who was continually pursued by willing ladies. He had no need to visit a brothel. Timothy had no real need either, just the desire to steer clear of any scheming society misses and their mothers while slaking his lust on a female he was in no danger of forming an attachment to.

“Could have been fun,” Timothy smiled and turned so that he also had his back to the wall. “I could have taken that man.”

“What, the man stacked like a bull?” Andrew laughed. “You really have drunk too much.”

“I could have!”

“Really? Because as far as I can see, you can’t stand straight right now.” At Andrew’s words, Timothy leaned forward. “Case in point.”

For a minute, there was silence between them as Timothy just breathed in and out repeatedly.

“Timothy, please stop this,” Andrew said rather miserably.

“I can’t,” Timothy sighed.

“You can. You just have to want it,” Andrew pushed the point. “You’ll kill yourself one of these days with your drinking. The Earldom is being destroyed by it. What do you think people say of your reputation? How do you think your tenants fair on your land without you looking out for them?”

“I can’t think of this when I’m drunk, Andrew!” Timothy thundered and stood straight.

“Well, you’re never sober, so you’re going to have to hear it when you are drunk!” Andrew snapped.

“I don’t care, Andrew,” Timothy could feel the fury growing worse now. He walked off, heading toward the main road.

“Timothy, where are you going? We’re talking about this now!” Andrew followed him.

“We’re not,” Timothy barked the words. “I’ve told you before. It’s my life. If I want to drink myself into a gutter, I can.”

“Right, and what happens when I’m no longer there to pick you out of the gutter? How will you get home then?”

“I don’t need you to pick me up,” Timothy said wildly, just as they reached the main road.

“Oh, you think you can look after yourself?” Andrew scoffed and stood in front of Timothy, blocking his sight of the road. “You can’t walk in a straight line. How can you take care of yourself?”

“Well, then I’ll find a doxie who can look after me tonight, instead,” Timothy said.

“Another brothel? I’m shocked you’re not dying of syphilis yet.”

“Get out of my way, Andrew,” Timothy pushed his friend’s shoulder until he was knocked to the side.

“Fine, go get yourself killed, drink yourself into an early grave. See if I’ll be standing beside it when you’re gone!”

“Maybe I will!” Timothy roared and flicked his head around. He was in the middle of the road – how did he get there? He couldn’t remember stepping out.

“Timothy!” The panicked cry made him whip his head around. There were horses’ hooves clattering, a great whinny echoed in the air, and the screech of carriage wheels squealing against the cobbled road.

Timothy felt the thud against his face, uncertain if it were the horse or the carriage, the wheel went over him, of that he was sure, he could feel his back clicking and the pressure against the cobbles. He rolled a few times, his coat wet until he came to a stop, facing toward the night sky.

“You fool,” Andrew’s face was above him. There was a mad dash of other people around them. Timothy was aware of Andrew tearing off his jacket and placing something to his head, but somehow, he could make no more sense of it than that.

His body wouldn’t move or follow his wishes. He was aware of his new winnings spread around him in the center of the road.

“Timothy? Timothy, can you hear me?” Andrew’s face was beginning to fade. Timothy looked past him to the night sky. He looked away from the stars and sought out the one thing he always liked to look for these days.

The moon. It was a crescent moon tonight, the perfect symbol of the Roman Goddess. White and gleaming, its image began to fade too, until all Timothy was aware of was blackness.

Chapter 2

Devon, England

Diana was walking out at night, through the tall forest by her house. She could feel the grass blades between her toes and hear the hoots of owls nearby. She flicked her head around, trying to see them. In the shadows between the trees, she caught sight of orange-colored eyes from the branches, staring at her.

It was all so real, with the cold wind bristling against her exposed skin and rippling the skirt of her dress. But it was always this real.

That’s when she heard it, just as she always did. It was the church bell tolling; the wedding was near.

She looked around herself. It was night, and above her, through the tree branches, she could just make out a glimpse of the moon peering down at her. She looked away from it. It was too harsh a reminder of what had passed.

The bell tolled.

Diana began to run. With each step she took, her bare feet slipped on the soil, but she never stopped. She just kept moving forward, slipping quickly between the trees. Her hands brushed the exposed bark of each as she pushed by them, feeling their coarseness beneath her fingers.

The bell tolled again. It rang so intensely that she could feel it vibrating in her very core.

He was waiting for her.

She ran as hard as she could, the blood pumping fast in her veins as she tried to reach the church. Yet no church ever appeared. There was nothing except more trees in front of her; thick and dense larch trees, oaks, and sycamores too. Each one towering over her, enclosing her into the tiny space between their trunks. Dark shadows and deep green leaves. Their branches reached out to her like skeletal hands, trying to hold her back. She could feel them, snagging her clothes and in her hair, dragging her backward. She had to fight against them.

The bell rang another time. It was behind her now; she’d gone too far. She ran back the other way. This time, she had to be making ground, getting closer and closer to her destination. She felt it to be true, even if she couldn’t see the church through the darkness.

Diana started to shout his name, though she couldn’t hear the sound for it was masked by the bell, she felt her mouth strain to form the word. It hurt her throat to cry so loudly for him, yet she needed him to hear her. She was coming. She was on her way.

A stone wall appeared through the trees now. She was getting nearer to the church, the bell so close it deafened her ears. The pace of the ringing picked up too. It was no longer those solitary strikes but a faster beat, the rhythm so quick her body quaked to match the tempo. 

It was telling her that she was running out of time.

She called his name again, just as the church came into view. The door was open. She sprinted out of the tree line, fussing with her dress as though she could pull off all the errant leaves that had caught in her mad dash. She pushed through the open door and came to a sudden stop.

It was empty. The pews had no people, and no vicar stood by the altar.

 It was even colder inside the church than it had been out in the forest.

Diana turned her head away and stepped out of the door, back toward the trees. She screamed his name again, and this time, she heard it.

“Timothy!”

***

Diana woke up in bed. She was panting, breathing heavily. She was cold, freezing, leading her to pull the blankets sharply around her body in desperation to feel some warmth. It took a minute, just as always, to persuade herself that the dream was not real. They never were reality. Yet for the last five years, she had had to suffer them, again and again.

It was her punishment; she knew that—punishment for having played with Timothy’s heart the way she did. The nightmares were constant, her own guilt unable to let her find peace in this world.

She flung the covers off, hoping that by being out of the bed, she could move further away from the memory of the dream. She grabbed a dressing gown from nearby and flung it around her shoulders, needing the warmth of it, and moved toward the window. She took a moment every morning to stand here and look at the world around her. She rested her forehead against the window as she thought of the last five years.

Diana had run so suddenly, with no explanation of what had happened to her, she expected her father thought her dead. She’d had no choice. It was not like she could stay behind and explain what had happened or why she had to go. She just had to leave! It was for the best. She knew that. Even if she could never explain it to Timothy or to her father.

She didn’t doubt her father looked for her. He had been a wealthy man and had probably used that wealth to set up a search for her, yet he had never found her. She had hidden far too well for that.

Her breath clouded the window, offering a brief reflection of herself in the morning chill. Her long black hair was wild from the night’s sleep, the natural waves framing her usually porcelain skin that looked even paler in the cold,, and her copper flecked brown eyes could have been almost black in the reflection.

She looked beyond the reflection, out to the world around her. This was one of her few sources of solace these days, the beauty of the countryside.

So remote they were in their snug cottage, that no other house could be seen. In fact, there was only one other house nearby, a grander estate, that was never occupied by anyone but staff. It meant the countryside was their only company. Where in London there had been people, here there were squirrels, hedgehogs, and goldfinches. Where townhouses, shops, and theatres used to be her entertainment, here there were lush trees, hawthorn bushes, and snowdrops.

Diana traced the view from her window. Just beyond the enclosed garden by their cottage were the forest trees, and between their trunks, she could glimpse the snowdrops, like a sprinkling of sugar, they dappled the green and brown earth with their white flowers. Between these flowers, the ground itself still held the icy frost of the morning.

She loved this changing view. She knew in a month’s time, those snowdrops would give way to tulips, and a month later, bluebells would take their place. Just as soon as the cold snap they were enduring lifted.

She wrapped the dressing gown tighter around her body. To her mind, the cold would never lift, and the winters seemed twice as long as the summers.

She opened the window, just a crack, breathing in the fresh air. It made the chill in the room grow even worse, to the point that she shivered in the wind. With the window open, she could hear the river nearby. They were high up on the River Ex, where it began in the hills. Somewhere, miles from here, that river flowed into the sea. She had crossed shallower sections with her horse many times, but in some parts the tide was so vicious that it seemed like rapids, tossing against the rocks and the riverbanks.

She liked the sound of it; for some reason, it was a reminder to her of why she had run off in the first place.

To escape danger.

There was a gentle knock at the door.

“Come in,” Diana turned away from the window as her maid, Ally, stepped in. Just a few years older than Diana, Ally was one of the only three members of staff Diana kept in the house. As such, Ally often had to perform the role of both lady’s maid and scullery maid. “Good morning, Ally.”

“Good morning, Miss,” Ally said with a sweet smile and a quick curtsy. “How are you today? More bad dreams?” Ally didn’t know the truth of why Diana had left, but Diana trusted the woman enough to have spoken of her difficulties sleeping.

“A few,” Diana shrugged, as though it were no big thing. “How are you today?”

“Quite tired,” Ally rolled her eyes. “Robert has been up baking since four. So loud he is.”

Diana laughed softly at the image. Robert was their cook and the second member of her staff. Robert took his duties very seriously for working in such a small house and often woke Ally up with his early baking, as she slept so near to the kitchen.

“And how is Ethel?” Diana asked, moving away from the window as Ally began to prepare a dress for Diana to wear for the day.

“Already arguing with Robert,” Ally clearly had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes again. Ethel ran a tight ship as the housekeeper, but that meant she often butted heads with Robert, who could be just as stubborn as her at times.

“Well, I’ll talk to Ethel later,” Diana sighed. “Perhaps we can try and makes things a little more peaceful.” She almost laughed at her words as she cast a glance back to the window and the quiet view beyond. It was always peaceful around here. The most exciting thing to happen was Robert’s and Ethel’s arguments. “Is Jonathan awake yet?”

“Yes, Miss,” Ally presented her with a fresh chemise and corset to wear. “He’s in the dining room, waiting for you.”

At this news, Diana’s heart soared. Jonathan was the one person to give her happiness at times like this. He was the point of her life, after all—her entire life. Hearing Jonathan was awake, Diana hurried to change with Ally at her side. Within minutes, she was ready; with a simple gown of pastel blue and her hair tied into a neat chignon, she was prepared for the day.

“All set!” Ally said, tidying up the discarded nightgown as Diana moved out of the door.

The cottage was a far cry from the household she had been used to growing up, but she hardly had a lot of money to survive on these days. When she had run away from her father and Timothy, one of the first things she did was take the money that had been intended for her dowry and deposit it with an investment banker under a false name. The banker had made her decent money, though there wasn’t a vast annuity paid to her from it; it was adequate enough to support her quaint cottage with a few servants’ rooms. The living space was spacious enough, even if the stairs were a little poky.

In a way, despite its cons, the cottage was perfect. For no one would ever think to look for her here.

She hurried into the sitting room and along the corridor toward the rear of the house. The closer she got to the dining room, the more she felt her smile ping into place. Jonathan was awake, and their day together could begin! Her nightmare from her uneasy sleep was a thing of the past, and she need not revisit it as long as she was in Jonathan’s company.

Between the windows sat the table, with Jonathan seated in his usual place.

The small boy, still only five years old, was looking down at a piece of bread on his plate and attempting to butter it with a tiny knife.

“Jonathan,” Diana said his name, and he looked up. The moment their eyes connected; Jonathan’s little round face smiled.

***

Timothy was struggling to open his eyes. It was as though someone had placed leaden weights upon his eyelids, and he had to strain against that weight to open them. When he eventually managed it, his view was blurry, the room not in focus at all. It prompted him to close his eyes again.

He concentrated instead on his body. He was in a lot of pain. In particular, his lower back and on the side of his head. It was like a dull throbbing ache, persistent and unrelenting.

He sniffed, trying to gauge his surroundings. It didn’t smell like his home, for his house always smelled like brandy or claret. No…this smell was very different. It held the scent of sick people, perhaps even vomit, mixed with herbs, as though he were in the backroom of an apothecary. There was thyme, rosemary too, perhaps even chives.

It made him force his eyes open again; this time, the effort was a little easier.

“He’s waking up,” that voice was awfully familiar. Timothy tried to turn his head to see the source of it. Andrew had to be nearby.

Timothy could see the dark crimson curtains that always hung about his bed, startling him. So, he was in his chamber after all, but how had he gotten there? Why did it smell so strange?

Andrew appeared in his vision, rather unusually untidy. His fair hair was wild, ruffled, cravat and collar twisted, completely loose. His jacket had been discarded, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up.

“That’s a good thing, yes?” Andrew turned away, looking to someone else.

Timothy tried to see the second person. He was aware through the blurriness of a shadow moving toward him, a sort of silhouette, then a cold hand was pressed to his forehead. Though he couldn’t see the face, he could see the hand. It was white, bony, as though the hand of the grim reaper was touching his face.

“Ja, it is,” a gruff voice said. “The fever is beginning to break.”

“Then all will be well?” Andrew sounded excited, full of relief. Timothy had heard that tone when playing card games with Andrew; it was usually reserved for when he had won a game of cards to his own surprise.

“We’ll see,” the gruff voice was back. “We’re not out of the woods yet.”

Timothy heard the words as his eyes closed of their own volition. It struck him hard. He knew what the phrase meant. It spelled his doom; he could be dead soon and wouldn’t open his eyes again.

“Come on, Timothy,” Andrew said, his tone soft though full of urgency. “You need to fight this.”

If only he could, he thought, as the blackness swam in again.

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