Chapter One

“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.

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