Two people. A scandalous affair. One unique love story.
Anne is condemned to a life of loneliness. Until one day, through a massive crowd in London's Cheapside, she sees a man who instantly makes her heart flutter. Their eyes meet in a unique passionate moment... and then she is forced to flee.
Overwhelmed by the hardships of her life, Anne is certain that she won't see him again. But fate had other, more sinister plans. When her dear friend Katharine introduces her new intended, Henry, Anne recognizes him immediately...
What follows for Anne and Henry is a tale of forbidden passion, friendship, heartbreak, and danger. The closer these two get together, the more they put themselves and everyone they love at risk.
The forbidden fruit never tasted sweeter...
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It was chaos at Blackwall yard. Shipbuilders were a superstitious bunch, and all manner of ritual and routine was taking place to calm nerves and provoke good omens. The docks were alive with the sound of iron against iron and the groan of earnest endeavor.
Today was the launch of the newest ship in their fleet—the Brave Voyager. A steamship. It had become a familiar sight to Holly. The first night of a new ship setting sail. Nicholas stood at the head of it all. Directing, instructing, leading with typical aplomb. He had a subtle way of going about things. Never needing to raise his voice, able to soothe a temper with a smile or a handshake. Holly was nervous but also excited.
The new ship was larger than anything that could be found on their side of the Thames. With the help and investment of his father, Nicholas had grown to become a behemoth in the shipping business and there was a lot riding on the success of the Brave Voyager. If all went well, it would be twice the yield from the year past which had been their best year ever.
There were more workers now than Holly had ever imagined possible before. They’d had to extend and renovate the dockyard to accommodate more help. Good men, each one handpicked by Nicholas who was as good a judge of character as any man was like to be. Their dockyard was a place to cater to all. Both high and low. If you could work diligently and honestly, you would not be turned away from them.
The Ton had taken a particular interest in their business on account of the story and scandal that had ensued with the Duke of Exenwood’s ill-fated attempt to trap Holly in a marriage as a means of escape. For them, ‘shipping with the Flemings’ was an act of solidarity with Holly and of retaliation against Exenwood and all men of his ilk. They treated Nicholas and Holly as though they were some special monuments of love for the most part, championing their story far and wide.
Holly for her part, was scarily calm. She had been an honorary shipping woman for five years and knew that as a leader, the workers needed her to be cool when they were burning hot. Even still, what gave her a deeper, abiding confidence was the trust she had for her husband. She knew without any lingering doubt that even if the ship failed completely, he would be at her side, and they would build again. This was after all, just one aspect of what they were—not all of it.
Lord William Walsh appeared at her shoulder. “The ambition of it all is frightening,” he said, staring at the constellation of activity.
“Ambition is always a little frightening,” Holly said. “We have done this a dozen times before, only now it’s bigger.”
“Not like this, you’ve never had quite so many workers having their first voyage. There is a lot that can go wrong.”
“I believe in Nicholas, whether with ten men or with ten thousand. He is the best at this.”
William blew out an exasperated breath. “When did you become the calm one?”
She smiled. “When I married him,” she said, nodding toward Nicholas.
William smiled deeply. “Indeed.”
William made his way about the dockyard, checking that everything was almost in place. Nicholas’s idea to make him the leader of the production was a stroke of uncommon genius. Together they had devised a new technique for shipbuilding that ensured that the ships were in continuous, year-long production. The gentleman was a perfectionist in every sense of the word and had turned their dock hands into a counting, gathering, shipping machine of the most professional order. At the sight of William, the workers set their jaw, gritted their teeth, and began to look alive with purpose. He had that rare capacity to inspire excellence simply through his bearing.
“How are we looking?” Holly asked a passing worker.
He clasped his hands and nodded satisfied. “We are looking good, Mrs. Fleming. Very good.”
Holly nodded and smiled. “Good.”
Nicholas appeared at her side, and it made her instantly smile.
“We are going to have a wonderful day,” he said, smiling.
Holly nodded. “We are.”
“After this is all done, I think we should go get some ices before seeing Connor and Sybil. We can leave William to handle things while we are away.”
Holly touched her chin. “I do like the sound of that.”
Nicholas glanced over his shoulder at the workers, then turned his gaze back on Holly. “I think they are waiting to hear from you.”
“From me?” Holly asked.
Nicholas nodded. “You know they look to you when it comes to a challenging time. You are the one who inspires them the most.”
“I am not so sure about that,” Holly protested.
Nicholas gave a small laugh. “Believe me. They need to hear from you.”
Holly sucked in breath. “I suppose it might help if I said a few words.”
“It certainly would.”
She turned toward the throng of workers and spoke with her voice at even pitch. “Everyone.”
The noise dimmed to a faint murmur.
“Thank you all for working so hard to get us this far in such a short space of time. This is our largest night ever. There will be mistakes. There will be inefficiencies. But if I have learned one thing about you all these last few years, it is that you are smart, you are resilient and above all, you are talented. There is nothing you will see, say or do today that you have not seen, said, or done before. I believe in you, and I want you to try not to worry about making mistakes. If we don’t deliver this year, we will back the next one with twice the vigour.”
There were murmurs of agreement and encouragement, and Nicholas seized the moment to launch a full-scale cheer, “Long live the Brave Voyager!”
A dozen voices answered as one, “Long live the Brave Voyager!”
When it came to rousing the workers, there was none better than Nicholas. They seemed to take their energy from his and it made them work with twice the vigour and enthusiasm. His few words were all that was needed to underscore the simplicity of her own words with a sense of wilful purpose.
They finished with the workers and gave William charge of the dock while they departed for the ices. Accompanying them were two young children who stared up at them with all the love and affection that any parent could demand.
William, their youngest, ran straight for his father’s legs. He was at the age where everything was done at a hectic pace and to be absentminded for even a moment was to court disaster.
Eleanor, their older daughter had the temperament of her grandmother. A cool, inquisitive reserve with easy ancestral grace.
They stepped into the carriage and before long, arrived at Gunter’s Tea Shop.
Holly knew she would always love chocolate ices. As she stared across the table at the love of her life—she felt as she had all those years ago when he had ordered chocolate ices without needing her instructions: satisfied.
He watched her with the same intense consternation that he always had. It made her smile. There was no one like him and she counted herself among the most fortunate people on the examined earth to have Mr. Nicholas Fleming for a husband.
He rose to his feet as she finished her treat and smiled. “We should be on our way, Sybil and Connor will be waiting.”
Holly smiled as she rose to join her family, taking Eleanor by the hand.
They drew approving smiles as they walked and stepped into the waiting carriage. Eleanor wasted no time in finding her post by the window, from which point she could stare out at the changing landscape as the carriage rolled on.
Before long, they arrived at the gates to Hyde Park and the coachman drew back the reins.
William had to be restrained from bolting through the door as they made their easy dismount. They stepped past the gate and made their way to a familiar outpost beneath the coverage of a strong stately oak tree.
“Uncle Nicholas,” came the shout, even before they arrived as Sybil and Connor’s first son George came running toward them.
Nicholas caught him in a crouching embrace as their second joined in. It was a thing of everlasting intrigue how Sybil and Connor’s lives seemed to mirror their own.
Eleanor and George were barely two months apart and the younger siblings even closer in age. Their weddings had been barely months apart and here they were connected as family and happy as they had ever been.
“Mr. and Mrs. Fleming,” Connor said with a teasing smile, “It warms my heart to see you again this morning.”
Nicholas smiled. “We too are glad to see you, Mr. Walsh.”
Holly exchanged pleasantries of her own with Sybil and Connor and the picnic began.
The sun was perched at its noonday peak and the birds sang with full voice. Hyde Park was one of the very best parts of London. As close to paradise as was available to the crowned and common alike.
Nicholas dulcet baritone sounded beside her, “Do you remember when we first came here? We were just like them.”
He pointed at a young couple following the lead of the Serpentine, eyes locked tight on one another. Behind them, moving like carts behind the wagon, were a stout matronly chaperone and a thin, elegant valet.
Holly gave a small laugh. “We were nothing like that. I accepted your invitation for a walk only under duress.”
Nicholas smiled. “You only had eyes for the Duke of Exenwood then, and I was your happy accomplice in attracting his affections.”
“Did you know then? That you might have feelings for me?”
Nicholas smiled. “I did, in a way. I think I always knew that in you I would be reconciled with myself. You were always there, at the edge of my mind—a great question to which there was only one true answer. Fear, distrust, and immaturity all had their way with me at one point or another but through it all there was something about you that called out to me. So many of us long for love but lack the courage to take risks. We satisfy ourselves with decent, sometimes satisfying relationships even where love is lacking because it is safer than the unknown waters. But we cannot love rightly until we take off the mask. I was reminded of it when we were watching William learn how to walk—somehow the boy must have known that he was meant to stand on two feet, but for a time, the best he could allow himself to do was crawl. In that same way, it was hard for me to accept how easily you had stolen my heart, but the time came when I had to stand.”
Holly laughed. “I suppose then, that there is neither victor nor vanquished for you stole mine in return. I was good and ready to marry another man until you came along.”
Nicholas squeezed Holly’s hand and glanced at Connor. “What about you, old friend, did you know immediately that Sybil was the one you would love?”
Connor nodded. “She hit me like a thrown stone. Changed everything. I thought when I returned to London that I would remain a bachelor for many years before I settled at last in matrimony. I was so sure of it. From the first glance. The first time I heard her laugh. I knew my plans had to change—quickly.”
Sybil raised her chin. “It took me a while for I was not expecting Connor at all. He was so clear and honest in his affection. So gentle and kind to me. He made me laugh more than anyone ever has. How could I ever deny him?”
William and Eleanor ran across the field, giggling, and they watched as the children played with all the freedom in the world. This was what life was meant to be. An undying commitment to seizing happiness at every juncture. Five years on, she still felt that wonderful pang in her stomach whenever Nicholas touched her hand or kissed her forehead or held her close.
A figure came into view at the corner of her vision, two figures silhouetted by the afternoon sky. A young lady and her lady’s maid enjoying the weather. The young lady carried herself with an almost embarrassing freedom. The liberty of a child.
Holly narrowed her eyes. “Is that—”
“Lady Viola,” Sybil exclaimed.
Holly had never seen the woman move with such a dancer’s grace. Only then did she notice the two behind her. A little girl, perhaps a year or two older than William with long brunette curls that glistened like her mothers in the sun and a tall, handsome gentleman with a dark blue coat above black breeches.
Holly found herself smiling.
Lady Viola glanced in their direction and for one silent moment, their eyes met. Holly waved and Lady Viola’s lips curled into a smile. With a gesture to the tall gentleman, she made her way toward them.
Nicholas was the first to approach her and gave a courteous bow. “Lady Viola.”
She curtseyed in return. “Mr. Fleming,” she said with a smile. “Mrs. Fleming, and Mr. and Mrs. Walsh, it fills me with joy to see you all again.”
Connor smiled. “It was not too long ago when we were all here under entirely different circumstances.”
Lady Viola laughed. “Indeed. A lot has changed since then. I am Lady Ashcroft now.”
Holly quirked an eyebrow up at the tall gentleman who stood a few paces behind with hands clasped. “Is that your…”
“My husband, yes. Lord Ashcroft.”
At the sound of his name, the gentleman stepped forward and gave a low bow. “A pleasure to meet you all.”
Lady Ashcroft beamed. “My love, these are my old friends, the ones I have told you about. Mr. Nicholas Fleming and his wife, Mrs. Holly Fleming. Mr. Connor Walsh and his wife Mrs. Sybil Walsh.”
Lord Ashcroft nodded in acknowledgement. “My wife says great things about you all,” he nodded at Nicholas, “and you most of all, Mr. Fleming. I know you were a great help to her in a difficult time.”
Nicholas gave a crumpled smile. “You have a beautiful family, Lord Ashcroft.”
He smiled. “Thank you.”
They shook hands warmly and Lord Ashcroft offered Lady Ashcroft his arm. She took it and turned back to them. “You are all welcome to pay us a visit soon. At our home on Conduit Street. It would be a pleasure to catch up properly.”
“We certainly shall,” Holly said with a smile.
With that, the former Lady Viola Acton and her husband continued their afternoon stroll with their daughter running ahead of them.
“A happy conclusion to a most unhappy circumstance,” Connor said.
“‘From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, the place is dignified by the doer’s deed’,” Nicholas added, speaking as he always did when reciting Shakespeare.
Holly tugged at her husband’s shirt gently and he drew close. “Would you like to join me for a walk, Mr. Fleming?”
His eyebrows rose and then his lips curled into a smile. “Of course, Madam.”
***
They walked hand-in-hand along a route they had trod so many times before. The misty spray of the Serpentine prickled Nicholas’s skin as they walked.
“I wanted to tell you something,” Holly began.
Nicholas nodded. “Before you do, I feel that there is something I should say—if that is all right?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
“Something about today and all the memories that have returned to me. I just wanted to say thank you for making everything about my life complete. Without you, I do not know where I would be. I really don’t.”
Holly gave a teasing smile. “Married to some woman or the other, I trust.”
He squeezed her hand. “And not half as happy as I am now.”
They laughed together and he turned his gaze on her, wondering what it was she had drawn his aside to say.
“What is it that you wanted to tell me?” he asked.
She closed her eyes and pulled his hand over the underside of her stomach. He felt a bristling warmth and closed his eyes as he sucked in breath.
“Does this mean what I think it does?” he asked, locking eyes with her.
She blinked and nodded. “I am with child, my love. You are going to be a father to a third.”
He let out a slow, hushed breath and closed his eyes, completely overrun with joy. He dropped to a single knee and kissed her stomach twice, wrapping his arms around her. She touched the back of his neck and rolled her palm in small circles. “What did I ever do to deserve all of this?” he whispered.
“You made me a believer,” she said easily. As though it was the most obvious thing in the world.
They walked back to the picnic with beaming smiles and announced the good news to Connor and Sybil.
Connor rose to his feet and wrapped an arm around Nicholas’s shoulders. “What wonderful news! Today has given us so many reasons to celebrate.”
And celebrate they did until the sun lulled to the horizon and the park grew quiet and dim.
Nicholas stared into Holly’s eyes and smiled. Somehow, they both knew that this next chapter would be more beautiful than any that had come before.
There was nothing more human than to dance. It encapsulated so much of the human experience: gratitude, joy, passion. One need not be an expert to enjoy a dance, all that was required was a willing heart and an aspiring spirit. As Holly Walsh watched the gentlemen and ladies of the Ton dance across the polished parquet floor, she wondered if she would ever find her own perfect dance partner. A man who could share her joys and fears alike. Who would allow her to dance like no one else was in the room.
Holly had spent a year dancing at society parties. Only one man really captured her imagination. What, she reasoned, was the point in wasting her time and energy dancing when there was only one man she could ever want?
It was that particular man her eyes followed most closely. He was an excellent dancer; nimble, graceful, and assured. More than once, Holly considered moving seats to meet his eye but feared, as time went on, that such a ploy would prove obvious and indelicate.
There was a loud exhalation of breath as her friend, Sybil, slumped into the empty chair beside her. “Are you going to dance at all, or are you just going to stare at everyone else dancing?” Sybil asked.
Color rose to Holly’s cheeks. “I was not staring.”
Sybil raised an eyebrow. “Then what does one call looking fixedly at someone with eyes wide open?”
“Observing,” Holly said with a small smile.
Sybil stifled a laugh. “Observing, indeed.”
Holly raised her chin and watched the man glide across the ballroom floor. At the corner of her vision, she caught Sybil following the line of her sight and noticed who she was staring at.
Sybil narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tell me you are looking at—”
“Good evening, ladies,” came a low baritone from behind them.
They both turned around in surprise. Standing behind them, dressed in a dark velvet tailcoat above a white cravat, was Sybil’s father—Lord Thomas Spencer, Earl of Spiningdale. The ladies rose to their feet and curtsied as Lord Spencer inclined his head in a small bow.
“There is a young gentleman I would like you both to meet,” said Lord Spencer gesturing over his shoulder.
A man appeared from behind him in a dark burgundy tailcoat and even darker cravat. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a prominent jaw. He gave a deep bow as Lord Spencer made the introduction.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said with a smile as his glance settled on Sybil. “I must ask, Lady Sybil if you would be so kind as to favor me with a dance.”
Sybil glanced once at her father, who gave an approving nod, then at the tall gentleman who stood before them, then at Holly last of all.
“It would be my pleasure,” Sybil said with a smile, and they walked toward the parquet floor.
Lord Spencer gave a polite nod and strode off to view the dance closer. Holly breathed a gentle sigh of relief as she was left alone again. She was not prepared to tell anyone quite yet that she was captivated by Harold Exley, the Duke of Exenwood. That was a secret she intended to keep for as long as possible. She searched the dancefloor for him once again, but he had disappeared. She hissed out a breath and sank back into her seat.
It had been three years since she first laid eyes on the Duke of Exenwood in her father’s study. He had dark, sand-hued eyes and thick black hair that cascaded down his shoulders. His smile was his greatest asset—a smile beautiful enough to chasten or charm almost anyone the man wanted. It unsettled Holly how he could be so impossibly handsome and yet still so gentle in countenance and possessed of self-command. What more could anyone want in a husband?
She searched the dancefloor for him once more and found His Grace had not returned. She tapped her foot impatiently as she glanced over her shoulder to search the other half of the room, and her eyes fell almost immediately on the man himself. At his side was his mother, the Dowager Duchess of Exenwood, a close friend of Holly’s mother.
It was not until the Duke of Exenwood’s eyes met her own that Holly realized that the man was walking toward her. She nearly swallowed her tongue as her heart began to thump sharply at her chest. He is coming this way! To speak to me!
She gulped down a breath, wondering if this would finally be her moment. Will he finally ask me to dance?
His Grace was a few years older than her and had only ever been perfectly polite, but something about the look in his eyes gave Holly the impression that this time might be different. That he would finally see her as more than the daughter of his business associate.
She straightened and wet her lips as he approached.
“Lady Holly Walsh,” he said with a subtle bow, “how wonderful to see you again.”
“Your Grace,” Holly said with a curtsey, before repeating the gesture to his mother, “and Your Grace.”
His mother smiled, and Holly saw that the woman had the same perfect smile that the Duke had.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” the Duke asked, teasing a smile.
Not ‘til just now, Holly wanted to say. Instead, she said, “The Earl and Countess of Spiningdale certainly know how to throw a fantastic event.”
His smile widened. “They certainly do, I have had a wonderful time dancing this evening. Though I do not recall seeing you on the dancefloor, Lady Holly Walsh.”
Holly’s heart started to thump hard against her chest. This is it. He is finally going to ask me to dance.
“I have wanted to dance, I have only been waiting for a good dance partner,” she said fluttering her eyelashes ever-so-slightly. Just enough to prompt his invitation for a dance.
His mother gave an obliging smile as he leaned in and whispered, “I am sure a good dance partner will come along soon, Lady Holly.”
Holly let out a sharp gasp as the Duke pulled back from her.
“Do enjoy the rest of your evening, Lady Holly Walsh,” he said, turning away with his mother.
Holly watched him leave with open-mouthed awe. She had given him every opportunity to dance with her and he respectfully declined. She was mortified.
The duke had danced with more than half the eligible ladies in attendance and still was not prepared to offer her a single dance. Her chin sank into her neck as she sagged back into her seat.
At the edge of the dancefloor, the Duke parted ways with his mother and turned back toward Holly. Their eyes met and her heart started to beat again. He was coming toward her. She clutched tight around her arm rest as he drew nearer with each step. At last, he stood in front of her and gave her that wonderful smile.
“Actually, it occurred to me that you might not be quite so averse to dancing with me. Would you favor me with a dance, Lady Holly?”
Holly colored violently, her heartbeat quickening as she opened her mouth to speak. “I would like that, Your Grace,” she managed with an effort.
He escorted her to the dancefloor with typical grace and bowed low as the orchestra struck up the chords for the upcoming dance set. Time seemed to stand still for a moment as she stared into his eyes and then the music began to play. They danced with all the grace of veterans, smooth and seamless as they glided across the parquet floor. She felt watching eyes as they got closer, but paid them no mind, this was the beginning of her most desired dream, she would let nothing ruin that moment. She leaned into him, her head almost resting on the underside of his chin. Warmth shot through her from inside. The music slowed and she felt his hand tighten around hers.
They talked of things of trivial importance as they danced, and Holly noticed his attention wavered every so often as they moved across the floor.
“Is there something on your mind, Your Grace?” she asked as they backtracked across the dancefloor.
He stared down at her as though seeing her for the first time. “I beg your pardon, My Lady?”
“You seem distracted,” Holly said.
He slipped into an easy smile, changing the topic effortlessly, “I must say, you are a wonderful dancer, Lady Holly.”
She smiled. “As are you, Your Grace.”
She looked up at him and noticed his eyes were wandering again. This time she followed his gaze and saw his focus was locked intently on one woman in particular. Slender, with even complexion and hair piled on her head in brunette curls. Everyone in the ballroom knew who she was. Lady Viola Acton, the Diamond of the Season.
Holly felt her stomach churn as she watched the Duke. The desire in his eyes was clear as he watched the woman. If she had any doubts, they had been resolved by that stony resolution as he stared at Lady Viola Acton.
The dance came to an end and the Duke excused himself with polite haste. Holly returned to her seat to spectate and noticed that the Duke had shifted across the hall to speak to Lady Viola. Her eyes widened as she watched. Before the orchestra had even played a testing tune, he was escorting Lady Viola to the very center of the dancefloor. His smile wide and proud as she stood next to him.
The orchestra struck up a waltz and that served to set Holly’s stomach to churning once more. Together, they proceeded to dance with all the wordless passion that Holly had wanted for herself. Her eyes must have been etched with jealousy, but she did not care as she stared at them. They danced close and smooth, speaking in whispers, laughing all the while. If the Duke had seemed distracted while dancing with Holly, it was because she was not the true object of his focus. Now the truth was laid bare. Lady Viola had all his attention. Not once did his eyes leave her as they danced. Their waltz was one of peerless grace. They moved with all the perfection of veteran dance partners giving a signature performance. With each moment, Holly’s hopes grew smaller and smaller. She gritted her teeth as she found the strength to turn away. Somehow, some way, she had to help the Duke see that his happiness lay in her and not in Lady Viola Acton. How could she ever love him, the way Holly so evidently could? It simply was not possible. One way or another, I am going to make you see me…Your Grace.
Chapter One
Nicholas watched the dice roll to a stop at the corner of the table. There was a lull in the music as the orchestra dulled to strike up a new song.
“Four!” called the waist-coated dealer loudly enough for all to hear. A quiet chorus of jeers sounded around the table as they watched Nicholas’s rotten luck grow even more rotten. The dealer swiped away a gut-wrenching portion of his chips with not so much as a consolatory glance. This had not been his night, but like his father, Nicholas always believed that his luck was just a moment away from turning. In his father’s words, “Your next win is just a roll of dice away.”
He frowned as he took a long gulp from his whiskey glass.
Connor, his dearest friend, put a consoling hand on his shoulder. “Tonight is not your night, Nicholas, give up.”
Nicholas stared at Connor as he drained the rest of his drink in a single conclusive gulp. “You know me, Connor. I don’t ever give up.”
A grin blossomed on his face once more as he pushed the rest of his gambling chips to the center of the table and nodded to the dealer. “Let’s deal again, shall we?”
Connor’s mouth fell open as he saw Nicholas’ outrageous bet. He babbled something under his breath as Nicholas picked the dice up. “Nicholas, I—”
Nicholas stilled him with an outstretched hand. “Connor, tonight is the last night of our grand tour. It will not end in ill luck. Trust me.”
Connor straightened and shook his head. “All right then.”
With a single-handed flourish, Nicholas snatched the dice from the table and threw them in the air. They somersaulted twice and landed side-by-side at the corner of the table.
“Seven!” the dealer announced.
The crowd exploded in cheer. Nicholas’ face did not change. He moved with inhuman calm as he scraped the sum total of his winnings from the center of the table.
Connor watched, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You are one lucky man.”
Nicholas wagged a finger at him. “What do I always tell you, my good man? There is no such thing as luck.”
Connor smiled as he leaned back into his chair, stretching arms wide across the arm rest. They had enjoyed many good nights at Denton’s Gentlemen’s Club. Situated at the corner of St. James Square, it was a place where all men of means met to revel in the merits of their station. What set the club apart was its famous policy of secrecy—whatever happened at Denton’s stayed at Denton’s. No stories left its doors.
Nicholas had both his father’s reputation as a gambler of wicked luck and his father’s golden membership token, stamped by the late Sir George Denton himself. It felt good to be back within the walls of the Denton’s Gentlemen’s Club after so many years away. On this, the very last night of their grand tour, Nicholas was determined to have his fair share of fun and frivolity to take his mind from the troubles that always seemed to resurface whenever he returned to London.
“What’s on your mind?” Connor asked, shaking him from his contemplation.
Nicholas raised an eyebrow. “Why do you suspect something is on my mind?”
“You never play dice games. You’ve always told me that card games are the only true sport here and you have that faraway look in your eyes—like you are only half here.”
Nicholas gave a deep sigh. Connor knew him far too well.
“It is my mother,” Nicholas admitted.
Connor leaned forward. “What is wrong with her? Is she all right?”
Nicholas nodded. “She is fine, it is just…” He hesitated a moment, then continued, “…she is particularly keen that her wishes for my future be hastily accomplished in marriage.”
Connor laughed. “Ah, she is putting you on the marriage mart.”
Nicholas nodded. “She is. I understand she has already drawn up a list of veritable dowdies who would make a suitable match on account of their family connections and station.”
“Is that not a good thing? Do you not want to be married? You are certainly old enough now Nicholas.”
Nicholas narrowed his eyes. “I do want to be married. I truly do. But not on anyone else’s terms but my own and certainly not now. I would much rather learn the intricacies of business and commerce with my father than be tied down in marriage to the bore or dowdy of my mother’s choosing.”
Connor snorted. “What does your father think?”
“My father and I are quite aligned. His pre-eminent concern is to bring me into the folds of the family shipping business and tutor me in the ways of commerce. He wants me to be a captain of the industry before I am completely in my middle years.”
“And that is what you want?” Connor asked.
Nicholas sighed. “What I want is not quite so simple as any option my father and mother have provided. In all things my utmost desire is to live in fullness. In matters of both business and marriage I want my life to be prosecuted with a measure of beauty, passion, and perspective. Is that too much for one too ask?”
“Far too much,” Connor said with a laugh.
Nicholas gave a small grin. “In either case, my parents are almost at odds over the entire matter. I fear they will go to the grave fighting over my future.”
“There are a great many benefits to being a bachelor,” Connor said, “freedom most of all.”
He gestured around the room, decorated with gilded columns and pilasters, glimmering medallions and elaborate cut-glass luster.
Nicholas nodded. “I think that is what I want most of all. Freedom.”
Nicholas summoned a waiter and collected two glasses of whiskey. He passed a glass to Connor and raised the other high. “A toast to freedom,” Nicholas said.
“To freedom!” Connor agreed.
Their glasses made a soft clink when they touched, and they threw back their drinks.
Almost as soon as their drinks were gone, some women strode into the room. Connor’s laughter retreated to silence as he narrowed his eyes on the woman at the head of the group. She was slender, with even complexion. Her dress was tight to her form; it was a stunning red velvet without a hint of frippery. She smiled at them as she walked, each step an act of practiced grace.
She walked past them, and Nicholas took in the thick powdery musk of her perfume.
Connor licked his lips with anticipation as he followed them with his eyes. “What a wonderful night this might turn out to be.”
Nicholas straightened as he gave his friend an appraising look. In their five years on grand tour, Connor Walsh had proven himself to be a flirt of incredible repute. Only a few moments in the company of women was enough to set them to giggling and fluttering eyelashes. Hardly a city, town, or village passed them by on grand tour without Connor enticing one woman or the other to complete ruination. Daughters and sisters across the land had all been taken in by his playful grin and bottomless charm on their travels. But this was London.
Connor glanced over his shoulder at him. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that we are home now. I am certain that your uncle, the Duke of Waleshire, will not be pleased if you earn a reputation as a rogue in London.”
Connor shrugged his hand away. “I understand His Grace has his own hands quite full trying to marry his daughter off. Word is, she has rejected more suitors than all the women in London combined.”
“Even still. You can manage not being an unconscionable flirt for at least one night, I hope.”
Connor let his shoulders fall and raised his chin. “I suppose,” he said, turning his grin away from the women. “I suppose I should behave more like you tonight.”
Connor had not meant it as an insult but somehow it still managed to feel like a slight. Nicholas had—even as children—always been the more cautious of the pair when it came to women. He had just as much charm and self-command as Connor, but he always felt himself choosing to be reserved when in the company of women who did stimulate his intrigue. He would much rather spend his time in solitude than in the company of a woman who lacked the humor, intelligence, and wit to engage him in body and mind. The pursuit of women whose only interest in men blossomed on account of the largesse of their legacy did not interest him in the same way that it did Connor. If he was to pursue a woman in earnest, it had to be real and true.
He turned to his friend Connor and gave him a wide smile. “Perhaps we should play a game of Whist instead? It has been a while since we had the prospect of good opposition.”
Connor nodded with approval. “I would enjoy that.”
The hall before them was filled with groups of men playing games of chance, skill, and utter ruination. Here and there, courtesans prowled the room with feline grace, crooning and fluttering fans.
Nicholas directed his friend to a small table where a group of gentlemen were engaged in a game of Whist. They were allowed to join and Nicholas could immediately tell that these were men of some skill by the way the cards were dealt and handled.
As Whist partners, Connor and Nicholas were a formidable pair; the perfect balance of caution and imprudence, recklessness, and contemplation. Connor had a mind for the cards and a habit of reading his opponents gestures and manners to devastating effect. Nicholas was judicious and cool in his evaluation of the game.
They played and drank with equal gusto, allowing themselves to revel completely in this their last night of grand tour, the conclusion of one adventure-filled chapter and the inevitable introduction of another equally adventurous experience.
After their third round of whiskey, Connor slapped Nicholas around the shoulder with a wide, delirious smile. “Welcome back to London, my friend. We are going to have a fantastic time.”
Chapter Two
Holly tapped her foot silently as Mr. Winstead, the house butler, placed their teapot at the center of their table. There were four other women seated around the table—each one of them at least twice Holly’s age. Her mother, Jane Walsh, the Duchess of Waleshire, was the oldest of the women and in many respects their leader. She stared intently at Holly as the tea was poured into their cups. Holly avoided her gaze by staring up at the mural which adorned the drawing room ceiling, pretending not to notice the hot attention on her.
“So, Holly,” her mother began, “how was the Spiningdale Ball?”
Holly squirmed in her seat. It was getting more difficult with each passing event to explain to her mother why she had rejected the advances of the many eligible men who offered to dance with her.
“It was wonderful,” she lied.
The Duchess of Waleshire narrowed her eyes. “I did notice you dance with someone. His Grace, the Duke of Exenwood.”
Holly colored violently. She had hoped her mother hadn’t noticed.
“Yes, I did dance with His Grace,” Holly admitted.
Her mother’s lips curled into a smile. “Excellent. Tell me, did you let him know that the doors of Waleshire Manor are always open to him? He is of course a good business acquaintance of your father.”
Holly nodded. “I know and I am sure he knows he is welcomed here.”
The Duchess looked unimpressed but gratefully did not press the matter. “I am only looking out for you my dear daughter. I want you to be happy and to marry well.”
“I know, Mother,” Holly said.
“You have had so many eligible suitors. I hope this will be the Season you finally settle on one.”
Holly lowered her eyes. “I hope so, too.”
She sincerely did hope so. She hoped to settle on the one. Dancing at the ball had only strengthened the notion that the Duke of Exenwood was the perfect match in every way. Handsome, polite, gentle, and passionate. Everything she could ever want in a husband. She only needed to resolve the small matter of Lady Viola and help the Duke see that they were meant for each other.
Sybil’s mother, the Countess of Spiningdale took a small sip from her teacup and cleared her throat. “You have the most fantastic cheekbones, dear Holly, and your complexion is rather wonderful. I am almost certain that the right partner will come your way soon.”
Holly gave a small smile. “Thank you, My Lady.”
She retrieved a bundle of papers, tied together with a small bow, and began to slowly untie the collection. Holly knew that the papers could only be the gossip sheets from the last week. Women like her mother and Lady Sybil were known to devote hours to speculating and discussing the scandals contained in the gossip sheets until their tea ran cold. In truth, Holly had always believed that the true object of her mother’s routine tea parties was to discuss the latest scandal detailed in the gossip columns.
Holly herself was never fond of the gossip columns. She found them often to be full of idle speculation and sometimes even cruel in their allusions. It was rare for names to be published, but the codes and aliases used to disguise the identity of the subjects were deliberately easy to see through—especially for the women around her mother’s table.
“Have we read this week’s gossip sheets?” Lady Sybil asked.
She had asked the question with a cool, inexpressive glance as though it was not of great importance. But Holly knew that the scandal reports were the chief entertainment for all these gatherings.
“Not yet,” Holly’s mother said, “nothing interesting this week.”
Lady Sybil pulled the first paper from the bundle as though seeing it for the first time. She retrieved her horn-rimmed eyeglasses and read aloud:
“The Duke and the Diamond.”
Holly felt her heart sink. The Duke and the Diamond. There was no doubt whom the headline was referring to. The Diamond had been the subject of many gossip columns in the weeks since the Season began. It could only be Lady Viola Acton. The Duke then, could only be the Duke of Exenwood. Harold. Her Harold.
Holly’s mother gave her a brief, appraising glance before turning to Lady Sybil. “What does it say?”
Holly raised her teacup to her mouth to cover her quivering lips.
Lady Sybil cleared her throat. “It says here that His Grace, one of London’s most eligible young gentlemen, was seen having ices at Gunter’s Tea Shop with none other than the Diamond of the Season.”
Only when her teacup shattered on the drawing room table did Holly realize that it had slipped from her grasp. She jerked back as the hot tea spilled over the sides of the table down unto her dress.
Mr. Winstead appeared at her side, using a hand towel and apron to wipe down the spillage before it could stain the carpet.
“Are you all right, Holly?” her mother asked.
Holly narrowed her eyes and nodded. “I am fine, Mother, just …tired.”
All four women gave her a puzzled look before Lady Sybil lowered her teacup. “Should I go on?” she asked, staring down at the open gossip sheets.
Holly’s mother gave her a questioning look. Plainly the woman wanted Holly to be a part of the discussion but only if the revelations in the gossip column would not startle her.
“Excuse me, ladies,” Holly said pushing her seat back slightly, “I need to go to change my dress, it has been stained.”
Holly’s mother gave her a mournful look but nodded. “Do come back.”
Holly nodded. “I will, Mother.”
With that, she left the table in haste. Before she was out the door, she could already hear her mother restart the gossip with her friends. Her cheeks were hot with color as she broke off into the corridor and up the stairs that led to her bedchamber. She stepped inside and shut the door firmly behind her as she slumped to the floor. The Duke and the Diamond.
If she knew anything about the gossip columns, they would feature the story for at least the next week. Every article with more particular detail of the liaison between the Duke and the Diamond—what flavor their ices were, how long they spent, how much they smiled.
Holly glanced at herself in the mirror. How could she stand a chance against someone like Lady Viola Acton? A lady who had been named the Diamond of the Season with no objection from the rest of the Ton. She was not quite as tall as Lady Viola, nor was she as slender. Her hair fell in silky golden tresses, and her eyes were the bright cerulean of the deep sea. Her cheekbones at least were well regarded but she felt as though she was no competition to the likes of Lady Viola Acton.
A knock sounded at her door as she stared in the mirror.
“Who is it?”
The voice that answered was strong and assured, “your mother.”
Holly straightened and answered the door.
The Duchess of Waleshire seemed to glide into the room, her chin raised and her back straight as she moved. She was what Holly wanted to be in so many ways—elegant, beautiful, always in control.
“Your guests, Mother,” Holly said.
The Duchess made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “They will be fine, I just wanted to make sure that you were quite all right. You seemed quite shaken in the drawing room a moment ago.”
Holly drew in a deep breath. “I am fine, Mother. Thank you.”
The Duchess brushed a tress of hair aside and cradled Holly’s chin. “You are so beautiful Holly, and intelligent and bright. I hope you know that your father will do anything and everything within our power to give you what you want in life.”
Holly nodded. “I know, Mother.”
The Duchess smiled. “There are some things of course, we cannot give to you, but sometimes what you want is not what you need.”
Holly snorted, unsure if her mother referred to the Duke of Exenwood but managed to keep her expression even. “I—”
Another knock sounded at the door. Both Holly and Her Grace glanced instinctively at the door.
“Who is it?” Holly asked.
“Miriam, My Lady,” came the pitched, diffident voice of her lady’s maid.
Holly stepped toward the door and opened it. Miriam stood in the doorway, brushing her hands over her apron nervously.
“Some more guests have arrived, My Lady,” she said, glancing past Holly to the Duchess.
“Guests?” the Duchess asked, striding forward.
Miriam nodded. “The Honorable Mr. Connor Walsh.”
The Duchess gave a small smile. “At last, Connor has returned from his grand tour.” She eased past Miriam into the corridor. “I will leave you to tend to your dress, Holly. I must attend to your cousin.”
“Of course, Mother,” Holly replied.
With that, her mother nodded and followed Miriam down the corridor. Holly shut the door behind them and quickly began to find an appropriate dress. It had been at least five years since she had seen her cousin Connor and she was quite eager to see him again. It was a welcome distraction if nothing else. Anything to take her mind from the Duke and the diamond.
The dress she thought most appropriate was not in her wardrobe and she scratched her chin wondering as to its whereabouts. The scullery. Some of her clothes had only just last week been laundered.
She tugged her bell rope to summon help with fetching the dress but after a moment of waiting, no one came.
She sucked in a breath, brushed down her skirt and stepped out into the corridor. It was quiet, but she could hear the soft shuffle of feet a little further down the hall. She turned in the direction of the noise expecting to see a servant answering her bell rope. Instead, two gentlemen came into view.
The shorter of the pair, was her cousin Connor. His time away had left his face untouched, save for light whiskers at the side of his familiar smile. Their eyes met and his smile deepened as it always did when he used to tease her as a child. Holly smiled back at him but could not smile for long. Almost as soon as she saw the gentleman standing next to Connor, the breath caught in her throat.
He was tall with shoulders built for lifting. His thick tailcoat extended to the knee but could not disguise the lean, powerful shape of his calves. Even dressed as he was, it was plain that the man was cut all the way through from lean muscle. He did not smile when their eyes met, but his cinnamon brown eyes seemed to glisten at the sight of her. For a moment, Holly found herself unable to look away. Something about the man sent a strange flutter up her sternum. His eyes were dark as sin but carried a glint of earnestness that seemed faintly familiar. Where do I know him from?
Her cousin Connor cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “My dearest cousin, so good to see you.”
Holly drew in a breath and gathered herself. She could still feel the strange man’s dark eyes on her. The man was almost staring.
She avoided his gaze and turned to her cousin and dipping in a low curtsey. “It is a great pleasure to see you returned safely to us, cousin.”
Connor gave a small bow and looked up at her. “You have grown. You are not quite the little girl I left behind.”
“Everything changes with time,” Holly said with a gentle nod.
Connor touched his chin and looked up to the taller man next to him. When he realized that the man was still staring at Holly, he narrowed his eyes and put a hand on the man’s shoulder. The man’s eyes did not move. Not even a little.
Connor cleared his throat once more. “Where are my manners? I am yet to make proper introductions. Well, in this case, re-introductions.”
Holly’s eyes widened. She had seen the man before. She raised an eyebrow as her cousin stepped forward to speak.
“I don’t suppose you remember this gentleman?” Connor said, placing a hand on the taller man’s shoulder.
Holly squinted, looking at the stranger again. He had removed his hat—likely upon entering the manor house—letting short curls of ash blond hair fall across his face. He had strong features. A face of blades and sharpness. Only in his eyes could softness be found. Their eyes met again and without knowing why, Holly shrank back.
“I apologize,” Holly said, “I don’t remember you, My Lord.”
If the stranger was disappointed, his face did not show it. He only lifted his chin ever-so-slightly as though to make it easier to look down on her.
“This is…” Connor hesitated, noticing something on Holly’s dress. “Your dress,” he said, pointing.
She colored as the memory of her mission to the scullery returned to her. How embarrassing. She covered the stain with her hand and stepped back from the pair. “I managed to spill some tea on it only a moment ago,” she explained.
“Oh, dear,” Connor said.
“If you would forgive me, good sirs, I must attend to my dress.”
“Of course,” Connor said, stepping aside.
The stranger only narrowed his eyes and nodded.
Their eyes met one last time and that strange flutter in her stomach returned. Sudden as a slap, she could recall where she had seen the man before. Nicholas.
It had been some time since she had last seen him, but now it seemed obvious it was him. His body had transformed and everything about his face had changed but his quiet earnestness remained the same. Looking at him, it was as if a sculptor had worked to chisel his once baby-round face to strong, masculine sharpness.
In her childhood, Nicholas had always been right next to Connor in teasing and making fun of her. A quiet boy at the most of times but with a sharp, barbarous wit. Now, here he stood, all the way a man with a look that spoke to all the new experience of his grand tour. Everything changes with time.
Perhaps it was the sudden glint of recognition in her eyes or her undue hesitation in departing. Whatever it was, Nicholas did not say a word. He opened his mouth as though to speak, then closed it and only stared down at her.
They stood there, in strange silence for a moment. She felt the color rise to her cheeks and blinked as her hand fell to the side. Then she sucked in breath, hunched her shoulders and gave a faint smile. “If you would be so kind as to excuse me, my lords.”
They both gave gentle nods of affirmation.
With that, she made her way past them in the corridor, shifting hastily to avoid any cause for a backward glance.
***
Nicholas watched her walk away, his stare barely shifting from her silhouette. She remembered me. It was nice to know that he had not become a forgotten anecdote in the years he had spent away. When he left five years ago, Lady Holly Walsh had been late in her girlhood. More likely to be caught running barefooted through the gardens than to be fretting over a tea stain on her dress. She was only a few years younger than him, but it was astounding how much she had seemed to grow in the time since he had been on grand tour. When she spoke, it took an almost inhuman effort not to consider her lips. When he had tried to avoid her lips, he found himself staring at her elegant neck. When he managed to drive his eyes away from her neck, his gaze found her bosom. At last, he found himself staring into her eyes—pools of endless blue-green and more arresting than anything before. She was all woman now, he made no mistake.
Nicholas had traveled far and wide and met more than his fair share of women, but it had been many years since he’d been struck by such an unmistakeable pang of intrigue as when he saw Lady Holly under the lantern light.
It was not simply that she was pretty. Of that, there had never been a doubt—she was beautiful by any measure. There was more to her—something completely invisible that seemed to heighten her appeal. It ran deeper than mere beauty and he could not manage to figure out exactly what it was. He rubbed his chin as her silhouette disappeared around the corner. Now is not the time for a lady. His father’s shipping company, he had long decided, was his priority. He tightened his fist and forced himself to look away.
Connor gave a low groan to draw his attention.
Nicholas turned toward his old friend with a pointedly nonchalant turn. “What was it we used to call her again?”
A mischievous smile spread across Connor’s face. “Holly the Dolly.”
Nicholas nodded with a small smile. “She was so skinny with those long arms.”
“And the pigtails she always wore,” added Connor.
A moment of silence passed. “She is not quite so skinny anymore,” Nicholas said, “and her arms suit her size now.”
Connor gave him an appraising look. “I suppose so.”
Nicholas felt color rising to his cheeks and quickly changed the subject. “Perhaps you can show me around this place again, it has been far too long.”
Connor smiled and stepped forward. “With pleasure.”
“Eleonora,” Ida called out as she walked out of the orphanage and entered the garden to search for her little girl. “Nora?” she called again. She smiled when she saw two boys hurry in her direction and then past her, and she hoped her daughter Eleonora was in the direction they had come from.
Elias had travelled to Wellington to see his sister and her new baby girl, and Ida had chosen to stay and care for Eleonora in Chelsea until he returned. She would have liked to join him but decided she’d rather not be jolted and shaken into giving birth in a carriage. While the nanny fixed meals or sorted Eleonora’s clothing, Ida played with her daughter in the garden or told her stories in the nursery.
“My lady… you should not stress yourself,” Elizabeth said from behind her and came closer to assist Ida.
“I haven’t seen Nora all day. I thought she was out here playing in the garden, but I can’t find her,” she said. When she finished her sentence, she spotted her daughter crouched behind the huge oak tree, and relief flooded through her.
“Mother,” Eleonora called when she turned and saw Ida and Elizabeth. Ida laughed as Nora ran towards her and wrapped her arms around her mother’s legs. She leaned forward a bit and touched her daughter’s head.
“How are you, honey? I haven’t seen you in a while and I was looking everywhere for you.”
Ida saw tears in her daughter’s eyes as she spoke, and she frowned. “What is it? Why are you crying?”
Elizabeth knelt down to be on the same eye level as Eleonora, and Ida watched as Elizabeth wiped her tears away.
“Some boys took my diary, and they were teasing me about it,” Nora replied in a tearful voice. “I tried to get it back from them, and they ended up ripping it in two.”
“Oh, honey,” Ida said and took the book that her daughter’s small hands extended to her. “You don’t have to cry about this; I will get you another one if that’s what you want.”
“I don’t want them to laugh at me, mama,” she replied in an agonized tone, as Ida admired her daughter’s lovely face.
She smiled and signaled to Elizabeth to leave them alone for a bit. When they stood in the garden alone, she put a hand on Nora’s cheek and smiled at her. “I will tell you a story about a girl who kept a diary and how she met the love of her life because of it,” Ida said and led Nora to the tree so they could sit there together.
A little later, she had finished the story of how she met Elias for the first time because of her missing diary, and the good memories they had created together from that day forward.
“So, you see, you might meet the love of your life through a diary, too, honey,” she said finally, framing Nora’s cheeks with both hands so she could kiss the top of her head.
Eleonora giggled, her mood lighter, and Ida hugged her for a long time. She was smiling when she pulled back and was about to rise to her feet when she heard Elias’s voice behind her.
“Papa,” Eleonora squealed and hurried away from Ida to hug him. Ida saw him lift her off the ground, swirl her around in the air, and kiss her cheek before setting his daughter on her feet again.
“How are my two favorite women?” he asked as he helped Ida to her feet, then put his hand on her stomach before kissing her on the lips.
“I am well; how was your trip?”
“It was not the same without you, my love, but it was satisfactory because Hannah is safe, and her daughter is a beautiful, healthy baby,” he responded.
His hand moved to Ida’s back, and she laughed as she leaned her head on his shoulder and allowed him to lead her out of the garden. Eleonora, walking beside them, tugged at Elias’s hand.
“Mama told me a story about a little girl and how she met the love of her life through her diary,” she announced, giggling as she showed him the torn diary she held. “I will a keep a diary from now on, papa,” she added.
“That is a brilliant idea,” he agreed, “just be careful what kind of lists you make, and you’ll find someone worthy of your love when the time comes.” Elias took a moment to brush a hand over Eleonora’s cheek before he met Ida’s eyes, and they exchanged a reminiscent smile.
Ida felt heat rush to her cheeks because she read the passion in the way he looked at her, and she flushed at the very thought of it.
“Making lists is very exciting. In fact, I have just started writing on my old diary again too”, Ida said pointedly.
“But haven’t you found the love of your life, mama?” Eleonora asked, confused.
“Of course, my dear. That’s why I started it again, because I want to keep him forever”, she said as she looked lovingly at her husband.
That night, after returning home, she lay in Elias’s arms and listened to him talk about his trip to Wellington, and how well his family there was doing. She was glad he had them now.
“Once the baby is born, they will all come for a visit here, and you will get to meet Hannah’s little baby girl. She is so beautiful, and the duchess says she looks just as Hannah did when she was younger.”
“I am sure she is,” Ida replied and snuggled deeper into him. “How is the duchess?” Ida hadn’t seen Elias’s stepmother since Hannah’s wedding a year ago, and Elias had often been worried about her.
For a while, after the Duke of Wellington’s death, the duchess had distanced herself from everyone while nursing her grief. Ida could only hope that things were better with her now.
“She is well,” Elias replied. “I saw her smile more often during my visit; it seems that Hannah’s safe delivery and the child have brought her a new source of joy. That gladdens me.”
“Me too,” Ida agreed.
His hand came around her waist, and he pressed a kiss into the side of her neck. “I missed you,” she heard him say as his hand came around to cup her abdomen. “So much.”
“I missed you more,” she replied, “which is why I prepared a little surprise for you”, she finished as she went to her bedchambers to bring her gift, and returned in her husband’s arms. “Like I said in the morning, I have started making lists again”, she said teasingly as she gave her old diary to him. As soon as he flicked through the pages, his eyes widened. When he turned to her, she flushed at his lustful gaze.
Ida positioned herself so she could accept his kiss on the lips, and she kissed him back, pouring everything she felt for him into it.
“Do you think we will have a girl?” he asked when his kisses moved from her lips to her neck. She arched, moaning and giving him access to bring the kisses down to her cleavage.
Ida sighed when he kissed his way back up, and then pecked her on the cheeks. When he propped his head on one elbow to stare down at her, she felt a snap inside her, followed by liquid trickling down her thighs.
Her eyes widened and sought his, and, in spite of the painful cramp that followed the breaking of her water, she found herself unable to hold back a burst of laughter that erupted from deep inside her.
Tears of joy stung her eyes, and she whispered, her throat tight as the pain of her labor spread slowly. “I think we’re about to find out.”
Elias’s jaw dropped, and he asked in a shaky voice as he rose from the bed, “The baby’s coming?”
“The baby is coming,” she squealed, unable to hide her own joy as another wave of pain struck, this time forcing a groan from her lips.
Ida gave birth to a baby boy that night, and, together, she and Elias named him William. Her little family was growing, and the joy that brought—the happiness that she shared with Elias— was more than she had ever dreamed possible. Now, she had only a few things left on her new list. Elias had promised to help her cross them out. And they would start tonight. Of course, who knows, she might have already added one or two more…
***
Exciting things I would like to do with a man…
Fall in love with a gentleman.
Explore England with the man I love.
Kiss him until I’m breathless.
Ride with him in a carriage and have him hold my hand.
Look into his eyes and feel my heart thump in my chest.
Sneak out of a ball to meet my love, watch the starry night together, and lean into him to enjoy the warmth of his arms.
Dance in his arms, our movement a mimicry of what we do under the moonlight when I am naked in his arms.
Allow my love to help me undress.
Eat a late supper alone and spend the night reading poetry to each other.
Kiss him under the moonlight.
Pretend to be married for a night.
Make love until dawn.
Go horse riding with the man I love.
Spend a night under the moonlight making love.
Steal touches at a grand public event.
Kiss a man in a carriage and make love to him under the stars.
Let my love touch me in public.
Seduce him in the middle of the day.
To love and be loved.
List no 2: Exciting things I’d like to do to Elias…
“Ignore him,” he heard a boy say as his path took him close to the group in the orphanage yard. Much too close for comfort.
Elias ignored the mockery in the boy’s voice and, careful to avoid eye contact with anyone, continued down his path. Please, please, please do as he tells you. Just let me go by. Pay no attention to me. He passed the group of boys and entered the much quieter garden area. He preferred to be here alone, and, whenever he got the chance, he would try to stay out of sight behind a huge oak tree there.
It still puzzled Elias why those boys were so hateful to him. Yes, he was somewhat smaller than others his age, and they were a little older and taller, but he had never given them any cause to beat him the way they so often did.
They weren’t the only reason he hated it here though. Elias had been much happier—and better fed, at the slum orphanage in Cheapside, where he had spent the first three years of his life. At least he had not been mistreated by anyone there. The owner of that orphanage had been a kindly old man.
Unfortunately, the man had also been increasingly ill. When he died from a fever, Elias was three, and the children had been moved to other institutions throughout London. He had been unlucky enough to end up here in this orphanage in the area of London called Chelsea.
Elias heard a tiny meow somewhere nearby, and he began searching for the animal. If it was in distress, he might be able to help. The meows continued, and Elias followed the sound until he spotted a white kitten curled into a ball.
“I found you,” he muttered as he moved closer to it carefully so he didn’t scare it away. Elias picked the animal up and stroked its fur as he made it comfortable in his hand. “Have you been hurt? What can I do to make you feel better?”
A smile crept up his lips when the kitten purred and lowered its head to lick his hand. “I can tell you are grateful, and in dire need of attention. Let us have a drink from the pond, then.”
Elias first looked back toward the yard where the boys were, and, seeing no one there at that moment, he made his way to the pond at the end of the garden. If no one came looking for him, he would be able to sit by the pond until it was time for the night meal.
The master here would yell while one of his assistants rang the bell, and the boys would gather round in the large courtyard to queue up for their meal. They were always given bowls of soup that made Elias’s stomach hurt, so he didn’t eat it. It was better to go to bed hungry than to feel sick all night; he could sometimes fill up at breakfast anyway.
I wish I had a regular home, and wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a brother or sister to talk to?
He stopped by the pond and released the kitten, chuckling to himself as it lapped at the water to its fill. He enjoyed spending time with animals because they showed him love when humans did not.
He vividly remembered his first night here. The caretaker had shown him to a cramped space where his mat lay, and he had buried himself under the blanket they offered, shutting his eyes tight and trying to force himself to sleep even though it wasn’t bedtime yet and he was aware of the other boys staring at him for a long time.
The next morning, he got beat up for going to bed early. That earned him the nickname ‘baby’—not said with any kindness although he was only three years old at the time. It felt even worse now that he was six.
Elias was so engrossed in encouraging the kitty that he did not hear anyone creep up behind him until something hard poked him in the ribs.
“Ouch,” he yelped, and turned around.
“Baby,” one boy yelled and shoved him to the ground. He landed hard on his behind, and pain erupted through him. “Ye talking to a cat?” his attacker jeered. “Do ye not have something better to do? Maybe add more animals to the list that you talk to?”
The others laughed hard. Their bodies shook from the force of it, and their eyes gleamed with mischief.
“I do not want any trouble,” Elias said, gathering himself from the ground and backing away from them. He knew how confrontations such as this ended; he had experienced them often enough.
He raised both hands in the air and added. “Please.”
They mimicked his plea and giggled as they surrounded him. Elias’s pulse kicked up a notch, and his heart hammered in his chest.
He felt the urge to run but knew he could not outrun the four of them. These boys were one of the reasons he had been so miserable here. The other reason was the mean master; between them, they made it difficult for him to get through each day.
What did I do to deserve such dislike?
“You know it is enjoyable watching you this way,” the red-headed boy among them said. “My mother was not English, and every time my father liked, he would hit her. Why do you think that is? It is because she was weak, just as you are.”
Elias wiped his lips with the back of his right hand, and his fists formed a ball at his side. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and he dropped his head, avoiding their gazes as they continued laughing among themselves.
“I don’t understand it. Why do you fancy animals? What do you hear when they look at you? Do you hear them speak?” another boy teased and landed a blow to his stomach. Elias grunted and tried to get away, but one of the boys gripped him by the collar of his shirt, and another hit him again, harder this time.
Elias broke out in a sob and crouched. As he wrapped his arms around his stomach, he noticed the cat leaping away from the scene into the fields, and his heart sank.
“I do not want any trouble; I just want to go back inside the shelter,” he said after struggling to endure the pain and catch his breath again.
A kick to his ankle sent him spiraling to the ground, and this time, he could not get up. They punched him, each of them taking turns to ram their fists into his mid-section.
Ignoring his cries, they continued, kicking him until his sides were sore and dirt from the ground covered his ragged clothes. One of them gripped a fist full of dirt and grabbed his hair to raise him up. Elias didn’t have time to think before the dirt reached his lungs and blurred his eyes.
Feeling as though he couldn’t breathe, he coughed and spat out most of it, but the taste still lingered.
Elias cried out, groaning as they laughed and kicked him harder. His ankle hurt, and the constant blows to his stomach and sides made him feel as though he were going to be sick from the pain.
When they had had their fill, they stepped away, and he struggled to get up again. Between the bruising on his face and the dirt in his eyes, he could barely see them.
“You want to fight back?”
“I doubt he can. He’s scared, too,” hist first attacker jeered, and kicked his side again.
Elias panted, trying to control the anger flooding him even though he could do nothing. He could not fight these boys, not when he didn’t have anyone on his side to defend him.
I’m all alone.
“Let’s leave him to go back to kitty talking, yeah?”
They cackled, and the shrill sound of their voices floated around him as they turned to walk away. One of them spared a moment to look back at him as he got up and leveled a blow at his face.
Elias jerked back from the impact and fell to the ground, pain erupting in his skull. He felt the warmth of his blood trickle down from his nostrils as wind left his lungs, making him dizzy for a second. Then he slid into the darkness that had only been hovering around him seconds ago.
***
The next time he opened his eyes, there was a dull throb in his temple. He tried to say something, but all that came out of his tight throat was a croak.
Elias blinked, fighting the fogginess in his brain. He tried to make out the blurry face above him or understand the sounds he heard nearby, but it was too much of a struggle. He gave up for the moment.
Somewhat later, he was able to focus on the face in his view. The angelic, heart-shaped face of a young girl with wide, blue eyes boring into his. He had never seen anything more beautiful, yet the image was so intense that it sent a shiver through him, even in his pain-dazed state.
Elias slipped away again even as he tried to hold on to the sound of her desperate voice, calling on him. He did not know what was happening, but he suspected that he was dying and this angel was waiting for him.
It was the only logical explanation for this dream he was having; or had the blow to his head been that hard?
He gained full consciousness sometime later in the middle of the night, and, when he looked around and realized he was in the infirmary, his fright doubled.
Elias hated the boys in the dormitory, but he hated the nurse more. Every boy who had to go to the infirmary returned afraid of the place.
He did not know what happened here, but boys were never the same after a stay.
He clutched the sheets covering his body and whimpered when he heard the chair scraping. Elias could only make out shadows of the nurse in the room.
“I know you are awake there,” she said. “You fainted for a long time. You are lucky that little girl came to get my help.”
His heart jumped for a second, and he swallowed the terror clamping his throat shut.
“You’ve suffered much from the torture of your beating, but it is best you return to your dormitory before the master finds out. You have many, large bruises, but they will heal.”
Elias could not understand why the woman was kind to him. “Th…. thank you,” he stammered and scrambled around until his feet touched the floor.
His ankle still ached, and his ribs and nose pained him greatly, but she was right. It was best the master did not find him in the infirmary. If they tossed him out for being sick, then he would have nowhere else to go.
“Do not let them do that to you, boy,” she said when he reached the door. Elias still could not see her because it was so dark in the chamber, and he wondered how she went around her duties properly. “Stand up for yourself, and fight to survive—if you do not, you will never make it to three and twenty in those merciless streets. Weakness is not for people such as you and me.”
He heard the chair scrape against the floor again, and Elias turned the door handle. Stilling his thumping heart, he slipped out of the infirmary and ran down the dark corridor, making his way to the dormitory. When he finally reached his corner, he folded himself under his blankets and finally released the breath caught in his throat this entire time.
That night, the nurse’s words replayed in his head—over and over again.
Weakness is not for people such as you and me.
Elias knew in his heart what the words meant, and he made a vow there and then. He would survive in this brutal world, and when he did—he would make sure no that one ever tortured children again. Ever.
Chapter One
Sixteen years later
Ida Arnold enjoyed the time she spent at the orphanage. She enjoyed spending time in the garden with its pond and huge oak tree, but, most of all, she loved spending time with the children.
The orphanage had changed much over the years, but, for her, one thing was constant. She had to always make sure the children here were as happy as they could despite lacking many things. It was why she visited so often, even though it made her father angry.
She grew up loving this place. Whenever she came, there were children like her who looked as though they needed more than just a place to sleep. Even as a little girl, Ida had known that these children needed love and attention; and they weren’t getting it. That’s why she brought treats from the house and shared with them. Their smiles always brightened her day.
Ida entered the main building through the side doors, and, as usual, a crowd of children ran towards her, each of them clamoring for a chance to hug her or feel a gentle pat on their hair. Their smiles were all she needed usually, and her mood brightened.
“How are you all?” she asked, joining in their laughter as they celebrated her visit. “Quiet down, calm down,” she urged, and untied the bonnet on her head.
“How long will you stay, Miss Ida?” a little girl named Mary asked, flashing her set of milky white teeth with two missing at the front. “Have you come to see us?”
“Will you tell us a story?” another chirped in before she could answer the first question. “You promised the last time you came to visit.”
“Please tell us a story.”
“Yes, we love your stories.”
Ida released a soft chuckle. “Alright, alright… I will tell you a short story today, but we all must gather in the infirmary to listen to it. Also…” She paused and reached into the reticule she carried. “I brought sweets.”
They met her announcement with another round of jubilation, and Ida led the crowd to the old infirmary. She knew her way around the orphanage as well as if it were her own house; sometimes she even preferred being here to being at home.
She sighed when they entered the empty room, and they settled down on the floor while she took the only chair.
The room smelled musty, as they had not used it in years. Since Ida was six, the nurse who ran the infirmary had passed away, and her father had failed to replace her. Over the years, she grew to realize he didn’t care for the orphanage at all. The place was a source of income for him as the wealthy would make huge donations frequently, and he used them to fund his excessive gambling.
She could remember sitting in a corner of the garden every day they came here—too terrified to say anything about the way he treated the children and the staff. The one time she dared speak when she was six, the unflinching glare he tossed at her, had sealed her lips.
Even then, I feared his wrath.
Their manor was a stone’s throw from the Chelsea orphanage, and she always whined to join him on his visits there. Ida inhaled a deep breath as his harsh words floated through her mind.
Get inside, and stay there until I ask for you, Ida, else I will make sure you never come here again.
He had wanted to speak with the master. He never thought there was more to running an orphanage. Regardless of his complete lack of interest in the orphans, Ida still held compassion for the children; none of that changed over the years.
“Today, we will talk about Robin Hood,” she began. The children fixed their expectant eyes on hers and warmth filled her heart.
This is the little I can do to bring them some happiness, she thought as she launched into her story.
She hoped that the new owner was going to take better care of the children.
“I am doing this for our good, Ida,” her father had said to her on the day he signed the papers for the sale of the orphanage. “Soon you will need to wed a fine young man, and your husband will expect the traditional monetary settlement from me. I am doing this for you.”
His words should have engaged her interest in the decision, but they repulsed her instead; she knew her father too well. Henry Arnold did not care for anyone but himself. Even with his position as the Earl of Chelsea, all that concerned him were the social benefits of the title.
“I want to hear about Robin Hood,” a boy sitting near her feet said and tugged the hem of her skirts, pulling her out of her thoughts.
Ida crossed her fingers and laid her hands on her lap. “Alright then… the story goes like this. Long ago, there was a man named Robin, a noble thief, and he lived in the county of Nottinghamshire…”
She began narrating the tale exactly how she remembered it being told to her by her governess when she was little, and Ida made the same facial expressions to keep the light tone of the story. Their laughter was her satisfaction and one tale stretched into another until she had completely lost track of the time.
Ida hoped her stories brightened their day just as being with them brightened hers.
***
The last time he had been here, he hoped he would never return. This orphanage was where he learned to be the man he was today, but the very thought of the place spiked anger through him.
Elias walked through each corridor of the old building, and every step reminded him of the horror he had lived here. How much he had hated that life, and how desperate he had been to get away.
He had gotten out, thrived, and climbed the social ladder; now, he gloried in his success. He had come so far and achieved so much, due solely to his hard work.
Maybe he owed one achievement to the former owner of the orphanage, the Earl of Chelsea. Henry Arnold’s gambling problem had created an opportunity for Elias to buy this building, and now he owned the place that had caused him so much pain as a child. He could finally get rid of that weak bit of his past by tearing the place apart and rebuilding it as it should have been in the first place. With love.
When he first saw the newspaper post announcing that the orphaned children’s shelter in Chelsea was for sale, he decided to ignore it. He had no desire to be back in this place of torment, but, in the end, he could not rid the thought of what might happen to the children if someone as selfish as the Earl of Chelsea purchased the orphanage.
He decided he could change and improve everything about this place to make sure the children here had a different experience than the one he had had when he lived here years ago.
Otherwise, no one would care for them or this place. It would become another of England’s institutional failures.
He walked past the former nursery, and, as he rounded the corner to check on the renovation in the dormitories, the sound of childish chatter and giggles caught his attention.
This part of the building was closed off from the others because they were yet to start any repairs here, so he had not expected to see or hear anyone.
Interested, Elias took a quick detour, and walked towards the room where the voices were coming from. Without hesitation, he turned the knob, and his steps faltered when he spotted a woman sitting in front of the children, a big smile on her heart-shaped face as she spoke to them.
She turned when the door creaked, and her eyes met his. His breath stopped in his throat, and every other thing around him stilled for a second.
She had the bluest eyes he had ever seen, and they stared right through him, causing heat to rush to the back of his neck. Her eyes flickered over his for a minute, and her brows formed an arch.
Elias stood at the door and took in her looks. In addition to her captivating eyes, he immediately noticed her freckles and the pointed shape of her nose; how pretty! She blinked, and her full lashes bounced over her eyes twice, catching his attention. Elias knew he had never seen a more beautiful woman.
Her cheeks turned a rosy pink color; it most likely embarrassed her that he stared for so long, but he did not care. He allowed his gaze to move over the rest of her.
Her soft blonde curls framed the sides of her face. He imagined them up on top of her head, so he could see the creamy skin of her neck properly. She eyed him cautiously, and he noticed the pure innocence reflected in her eyes. There was no flirtation there; just simple curiosity. It stirred something in Elias, and he couldn’t bring himself to draw his eyes away.
Who is this woman?
Elias pulled himself out of his thoughts and stepped into the room. Silence filled the air, and he felt the curious eyes of the children land on him as he walked towards the lady.
She bolted out of the chair, her fingers stilled linked in front of her, but she held onto his gaze. There was something about the way she looked at him—something about the way her blue eyes pierced him that made his pulse race in a way he had never experienced before.
“Do you work here? Or are you visiting?” Elias asked in a light, teasing voice as he raked his gaze over the full length of her body this time. She had a small frame and was shorter even than his medium height. The dress she wore hugged her curves perfectly, its sash tied in a bow so beautiful, just like the rest of her.
His eyes dropped to her linked fingers, and one corner of his lips quirked up when he saw her fiddle with the fabric of her dress.
She is shy; nervous even.
The dress was a creamy shade with green embroidery that gave it a unique look, and he noticed the low neckline exposing more silky skin at her cleavage.
When she didn’t reply to his last question, he decided that she wasn’t a member of the staff. Besides, she certainly wasn’t dressed as an employee. “I did not know the children had any visitors today.” He stopped in front of her and caught a whiff of her scent. His heart began a slow dance when it reached his nostrils, but he did not allow his eyes to drift over her again.
Floral… perhaps lilacs mixed with lavender. He loved it, just as he loved the tendrils of her hair falling to the edges of her face. Her lips parted slightly as though she wanted to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, she licked her lower lip.
The sight sent heat through him, and that startled Elias. He had met a lot of women over the years, but none of them had had this instant effect on him. Her eyes left his for a second to look at the children, and he noticed the softness in her gaze.
He looked at her again; this time his eyes narrowed. “I asked a question. Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
“You do not have to worry about me. I…I was just leaving,” she stammered instead of responding to his question. Her voice was a breathy sound, and it washed over him instantly, causing a slow hum in his blood.
Even her voice is beautiful.
He watched her grab her reticule from the chair and wave at the children before dashing for the door. As she breezed past him, he caught another whiff of her scent and released a soft, unexpected chuckle.
The children scurried out after her, and he stared after them in shock, wondering what they had been doing before he came in. The room had emptied now, and he looked around.
There was something familiar about the woman. Maybe it was the shyness he sensed or the way she stared right into him in spite of it.
I feel as though I have seen those eyes somewhere, but I can’t place it. Elias didn’t think they had ever met, but he couldn’t shake away the warmth of familiarity that rushed through him.
A tingle raced up his spine, and he inhaled sharply. The air that filled his nostrils carried her scent; it still lingered in the room, even though she had left.
Elias turned to walk to the door, but he gave the room one last look before he did. His eyes landed on a book lying under the chair the lady had occupied, and, with quick steps, he went to retrieve it. As soon as it was in his hand, he saw it was a diary. Elias never kept such a thing personally, because he had never seen any need for it.
His time was occupied with work, activities at the docks, reports from the managers of his shops, and dinners or meetings with wealthy gentlemen of the ton who needed to do business with him.
This probably belongs to her. He looked at the diary, contemplating whether he should keep it or chase after her to return it.
He flipped through the pages until one caught his attention, and his brows arched when he read the first few lines out loud.
Fall in love with a gentleman
Explore England with the man I love
Elias scoffed and turned to the next page, shaking his head at the gullible but enticing ideas she had scribbled down.
He completely forgot about his walk around the orphanage, and, instead, he dropped into the chair, crossed his legs in front of him, and began looking through the diary more slowly.
Whoever this woman was, she believed in that fairy tale called love.
He knew it was wrong to read through someone else’s private thoughts, but he couldn’t help the curiosity tunneling through him. Whoever this woman was, she certainly had a vivid imagination.
Elias enjoyed reading through her notes, and he admired her elegant handwriting. What called him the most was the title of the list she had made in her diary.
Exciting things I would like to do with a man…
Chapter Two
Ida realized she had read the same line at least twice when one particular sentence began to look very familiar. She closed the book with a sigh, lay on her bed, and closed her eyes for a second, trying to ward off thoughts of the stranger she had met earlier. He had very familiar eyes, and the smile on his lips hinted at danger.
He is the most handsome man I have seen in the whole of London. Even now in her room, it felt as though his dark eyes were still pinned on hers, and she couldn’t break free from the breathlessness she felt when he looked at her. The square shape of his face and hair as dark as night gave him unforgettable looks, and that image was ingrained in her memory already.
If she was being honest, he was definitely a distraction. With a sigh, she flopped over to her side on her bed, and buried her face in her pillows. His face popped into her mind again, the dark brooding eyes that bore into hers when she saw him standing there by the doorway.
Too engrossed in her story that afternoon, she hadn’t noticed the intruder until he walked into the room and asked her a question in a deep baritone that immediately sent a shiver down her spine.
There is something about the way he looked at me…. Who could that man be?
Ida groaned, and this time she sat upright, tossing the sheets covering her body aside. She slipped out of bed and walked to the windows to stare out into the starry night.
Her father’s loud drunken voice reached her bedchamber from the drawing room, where he spent so much time with his friends. At this ungodly hour, they were drinking over a chess game, and she hated nights such as this the most because she could get no sleep.
Why does he have to do this every night? Why do I have to endure this?
Ida hated her life most of the time; she wished there was a way things would turn out differently for her. With a father who had the reputation of a rake, it was impossible to go through each day without having to read of his latest scandal in the morning post.
The ton in London thrived on tearing each other down in their gossip, and her father was frequently discussed. She was used to see mention of him in the papers or see the looks in her direction from other ladies of the ton who whispered behind their fans when she passed by in her coach.
Ida had eventually learned to keep to herself. Her only friend was Elizabeth, her lady’s maid, and she was content with that. There was a time when she had wished for more, but Ida had grown to realize that she found comfort in her books and her time in the orphanage. She really didn’t need any more than that.
He can’t ever get over his gambling problem, she shook her head.
With a sigh, Ida returned to bed, and picked up the book she was reading. This time, she channeled her attention to the words on the paper. Her eyes skimmed each line, and she got lost in the world created by the story again.
She stumbled on a good line and instinctively reached for the diary on her nightstand. Whenever she read, she liked to note down her favorite lines, or words she did not know the meaning of.
It helped her ponder them later when she did a little daydreaming. Ida dropped the book and glanced at her nightstand when her hands did not touch the book.
“I always keep it here,” she muttered, a frown crossing her forehead. She rose from her bed again and went to check the reticule hanging on her chair.
My diary is missing…
The thought came with a mix of panic and fear, causing her pulse to skyrocket. In that diary, she wrote her most private thoughts…. In that diary, she kept things that no one could ever see!
How could I be so careless?
She willed her mind to stop racing and sucked in a deep breath. Okay Ida, relax and think.How did I misplace it? I am usually very careful with my diary.
She recalled taking the diary to the orphanage earlier that day because she noted down stories for the children in it. It occurred to her then that she must have left it in the room where she had been telling stories to the children.
Ida’s panic subsided a bit because she was fairly confident of where she had lost the diary, but the other thing that plagued her mind was the possibility of someone seeing what she had written in it.
Her mind wandered to the dark-haired brooding stranger again, and she shuddered.
A rumble of laughter reached from downstairs again, and Ida’s irritation at her father’s activities grew. She returned to her reading, hoping it would occupy her mind for the rest of the night, and, in the morning, she would hurry to the orphanage to retrieve her diary.
First thing in the morning, she promised herself as she settled in with the book again and continued reading until she fell asleep minutes later. She hoped it had not gotten into the hands of someone who would read her inner thoughts and make it public.
***
Kiss him until I’m breathless.
Look into his eyes and feel my heart thump in my chest.
Steal touches in a grand public event
This woman’s words intrigued him, and, with each page of the diary Elias read, he wanted to meet her in person again.
He pictured her, staring at him with those wide, innocent eyes and rushing out of the room as if she were making an escape. There aren’t many shy women in London that possess such innocent and yet wild beauty, Elias concluded.
From her writing, he could guess the woman she was. Inexperienced was the word to describe her, but, then again, if one read her inner thoughts without first meeting her in person, they would think she was a vixen.
He snapped out of his thoughts and closed the diary when a soft knock on his study door alerted him.
“Come in.”
The door opened, and the head nurse of the orphanage walked in.
“You sent for me, sir,” she said and curtsied.
“Yes, I did, Mrs. Agnes. I’d like to know… who is the young lady who visited the orphanage today? She gathered the children in the old infirmary and told them stories…” Elias paused, and the woman waited for him to continue. “It’s just, I did not know the children had any guests who would care to read them stories.”
“She is Ida Arnold, sir. She is one of the very few people who visit the children frequently.”
“Ida Arnold?” he repeated. “As in Arnold, Earl of Chelsea?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Agnes replied with another curtsey. Elias finally realized why the young woman had looked so familiar. He had probably seen her in the past when he lived here.
“The daughter of the Earl of Chelsea,” he muttered under his breath, his lips curving into a mischievous grin as one line from the list in her diary played in his head.
6. Sneak out of a ball to meet my love, watch the starry night together, and lean into him to enjoy the warmth of his arms.
A light chuckle escaped his lips, and he swung his chair around, marveling at this twist of fate. The earl’s daughter often visited his orphanage, and, now, he had a book containing her thoughts in his possession.
An image of the lady entered his mind, and he indulged in it. The woman he had met that day possessed a look of innocence—pure enough to confuse anyone before they heard her father’s status.
Her wide eyes had called to him, and he hadn’t been able to look away from her.
“You may leave,” he said without looking at the head nurse. His mind was still focused on the image of the woman in his head.
The nurse curtsied before leaving his study, and Elias picked up the diary again with a mischievous grin forming on his lips.
