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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Raphaella turned around toward the voice. She was pleased to see Lord Westmore walking along the terrace, his wife with him. Raphaella herself was standing on the far side of the terrace at Westmore, looking out over the late summer gardens.
“We plan to go to the coast for a while,” Raphaella told him, feeling a twinge of excitement. “My uncle has a cottage there. We’ll spend some time there before returning to Inverly House for the confinement.”
“I see.” Emilia, Westmore’s wife, nodded. “I am so pleased you could be here for this time, though. It’s lovely to have you here.”
“I’m so pleased to be here,” Raphaella agreed. She was. It was a beautiful scene, the garden bright with autumn, the sunlight catching the leaves and painting them russet against the turquoise of the sky. She breathed in, smelling the fresh, sweet scent of the countryside air.
“I’m glad you don’t feel too out-of-sorts for the odd small house party,” Emilia continued. “I couldn’t resist inviting guests, not now that we have new neighbors.”
“I’m glad I could attend,” Raphaella commented. She looked down into the garden, where the guests had all left the confines of the house and were now gathering in the arbor, the evening light making the deep green shadows a place of peaceful rest. She could spot gentlemen in dark suits standing on the paths here and there, talking to ladies in brightly colored dresses seated on the benches.
She caught sight of Canmure, her brother. He was walking alone down the path between the trees. She thought he looked a little sad, so she bid farewell to Lady Westmore and went to join him.
“Canmure!” she called, as she walked down to join him on the gravel path. He heard her and turned to face her, smiling. She still thought he looked less than cheerful – the smile didn’t quite light up his eyes.
“Sister. How is your evening?” he asked, coming over to join her.
She smiled. “It’s nice. Logan is over there.” She pointed down the garden, “looking at the stables with Lord Amberly. I think he wants to buy his coach horses.” She grinned.
“I see.” Canmure nodded. “Well, I’m sure he’ll get them. I hope that doesn’t mean you’ll be traveling back too soon?” His eyes held her own, waiting for an answer.
Raphaella looked down the path, feeling guilty. She didn’t want to leave Canmure alone up here, but at the same time, she wanted to be at home for when the child was delivered. “I will go when the cold winds come in.” She looked away, not wanting to see him upset.
“Of course, sister.” Canmure nodded. He squeezed her hand fondly. “I want you to be safe. I will endeavor to travel down for the birth, though if the weather doesn’t permit, I might not be there in time.” He made a face. “I do hate bad weather.”
“You’re a dear,” Raphaella said, smiling up at her brother. His smile was uncertain. It felt like there was some new distance between them, as if his own personal sorrow had built a wall between them. She wished she could help her brother, but she didn’t know how. She couldn’t even guess what it was that had upset him.
“I’ll just take a walk down to the gardens. Have a look at the water garden, maybe. It’s cold out here, sister – perhaps you should return to the house. I’m sure Logan will come back from the stables soon.” He gestured up towards the house. “Oh, look! There he is.”
Raphaella looked over her shoulder and, sure enough, she saw the tall, lean form of her husband walking up from the stables. He was walking fast, which meant that the slight limp he had as legacy of his army years was in evidence, making his steps a little heavy on the right side. She walked up to join him, feeling her heart fill with love as he smiled at her.
“You made a deal with him?” Raphaella asked, seeing from the sparkle in Logan’s eye that something had gone well with the talk with Lord Amberly.
“I did!” Logan smiled. “I know it seems a bit overcautious of me to have two teams of horses for the coach, but I think we’ll be doing a lot of traveling between London and here and I want us to be able to do it in the safest possible way.” He took her hands.
“I know,” she said softly. “You’re very dear, Logan.”
“It’s not dear to fuss about you a little – it’s something I just can’t help.” He grinned; his eyes were tender as they rested on her.
She smiled. She stroked his handsome face with her hand, but she felt a little sad still, after her talk with Canmure, and it must have shown in her eyes.
“Are you sure you’re well, dearest?” Logan asked, taking both her hands in his. “I hope you’re not too cold out here.”
“I’m not,” she said. “I was just talking to Canmure. I feel a little worried about him.” She glanced down the path to where he had been a few moments earlier. She couldn’t see him anymore.
“What happened?” Logan asked. “Was he angry about something?”
“No,” Raphaella shook her head, aware of how protective Logan’s voice sounded, even when discussing somebody as close as her brother. “I just felt bothered about him because he looks so sad.”
“Shall we go and find him?” Logan suggested, looking down the path where she had been staring too. “We can talk to him about coming to stay in London for the Season. I’m sure he’d like that, and we won’t be spending time out at parties this year.”
“That’s a good idea.” Raphaella nodded. She walked with Logan down the path towards the trees. Canmure could do with coming back to London, she thought. Westmore was his best friend, but there were so few people up here in the north besides Westmore for him to spend time with.
“I’m sure he would be happier down in London. As you said, he’s not really a country fellow, though he does seem to like it up here in the summer months.”
“Yes,” Raphaella replied, though she wasn’t really concentrating. She’d just spotted Canmure, and he was talking to somebody, a young lady.
She looked at the lady carefully. She was younger than herself by a few years, she thought. She had long wavy hair of a beautiful pale gold color, and a curvaceous figure. She thought she recognized her, but her name didn’t come to her mind at once.
“That’s Lady Esquith,” she murmured, recalling the name as they waited. She watched her brother talking to the woman. They were far away, and no words reached them, but she thought he looked earnest and the lady looked interested in what he was saying.
She looked up at Logan and then back at the pair, as Jeremy Alford, Lord Fielder, her brother, came up to them.
Logan nodded as she gestured that they go back. They turned around and walked back up to the house. They moved away as carefully as possible, so as not to disturb the couple.
“That’s good to see,” Raphaella said softly to Logan as they walked up the path that led to the dining room, heading through the rose arbor.
“It is,” Logan nodded. “I would be pleased to see Lady Esquith settling into the neighborhood.”
“They’re new here?” Raphaella asked, though she could recall now that Lady Westmore had introduced them and that she was newly arrived in the area – she and her brother were living in Fielder House, an old manor not far from Westmore.
“Yes. She insisted they move here following the death of Lord Esquith. I understand she insisted, and then she and her brother moved in.” He raised a brow, clearly surprised by the lady’s persistence.
“I think there must be a story there,” Raphaella nodded. She glanced back to the clearing, but she couldn’t see the pair anymore.
She thought that she would be pleased to hear the story when she had a chance.
Lady Westmore was standing at the other side of the room, and she went to join her. She had spotted Jeremy through the window, it seemed, for she turned to Raphaella, one brow lifted, her lips drawn up in a smile.
“That’s our new neighbor. He’s a welcome addition to the neighborhood. I’m glad they’ve come over to visit – I worried that they wouldn’t agree yet.”
“Oh?” Raphaella frowned, keen to learn more about them. “Would there have been reason to refuse?”
“Not really,” Lady Westmore said softly. “Only they’re just up from London – I understand Lord Esquith was somewhat problematic. Lady Esquith is a well-known heiress – she and her brother are from a wealthy family – and I think her marriage was not a happy one.”
“I see,” Raphaella nodded. She felt her heart go out to the beautiful young lady.
When she saw her walking in with her brother by her side, she felt a bit happier. Canmure looked happy too, and she felt certain all would be well.
Logan came over to join her, taking her hand in his.
“You look happy, dear.” He smiled down into her face.
“I am,” she said, turning to look up at him, feeling her heart suddenly fill with warmth and tenderness for him. “I love you,” she said softly, so that only he could hear her.
“I love you, too,” he murmured.
She took his hand and they walked out together into the garden.
“I am glad we’re here,” Logan murmured. “It’s good to be in the countryside and to see Canmure again.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “And we’ll be coming back here quite often, I think. I don’t intend to ever stay away from the country long.” She stole a glance at her husband and slyly said, “We will need to bring our family out here too, you know. To our cottage.”
“Our family?” Logan grinned. “You mean, apart from our new child?” He rested his hand on her belly, a gesture that touched her deeply.
“Oh, yes,” she said, feeling a smile cross her face. “I don’t intend to have just one, you know.”
“No?” His eyes were bright, and she had to laugh. He didn’t look too daunted; that made her heart soar.
“No. I think we shall have three, or even four of them.”
He laughed and held her close and she kissed his cheek and together they walked on into the sunlit garden.
Logan froze, poised over Lady Raphaella on the grass, his mind whirling. He fought his way up through a mist of confusion. The shock had unnerved him, cannoning him back into memories of war. He thought he might be in India, lying on the rich wet earth of the forests, or hiding from an enemy lurking in the thickets. His mind blurred out the English countryside and painted in its stead – the heavy, humid vegetation of the Indian landscape.
He wasn’t in India, though. The danger had passed. His mind snapped back to the present, and he recalled that he was no longer Captain Inverly, but simply Lord Inverly, off duty, and walking around a country estate near York, England. He was also, he realized somewhat belatedly, practically lying atop Lady Raphaella, sister of the Earl of Rumsgate.
“My Lady! Apologies.” He rolled over, feeling his own cheeks heat up with embarrassment. He looked down at her, hoping she could forgive his imposition. She continued to look up at him in horror, and he felt disgruntled for a moment. Was he so unappealing to women that she was disgusted by close bodily contact? He was sure he hadn’t been a few weeks ago in London! There, he’d had to practically fend off female company! He felt put out. She cleared her throat and that told him what was bothering her.
“My Lord! You’re bleeding.”
“What?” Logan looked down at her in utter disbelief. He had felt nothing! He couldn’t be.
Then, as she sat up and reached, tenderly, for his shoulder, he realized that she was right – he could feel a dull, stinging ache coming from the spot. When he touched it, his hand became warm and wet.
“Oh,” he said, blinking at his red hand as if he couldn’t quite understand what he saw. “Yes. You’re right.”
Belatedly, he reached for his handkerchief, wincing as he tried to move the shoulder, to which the feeling seemed to be suddenly flooding back, causing him to realize just how much pain he was in. He gritted his teeth, pressing the cloth square to the wound.
Lady Raphaella looked up at him with her big dark eyes, and his pain subsided under her gaze. She was beautiful, with a soft oval face and those eyes that were so tender, and clear, like a mountain stream. He felt his soul tingle as he stared into their lash-edged depths, as if, for a moment, her heart reached out to connect to his.
Fanciful, Logan, he told himself firmly. Things like that don’t happen. The poor dear is probably terrified of you now, and rightly so – you did throw yourself on top of her, and then appear not to notice a gunshot-wound.
His reputation was certainly not going to make her feel more comfortable. He sat up quickly, feeling mortified.
He made himself smile, not sure what the effect might be. “My Lady. I apologize for the alarm; the danger seems passed now.”
He followed the statement with another attempt on a smile.
“Lord Inverly! You need to see a surgeon at once! We must get you to Lord Westmore. You’ve been shot in his garden, after all!”
Logan’s eyes widened. This angelic beauty was giving him orders?
“Lady Raphaella, forgive me,” he managed slowly. “I know it is shocking, but I believe – I know the shots were only meant for me, I cannot take this to Lord Westmore. He would be concerned, and I don’t wish to trouble him. He’s the father of a young child,” he added, as if that made any difference to anything.
“He ought to know!” she scolded. “Especially because he has a young child – how can you possibly be sure the shots were only meant for you?”
Logan shut his eyes. He felt her touch like a sudden shock through his body, as she pushed his hands away to press the handkerchief herself. He swallowed hard, ignoring the twitch in his groin when he saw how her small, slender hand touched him with care and tenderness. He couldn’t risk offending the Earl of Rumsgate, and that was all that counted. He wasn’t that close to him, but he’d been part of Westmore’s circle since their Cambridge days, he needed to respect that.
Lady Raphaella was looking at him with a mix of disbelief and righteous anger. He had been rude to her from the moment the shot rang out, and she had done nothing save show him concern. He coughed. “I cannot inform Westmore about this. He has nothing to do with the shots that were fired at me.”
The shots, he was certain, must have been fired by somebody he had known from his campaigns. He recognized them well – the rapid succession of two bullets, and then the pause before the next. No, this had nothing to do with Westmore, and everything to do with my own mistakes
“I still think he ought to be informed,” she said, more patient now. “If Lady Westmore or the child were to be out here alone, don’t you think they would be…”
“There really no danger to anybody else from this,” Logan said slowly, expression grimly set. He was becoming more aware each second. He winced as she pressed the handkerchief, the firm pressure, and the pain with it, clearing his mind.
“Well – you must at least address the danger to your person!” she said firmly.
He was gazing into her eyes with a mix of surprise and wonder for the third time in one day. “Yes,” he said, nodding slowly. “But I think it best if I do not alert Westmore. I insist on this.” He looked into her fine brown eyes, hoping that she understood his sense of urgency a little.
If Westmore knows, then it won’t be long before the whole countryside knows, and that will drive my killer to strike again soon.
Logan bit his lip, feeling the first real fear since the bullet had grazed his shoulder. How was it possible that, now, after all this time, he had been hunted down? It made no sense!
Why here in Yorkshire of all places?
He wondered if his fear was written on his face. He swallowed hard and tried to compose himself.
“There’s a surgeon in Westmore Village,” he said slowly. “I’ll ride there.”
“No, you will not,” Lady Raphaella said gently. He became aware that she was wrapping the handkerchief around his shoulder, tying it in a firm knot over the wound.
“Sorry?” He frowned, unsure if she had just said that. She was a gentle-looking sort, with a soft face, wavy reddish hair, and brown doe-like eyes. Had she just given him an order?
She lifted an arched brow. “I said you aren’t riding anywhere. Should you even try, this wound will bleed worse – you’ll likely fall off your horse and die in the woods before you get close to Westmore. We’re going to take the coach into town. Together.” Her tone was light, as if she was telling him the history of the knot garden opposite their hiding-place. All the same, it brooked no refusal.
“What?” he repeated, sure that he was lost in a mirage. He must be!
“You can’t ride, and so it stands to reason you must go by coach,” Lady Raphaella said, speaking slowly, as if he were a child. “I’m going to have to come with you, because somebody has to keep an eye on that wound.” She gestured at his shoulder, where the flow of blood was a trickle, his shirtsleeve now sticking to the open wound.
“Yes…” He frowned, his mind still trying to grasp it all.
“We can’t tell anybody else, because they’ll tell Westmore,” she said, frowning at him earnestly. “And you insist that you want to keep it a secret. Is that right?”
Logan nodded firmly, realizing that she was the one speaking sense. He was the one sitting and staring at her dull-eyed.
“Alright, then,” Lady Raphaella said. He was surprised by her brisk manner. “Can you get up? We can take the path over there to the coach house.”
Logan winced and stood up, realizing that he was feeling dizzy. She was right, he had to admit: if he lost much more blood, he was going to collapse, and there was no way he would be able to ride anywhere. He braced himself and sent out a fervent wish to be able to stay upright until they reached the coach.
“Can you walk?” Lady Raphaella asked, and she slipped an arm under his, supporting him. His cheeks flushing red with embarrassment, he nodded hastily.
“I can walk,” he said, and tried to take his weight off her. Unfortunately, his body wasn’t quite as sure about his strength, as his mind was, and he chose that moment to sway back and forth. Feeling annoyed at himself, he gritted his teeth and tried desperately to stay upright.
With Raphaella walking slowly by his side, they reached their destination.
“Mr. Emms? Make ready the carriage, if you please.” Lady Raphaella said calmly, as if she oversaw the whole estate. “We need to go to Westmore urgently.”
“My Lady?” The coachman stared from her to Logan and back, taking in the blood, her calmness, and, Logan doubted not, the pallor of his own face.
“Please, Mr. Emms,” Lady Raphaella insisted. “It’s vital that we get to the surgeon quickly.”
The coachman shrugged unhappily but went off to perform his duties with an efficiency Logan was sure he did not usually practice. While they waited, Raphaella looked up at him.
“It will help if you think of something else, to pass the time,” she said frankly. “We could play a parlor game?”
Logan stared at her in horror. “A parlor game?” He loathed the pretty pastimes of high society – cards seemed silly enough to him, but other games like board games and guessing games he considered the height of folly, especially at a time like this
“What?” Raphaella frowned. “There’s nothing reprehensible about ‘I spy,’ is there, sir?”
Her voice had such an air of innocence about it that Logan had to grin. In the moment of the attack, it seemed as if he had forgotten that she really was a Lady, and not an army nurse. He glanced down at her, allowing himself to notice her full bust, her soft figure.
“No,” he said, feeling that same unrestrained stab of longing as he noticed the soft pallor of her cheeks, her full-lipped frown. “I suppose.” He had been hard on her all morning, he realized guiltily.
“Well, then. I’ll go first,” she said. “I spy something beginning with a ‘c’. What is it?”
Logan shut his eyes, the surreal quality of his life suddenly getting the better of him. He had come to Yorkshire to escape London society, its prying eyes, and the pressure to find a wife – now that he was the Earl of Inverly. And yet, in Yorkshire, he was stuck with a gunshot wound, hiding in a coach-house playing parlor games with the sweetest society lady he’d ever met! It was unbelievable.
“I think it’s…” he began, but shrugged, and then winced with the pain it caused his shoulder.
“It’s a coach! And it’s ready now. Get in,” Lady Raphaella ordered, looking up at him with a mild exasperation on her sweet face.
Chapter 2
Raphaella leaned back in the cramped confines of the coach and tried to forget the fact that she was cramped up on the seat next to a dangerous reprobate. She forcibly reminded herself that she was escorting him to Mr. Brownley before he expired of lost blood.
I’m not doing this for naught else.
She looked up to find the big dark eyes watching her. Her stomach tied itself in knots and she couldn’t hide the flush of warmth flowing from her head to her feet, making her face flush.
It was altogether too easy to believe that she was here of her own interests, and not because her presence was vital and necessary in saving his life. She couldn’t fail to notice the fact that Lord Inverly was extremely handsome, his arm beneath her fingers so hard with muscle and sinew that it could have been stone.
And he’s a fellow with a somewhat challenging reputation. Don’t forget about that.
Her brother had mentioned that Lord Inverly hadn’t exactly lived respectably since his return from service.
He coughed and she jumped, becoming aware again of both his proximity, and her improper thoughts. His body really was far too close to hers, his long legs brushing her knee, his side pressed to her hip.
“How far must we go?” he asked softly.
Raphaella frowned, making herself focus on the present moment, trying to forget her growing worry about Canmure, and what he would say when he discovered her missing from the party. She had no idea how to explain her absence. She didn’t want to think what he’d say if he saw her right now.
“Not half a mile,” she murmured.
“Good,” Lord Inverly said, and she saw his lips lift with a weary smile. “I don’t think I can put up with this damn shoulder much longer. Excuse my swearing,” he added, when she lifted a brow.
“I’m used to it,” she said, and her own lips twisted in a wry smile.
“Oh?” Lord Inverly frowned. “How so?”
Raphaella looked at the floor. She always felt uncomfortable discussing details of her life. She preferred to remain an enigma – rather than to risk being judged. “Ex-military men tend to have a way with words,” she said shyly.
Uncle Carter would swear until my ears went red whenever somebody changed his bandages.
She had helped her veteran uncle until his leg was healed, and he could safely retire to the seaside. Her mind flooded with images from that time in her life, sponging the horrible surface of the cannon wound that had taken his leg.
I worry about him sometimes.
She and Canmure were never in Brighton anymore, where Carter lived in the tiny cottage his accounts could afford.
Since their parents died, Canmure, the new Lord Rumsgate, had taken on the responsibilities of the head of their family. She had been only fifteen at the time. Those responsibilities had included caring for any of the family who were down on their luck, like Uncle Carter. At the time, Canmure had been too busy managing their own estate to pay much attention to a soldier returning from the Peninsular Wars, or to his wounds. He had organized the cottage but left the caring to her.
“I beg your pardon?”
She looked up to find Lord Inverly looking at her with some interest. Her face went red.
“There’s not far to go now,” she said quickly.
“I thank you.”
She felt her cheeks redden an even deeper shade and realized that those words seemed kindlier than any others he had offered up until now. His voice had a pleasing tone and she felt its warmth like a silk scarf. It wrapped around her worries and her fears, making her remember that, reputation or not, she had liked him the moment she met him.
“There it is,” she said, making herself look away from the fine chiseled line of his profile, and out of the window to the left. “That’s the town.”
“It’s small,” Lord Inverly commented. Raphaella wanted to smile.
“It’s made up mostly of Lord Westmore’s tenants,” she said with an arched brow. “There aren’t too many.” The collection of cottages, clustered around a small village church, were plain to see now, as they reached the edge of the estate that gave it its name.
He shook himself, as if to get his own attention back to the present and nodded. “Yes,” he murmured. “I see.”
Raphaella glanced at him, wondering if the blood-loss was making him absent-minded. He was looking at her with a strange expression, almost awestricken. Those brown eyes were touched with a sort of fervent admiration that she had seen leveled at other women, but never at her.
She bit her lip a little sadly and looked out of the window. She had always stayed at home out of predilection, preferring a quiet afternoon or an intimate conversation with a familiar person, to a ball or party full of stranger. She was sure people considered her boring and a little plain. Even Canmure, who was the dearest soul, sometimes looked at her sadly, and she was sure he wondered how he’d make a future for a Lady like her.
The coach had stopped. “We should get out.”
Lord Inverly nodded. He still looked subdued, and she became more certain that his blood loss was critical. She opened the door and jumped down, feeling her ankles ache as she thumped down against the flagstones of the pavement.
“Come on,” she said with a sense of urgency. She held a hand up to him, realizing belatedly that it was blood-soaked. She wondered what the Ton would think of that.
“Yes, Lady Raphaella.”
Lord Inverly took her hand and jumped down, wincing noticeably as his own ankles jarred painfully. With his condition growing ever more severe, it was good to see him react to something. He had been so quiet in the carriage – so strange– that she’d worried she would lose him before they reached their destination.
“Here’s Mr. Brownley’s,” she said, and took his hand to lead him up the steps to the surgeon’s front door. She matched her steps to his slower ones, and then knocked briskly. She was relieved when the soft, earnest face of the village surgeon appeared.
Anything but a stranger, the surgeon was one of the few friends Raphaella had in her circle. She’d met him years ago, when Canmure had brought her to Westmore the first time, and somehow, they had managed to strike up a friendship.
“Mr. Brownley? Lord Inverly here has a critical injury. It needs stitching,” she said, feeling happier in the presence of the bespectacled man. Her senior by ten years at least, he had a reassuring warmth. She felt as if he, more than anybody, could see things from her perspective.
“Oh! Lady Raphaella!” Mr. Brownley grinned. “I never thanked you for that preparation you had sent here – a real boon in the winter for all the tenants. My Lord. Come in,” he added, standing back for Lord Inverly, who looked at her with complete confusion.
Lady Raphaella felt a little flame in her heart as she joined Cassius Brownley in his surgery. Here, she felt utterly at home. The surgery, with its rows of bottles and its scent of camphor and creosote – a disinfectant for the surfaces – was a peaceful place whose rules she understood.
It’s no wonder I always seize the chance to come up here.
She found herself looking over the shelves as the two men conversed quietly, noting the bottles and boxes that she’d had brought here from the family apothecary in London. Canmure indulged this interest of hers, whether he thought it was appropriate for her to show interest in doctoring.
Her attention was brought back to the present moment as the surgeon poured out some disinfectant and then bent to his work.
“So,” Brownley said, reaching for a pad of cotton as he carefully cut away the shoulder of Lord Inverly’s shirt. “You sustained this while out hunting, sir?”
Lord Inverly looked over at her, and Raphaella said nothing, so he nodded. “Yes,” he agreed.
“You must have some friends with poor aim,” Brownley said, making her want to chuckle. She wanted to say something but noticed Lord Inverly had his eyes shut, a pained expression on his face, and she felt instant concern for his suffering.
“Either that or I have very unfortunate enemies,” Lord Inverly said.
Raphaella felt her lips lift, a light laugh rising in her throat, but then it occurred to her that he was serious. She held her peace, wondering just what he knew about the shot that had been fired.
“Mm,” the surgeon murmured, oblivious to the undertone in the phrase that she’d marked. “Here. I will need to stitch it, so I heartily recommend that you bite on this leather belt.”
“I don’t need one. I was in the army,” Lord Inverly said firmly, surprising Raphaella.
“Really?” she asked, her curiosity overwhelming her intentions to remain in the background. She looked down to see Lord Inverly looking up at her, his lips twisted with amusement.
“Yes. I was a captain of the King’s Horse,” he said thinly, and she saw him jump as the surgeon carefully swabbed the site of the wound.
“Oh,” she said politely, her attention being drawn to the procedure the man was busy performing on his lordship’s shoulder, rather than to his words or rank. She knew it was odd – that most ladies and gentlemen of her acquaintance would feel utterly sick at the sight – but she found all such things intriguing.
Maybe caring for Uncle Carter dulled my sensitivity to sights of blood and cuts.
She watched as the surgeon threaded a needle with a length of suture, and then how he pushed the needle through the layers of skin, gently holding the wound shut as he did so.
She noticed Lord Inverly grimace, and she felt a stab of compassion. She wished he had elected to bite on leather – it would make the pain more bearable – and she began to look around to fetch it, but Mr. Brownley was talking to them, and she turned back.
“I’m just going to do two more,” he said carefully, frowning down at his work, as unconcerned as a tailor. “It’s not a big wound, but surprisingly deep. It’s a grand thing the bullet came out again, or I’d have a fine job fishing it out!” He chuckled.
“Just finish,” Lord Inverly hissed, and Raphaella could see the greenish hue to his skin. She wanted to mop his forehead, but she could hear the acid in his words. She knew that it would be better for him if she left him be.
“There,” Mr. Brownley said, his patient’s ire not worrisome to him. He straightened up, cutting off the excess suture. “All done. Now we just need to bandage the thing, and check that it’s not bleeding anymore.”
“It’s my arm, sir,” Lord Inverly said through gritted teeth. “I’ll thank you to refer to it with due respect.”
Raphaella wanted to smile, but at the same time she could see his point. It wasn’t just a thing; it was his arm. Mr. Brownley could be a bit too preoccupied sometimes. Her eyes met Lord Inverly’s.
“I thank you,” Lord Inverly said, as the surgeon stepped away, looking down at his handiwork. Raphaella noticed that Lord Inverly wasn’t looking at Brownley, but at herself.
“Um…” she stammered, her cheeks going pink as she struggled to decide what to say.
“I’ll bandage it with a bread poultice,” Mr. Brownley said, as if he also was confused by the strange look Lord Inverly was giving her. “And you can see me in a day to have it changed.”
When the work was done. Lord Inverly got hesitatingly to his feet and came to stand beside Raphaella. “Thank you,” he said again. “Now, I think we had best go back. If there’s any need to explain, please allow me to do so.”
She could see the way he was struggling to remain upright and sensed that he would feel more than a little uncomfortable, should anybody try to help. She waited while he braced himself on the surgeon’s shelves, and then looked at her with a grateful smile.
Raphaella felt his guileless eyes as if it was a touch on her skin. “Let me help,” she offered, and the spell was broken.
“That would be unnecessary,” he said loftily. She bit back a grin, even though she felt also a little empty. His haughtiness returning was, on the one hand, a relief, on the other hand she missed his vulnerability.
She stood back while he walked out of the door and out to the coach. She stayed behind a moment to say farewell and thank her friend, and then slipped out behind him.
Lord Inverly was being decidedly remote, on the coach ride back to the estate. He was looking out of the window and had a small object in his hand. She craned over his shoulder, wondering what it was. When he saw she was looking, he slipped it into his pocket and shot her a glare, then turned back to look out of the window.
She jumped out of the coach when they arrived, and he strode away without a word.
That’s what I get for helping a scoundrel like him, I guess.
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A pregnant Grace was sitting in a chair in her bed chamber. She groaned and placed a hand on her baby bump. She sighed. Her husband came in, beaming to see her there.
“Have the guests started arriving?” she asked, straightening up.
“Not yet but they should arrive at any moment. All we need to do is to relax and wait for the party to commence.”
Grace smiled and stood up. “I need to dress. You should do the same,” Grace said to him.
“I will. First, I need to go see what the servants are up to,” he said to his wife. He paused, smiling as he looked out the window.
Grace stood up excitedly. She stood up to see what he had seen and a smile spread across her lips. In the drive, she could see a carriage, her mother and father climbing out of it.
“Well, let’s go meet them,” Grace said. That morning, they were expecting the Duke of Oxford and Marie, who had promised to come visit them that morning. Together, Grace and Alexander walked downstairs.
“Father!” Grace cried excitedly. She ran into her father’s arms and then she pulled away to hug her mother as well. “I have missed you both so much.”
“We have missed you as well, darling,” her father replied. “How long has it been?”
“About six months,” Grace replied. That was when she and her husband had last gone to pay them a visit. Grace and Alex had retired to the county seat, while her mother and father had remained in London.
Alexander came out to receive them and while Alexander and the Duke walked ahead into the house, she and her mother walked behind.
“So, when last did you hear from Lady Stephanie and her husband?” her mother asked as Lady Stephanie had gotten married two months ago to Lord Exeter.
“Oh, we write to each other all the time,” Grace replied. “So, Mother, what about you and father? Have you both finally decided to live together?”
Her mother blushed. “Something like that.”
“Better,” Grace replied. “Because you are both too old to be playing hard to get.” Her mother laughed as they walked into the house together.
“What about this purple silk?” Grace asked as she brought out another gown from the armoire. The ball was not until tomorrow night, but Lady Stephanie had yet to choose what she was going to wear.
Stephanie slid off the window seat and walked directly to meet her to look at the gown in her hand. Grace was hoping that this time, she would make a decision. That was the seventh dress she had picked for her.
Yet again, Stephanie pulled a face. “It’s not right, Grace. I need to look perfect. It’s going to be a special night. Phillip is going to finally propose to me…please Grace, find me a better one. I trust you.”
Grace managed a smile even though she was tired. Yet, she mustn’t let her mistress down. She rummaged through the armoire and brought out a blue satin.
“How about this?” she asked.
Stephanie stood up, her eyes beaming with excitement. “Yes. This is perfect, Grace. Well done!” She took the gown from Grace and walked to the mirror with it.
“I love it,” she went on, giggling. “Phillip is going to fall in love with me all over again when he sees this.”
Grace smiled, glad that Stephanie was finally pleased. Stephanie was her mistress, but they were good friends as well. Ever since Stephanie had received her invitation to the masquerade ball, she had been going on about how Phillip Day would finally propose to her.
Just a few days before, Lord Exeter had had a private audience with Lady Stephanie’s father, which hinted that he was preparing to ask Lady Stephanie herself.
“It’s been three days already, and he has particularly asked me to come to the ball. I am so certain he will ask me,” Stephanie went on, twirling around excitedly with the gown. “Oh, Grace! I am finally going to be engaged!”
Grace smiled. “I’m happy for you, My Lady. You both complement each other perfectly!”
“I know,” Stephanie beamed, turning around. “Everyone knows how we belong together, and do you know how much the marriage will boost the financial status of my family?”
Grace nodded.
“I’ll be right back. I want to ask Mother her opinion on this.”
Stephanie hurried out of the chamber, still holding the gown in her hand. When she was finally gone, Grace inhaled and sat on the bed, close to the pile of dresses which she had picked for Lady Stephanie earlier.
She picked up the purple gown. It had an empire waist and bell-shaped sleeves. French lace lined the neck and the hem of sleeves. How could I not want to wear this?
Sometimes, she wished she had the life that Stephanie had. She wished her mother was wealthy enough to cater to all their needs, but she was a servant and as her mother always said, they must be grateful for everything they did have.
Grace picked up a red satin, admiring the designs. The gown would look good on her…
“You would look so beautiful in that…”
She jumped, startled at Stephanie’s voice. Quickly, she dropped the gown on the bed with the others.
“No, pick it up,” Stephanie insisted, walking over to the bed and picking up the gown. She held it out to Grace. “Why don’t you try it on?”
Grace shook her head. “No, My Lady. I’d rather not.”
“I know you were thinking it, so why don’t we try it out?” Then, abruptly changing directions, she said, “I’ve just realized how we’re just about the same size. Isn’t that odd?” Her voice was suspicious. “You could easily wear my dresses, if you wanted.”
“I hardly think so, My Lady. Flattering as that may be.” Grace’s hand went self-consciously up to her hair and the tight bun she always wore at the base of her neck. Her mother, Marie, had always gone to a great length to ensure that Grace did not appear attractive in the least, claiming if she appeared even slightly beautiful, she would only attract unwanted advances from the gentlemen of the house. And then, she might land herself in some kind of trouble she did not need.
Lady Stephanie was an exceptionally handsome lady, with hair the shade of honey and unique amber eyes. More than one gentleman had fallen in love with her, based on her looks alone.
“Go on, try it on,” Lady Stephanie urged.
“I don’t think so, My Lady,” Grace added.
“Nonsense,” retorted Stephanie. “I must say, the red would look much better on you than it does me.”
Of course, Grace couldn’t really tell. She couldn’t remember the last time she had checked her reflection in the mirror having been told to avoid vanity at all costs. Besides, she knew she was nowhere close to the same beauty as Lady Stephanie.
Stephanie grabbed her shoulders and spun her towards the mirror above the small desk. “Take a look at yourself, so you can actually see how beautiful you are.”
Grace stood in front of the mirror, her eyes centered on the toes of her brown shoes. She felt uncomfortable about looking in the mirror, not sure what Stephanie was trying to achieve. Before she had the time to make up her mind on what she was expected to do, Stephanie nudged her closer towards the glass.
“Just look, Grace.”
Slowly, Grace looked up, until she was staring at herself in the mirror, seeing her reflection for the first time in so many years. She released an audible gasp as one hand flew up to touch her cheek, then her lips as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing was real.
She turned her surprised look to Stephanie who was smiling at her. “See what I mean? I am certain that if we let down your hair out of that severe style and refashion it into something a bit more becoming, add a little touch of rouge to your cheeks, then you could accompany me to the ball tomorrow night!”
Grace stared in horror at her. “What?”
***
Darkened gray smudges of wool threateningly surrounded the sky like a predator encircling its prey. The startling low rumble rang loud in the cool fall air in London, causing the wind to roar in satisfaction. The rain tapped insistently on the roof and the windows of the Exeter’s mansion where Alexander sat in the living room, waiting anxiously for his best friend, who was yet to return from his early morning ride. He stood up and walked towards the window, but there was no sign of his friend.
“Blimey!” he cursed under his breath. If he had known that Phillip would tary this long, he would have indulged himself in other things back home. Instead, he had dressed and left early, hoping to meet his friend at his house so they could go to the silversmith’s shop together.
If there was anyone known for tardiness between the two gentlemen, it would be him. The plan was for him meet with Phillip so they could go to the shop. He had arrived on time only to be told that Phillip had gone riding. Alexander knew his friend was only trying to pay him back for keeping him waiting at the tailor’s shop the other day.
He chuckled. He hadn’t meant to do that, but he was busy trying to keep his mother’s company, especially since his father was not home. He had taken much time and Phillip was greatly displeased.
Alexander had decided to come as early as possible to Exeter’s estate, but it had already been an hour and Phillip had yet to return.
He began to pace and finally took a seat. With his eyes fixed on the clock, he tapped his foot against the marble floor, continuously and impatiently.
“My Lord,” said Rosa, one of the housemaids. “Would you like me to bring you some tea as you wait for your friend?”
“Make that two cups!” Phillip said as he opened the door and walked in.
Alexander inhaled. “Finally! I thought you would never arrive!”
Rosa curtsied and left.
“There you are,” said Phillip as he saw Alexander. “I thought you were never going to come on time, as usual.”
Alexander grimaced. “I think I deserve some apology for wasting my time.”
Phillip laughed while his butler removed his wet jacket and left with it.
“Do you not see the rain? How would you expect me to come in such a weather? I had to wait somewhere because I didn’t know you would come so soon. Remember how you kept me waiting yesterday?”
Alexander shook his head. He knew Phillip had done this on purpose.
“I expected you to show more gratitude that I was able to make it early,” Phillip said as he took a seat.
“If you had taken longer,” Alexander replied, “you would have met only my absence.”
Phillip snorted but Alexander continued “I would have been greatly displeased if you had ended up not going with me as we had agreed. Besides, it’s only drizzling; the rain was not all that heavy, so you could have come on time if you wanted to. I believe you took your time on purpose.”
Phillip laughed. “Yes, you’re absolutely right, my friend.”
Rosa walked in with a tray containing two cups of tea.
“The weather is cold, and a cup of tea is great at this moment. Thank you, Rosa,” Alexander said before the maid smiled, curtsied, and then took her leave.
“So, are we still going to the silversmith’s shop today or have I taken too much of your time?” Phillip asked after a while.
“You’re hell-bent on making me some customized cufflinks, so I would say ‘yes,’ but that will be once it stops raining. As you can see, it’s raining heavily right now.”
“So, did you receive the invitation to the masquerade ball?” Phillip inquired.
“Of course,” replied Alexander.
“Will you be gracing the occasion with your presence?” Phillip joked. Alexander was well known by his friend to be reclusive when it came to attending social events. So, when Alexander nodded, Phillip was surprised.
“You will?” he asked.
“Yes, I will, Phillip,” Alexander replied with a languid interest.
“That’s splendid news! Do tell me, what made you change your mind?”
Alexander shrugged and sipped his tea. “Mother wouldn’t stop reminding me of how quickly I’m getting older and how much she would like me to get married before she dies.”
Phillip stifled a laughter.
Alexander knew that his mother had once asked Phillip to talk to his friend and to try and take him to social events, but Alexander never listened to either Phillip or his mother. She had been sick for a while now and she was using her illness to make him do her bidding.
“That’s wonderful news!” Phillip teased. “I am certain that all the ladies will be rushing to dance with you. Everyone will be surprised that the reclusive Lord Surrey has finally made an appearance.”
Alexander grimaced and took more tea. “If it was up to me, I would never get married. I don’t see any reason why I should do so when no lady appeals to me.”
“How could any lady appeal to you, when you do not make time to meet her? You find it difficult to go to social events where you would meet ladies. I am certain that you would find a beautiful lady that will capture your heart and sweep you off your feet…Like I have.”
His friend looked surprised. “Are you talking about Lady Stephanie Lauder?”
Phillip nodded. “Of course, who else do you think I’m talking about?” Without waiting for a reply, he continued. “As a matter of fact, I plan to propose to her at the ball.”
Alexander scoffed. “So you are really planning on getting married to her?”
Phillip raised his brows. “Yes I am. I’ve already gotten her father’s permission. Why do you make it seem as if it’s a terrible thing to do?”
“I’ve no idea,” Alexander replied. “Perhaps, it’s because I dread anything that has to do with marriage.”
Phillip shook his head. “You ought to be happy for me, Alexander. You’re such a lousy friend.”
Alexander laughed and clapped. “You would be officially engaged, my friend. We must drink to that.”
Phillip smiled. “We shall,” he promised, then he faced his friend. “Do you think she will accept my proposal?”
Alexander frowned. “You two have been courting for two months now. It’s obvious that she cares about you just like you care about her…There’s no reason for her not to accept your proposal. Do not speak nonsense.”
Phillip laughed. “Thank you. These are the things I need you to say to me.”
“Well, you’re lucky to have someone who cares about you and who you care about.”
“But if you give yourself a chance to love and be loved, then you would also be lucky.”
Alexander grimaced. “I’d rather not. However, I will meet you at the ball tomorrow night and see how it goes.”
By this time, it had stopped raining. “Oh!” Alexander said. “We should be on our way soon. Once we leave the silversmith’s shop, we can stop at the tailor’s shop. Come on.”
Chapter 2
Grace stared at Stephanie in surprise. “Accompany you where, exactly?” she asked.
“I’d like you to accompany me to the ball tomorrow night. You can wear that red gown. I have another mask that you can wear. Like I said,” she continued. “You could pose as my cousin.”
Before Grace could have a chance to object, Stephanie was reaching for the pins holding her bun in place and gently tugged them out, causing Grace’s hair to cascade down her back in thick waves, nearly reaching her waist.
“This is not a good idea, My Lady. I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish, but I think we better quit this nonsense.”
She quickly rewound her hair and put it back into the bun.
“But I think you would enjoy yourself immensely,” Stephanie went on. “I know you love that gown. And where better to pretend to be someone else, than at a masked ball?”
Grace was confused. What if someone discovered she was just a maid?
“Anyway,” Stephanie went on. “No one would know who you really are as everyone will be wearing a mask. You could be whoever you want to be.”
Grace shook her head back and forth, slowly. She was confused. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You just have to pretend to be a proper lady for a night,” Stephanie explained, laughing. “You could wear the red dress and wear your hairstyle the same way as I dress mine.” She clapped her hands excitedly. “I think it’s actually a brilliant plan. We’ll have so much fun.”
Grace couldn’t feel a bit of excitement about what her mistress was saying. Before she could object again, Stephanie was talking.
“You can’t tell me no, Grace. You’ll have the best time. I know it.” Grace knew she couldn’t possibly refuse her lady, no matter how horrible the idea may be. Her arms fell dejectedly to her side.
“Yes, My Lady. Anything you say.”
Stephanie squealed. “You mean it?”
“I don’t see how I have a choice,” replied Grace, but she was shocked when Stephanie pulled her into her arms to bestow upon her a fierce hug. “Thank you, thank you. Everything will go perfectly. You will see.”
***
The ride back to the townhouse felt longer than usual. By the time the coach had pulled up in front of the imposing stone dwelling, the sun was already beginning to set and the air had become noticeably colder.
He climbed out of the carriage and walked towards the townhouse. He was exhausted from having gone everywhere with Phillip. After leaving the silversmith’s shop, they had gone to the tailor’s shop to get him measured. This had taken longer than he expected. Alexander yawned as he walked in.
The butler bowed on seeing him, holding the door open for him to enter.
“Welcome back, My Lord.”
“Thank you, Jackson,” he replied. “Is Father back yet?”
“No, My Lord.”
“Thank you, Jackson.”
He decided to go check on his mother before retiring for the night. He climbed the staircase and went straight to her room. He was about to knock when Lisa, her lady’s maid, walked out. In her hands, she held a tray of food which seemed untouched. She curtsied on seeing him.
“Did she not eat at all?” he inquired, his brows furrowed in a frown.
“Not at all, My Lord,” she replied. “She didn’t even touch it.”
He sighed. “Take it back in, please. I am certain that once she hears what I’m about to tell her, she would eat.”
Lisa took the food back in and he followed. His mother lay on her bed, covered in her duvet, with her eyes closed.
“When did the physician leave?” he asked the maid who was putting the tray on the table.
“About an hour ago, my Lord.”
“Thank you, Lisa. You may leave.”
Lisa curtsied and took her leave while he stepped closer to his mother. “Mother?”
She stirred and opened her eyes. It’s been the second week since she had come down with fever.
“Good evening, Alexander,” she replied with a warm, motherly smile. He bent to plant a gentle kiss on her forehead. “You’re back, but what about your father?”
“He’s yet to come home,” he replied as he straightened up. “The meeting must have taken so long,” he replied. Alexander bided his time and sat down in a chair beside the bed before speaking.
“I noticed you didn’t eat anything, Mother.”
She sighed. “What about what I last spoke of with you? Have you done anything about it?”
He smiled. “Well, I haven’t found a lady to marry yet, but…I promise you, I shall find one soon.”
“How do you plan to do that, Alexander?”
“I will be attending the masquerade ball tomorrow night,” he said, then waited for her reaction. He smiled when she merely stared at him.
“You will be going to a social event?” she said, slowly.
He nodded, managing to ignore the uneasy feeling at the bottom of his stomach due to her excitement.
“Yes, but I’ll change my mind, if you refuse to eat.”
She smiled. “So, this is your plan then?”
He nodded. “Let me help you up. I shall feed you, myself.”
She smiled and he helped her to a sitting position after which he fed her. Though she didn’t eat all the food, she ate a small portion before falling back to sleep.
Lisa came back to collect the tray and Alexander retired to his bedchamber.
When he finally hit the bed, he inhaled a deep sigh of relief. As he shut his eyes, he began to think of the ball that would be taking place the next day. He had never been a lover of social events but now, he had no choice. He had also never been fond of ladies, but he would have to do whatever was needed to find a suitable lady to marry.
The problem was, he had always been an introvert. Talking to a lady had always been a problem for him. It is a masquerade ball after all, how bad would it be? He would have to summon courage and do what he must to make his mother happy.
***
Grace hardly slept a wink all through the night. She thoroughly thought over the plan her mistress had for them the next evening. She also couldn’t deny the feeling of excitement that surged through her, knowing she would be attending a ball for the first time ever and not as a maid, but as a proper lady.
She went through the worst-possible scenario in her head: being discovered posing as a lady when in reality she was a lady’s maid. What if her employer, Stephanie’s father, found out about their plan and later ended up sending her away? Lord Hoffton and Lady Hoffton were away, but what if they found out nonetheless? Lots of horrible thoughts flowed through her mind, each one more ghastly the other and she found it difficult to even close her eyes.
When morning came, her excitement increased and she began preparing for Stephanie’s morning toilette. She walked into Stephanie’s room with a tray, containing a cup of hot chocolate, over to where Stephanie was propped up against multiple plush pillows in her bed.
“Good morning, how did you sleep?”
“Oh, I hardly slept at all. I’m so excited, knowing that you and I will be going to the ball together. Aren’t you excited?”
Grace smiled but inwardly groaned, seeing how much her mistress was eager to continue with her plan. She had considered convincing her to change her mind. Clearly, this was impossible.
Grace retrieved clean petticoats and a corset, along with a soft yellow muslin. As she dressed Lady Stephanie for the day, then arranged her hair, Grace couldn’t help but think that soon, she would also be dressing herself up in the same manner. The thought was both unsettling and exciting.
Stephanie, on the other hand, was her usual self as she chattered excitedly about the ball and her upcoming proposal all morning. The truth was, Grace wasn’t listening to her at all. Instead, she was busy with her own worrisome thoughts.
When the time finally came for them to prepare for the ball, Grace thought her heart would jump out of her breast. She got her mistress ready in the beautiful elegant blue gown she had chosen the other day. Then, she got ready to become a Lady for the evening.
Stephanie insisted in helping her out of her plain, drab high-necked maid’s uniform. Once she was standing in only her chemise and petticoats, Stephanie began fastening one of her own corsets around her slender frame. It was the first time Grace had worn a corset and she felt strange due to its restrictive feel.
After this, Stephanie helped her slip into silk stockings, fastening them to the garters she wore.
By the time the empire-waisted red gown was in place, Grace felt like a completely different person. She had never been dressed in such fine silk before and she marveled at how it clung to her body. The skirts swished luxuriously about her legs.
Stephanie didn’t know what to do with her hair, but luckily, Grace was an expert in how to do her mistress’ hair and was able to quickly pile hers on top of her head with the aid of a hot iron. She curled a few stray wisps around her cheeks into loose ringlets.
Stephanie applied some rouge to her cheeks and then blackened her lashes and finished off with some rose lip salve. By the time Grace was allowed to see her reflection in the mirror, a cry escaped her lips. She could barely recognize the elegant lady that stared back at her.
“Do you see the beautiful lady staring right back at you?” Stephanie asked behind her and Grace found herself nodding.
“Is that me?” she murmured.
Her mistress laughed. “Of course that’s you! Now, come. We have to leave quickly. Here, take this.”
She handed her a mask which she tied on with a silk ribbon. It covered half of her face, but revealed her nose and rosy lips. It was enough. Stephanie put on her own mask before they left the room.
***
The sounds of female laughter floated through the mansion as Grace followed her mistress to the ballroom. She has never been this nervous before. The two ladies glided through the open doors and down the staircase which curved around the right wall. Grace tried not to gasp as she saw the sea of finely-dressed people below.
The ballroom shimmered and sparkled with jewels and colorful silk dresses. Amber lights cascaded down onto the walls and floor, giving the ballroom a golden glow. Lots of couples dressed in their most elegant attire, their faces disguised by masks were drinking, mingling, or dancing to the beautiful waltz coming from the stringed quartet in the corner.
“Now, do not be too nervous,” warned Stephanie. “Remember—everyone is pretending to be someone else this evening. Just try and mingle. Meet me at the carriage at twelve,” she said, looking around. “Oh, there’s Phillip. I’ll be right back.”
Grace watched as Stephanie left. Before she knew it, Stephanie had already vanished among the crowd. Now she was all alone. What was she supposed to do? She turned her attention to the servants who threaded their way among the guests carrying trays or messages, discreetly watching for mishaps to whisk away, and seeing to it that everything was in order.
Several ladies were pairing up with gentlemen to dance. It soon began to seem as if Grace was the only lady without a partner. She could see some ladies giggling to themselves and looking at her. Are they laughing at me for standing alone she wondered.
She wasn’t sure. Unable to bear this awkwardness, she inhaled and decided to go to the balcony.
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Eleanor smiled as she rubbed her swollen belly. The baby shifted a little and kicked against her hand.
“It comes and goes now. If I don’t move too quickly, I’ll be fine.”
Marion shuddered. “I can’t imagine being nauseous while you’re pregnant. Is that normal?”
“Mr. Fallowfields says it is, but I doubt it.” Eleanor shook her head. “Father said Mother was never this sick, and Nathan said that his mother didn’t have sickness as bad as this when she was pregnant. But I suppose every pregnancy is different.”
“Which means some women suffer more than others,” Marion muttered.
Eleanor couldn’t agree more. She had become pregnant very quickly after the wedding, and she could still remember the moment she told Nathan. He had picked her up and spun her around the room, which had resulted in Eleanor almost throwing up all over him. Her husband was still beaming a week later.
Even now, he was still smiling, walking across the lawn of their country house with Simon, and their English sheepdog jumping around them like a mad thing. Eleanor had been insistent about getting a dog, a dream of hers for some years now. Her father had refused to get a dog, claiming that her mother didn’t like them, and they made him sneeze. Nathan had been too happy to oblige, and Samson was an adorable pup. Eleanor didn’t think she could love anyone more.
Except her husband. And now her baby.
“I can’t wait for the baby to arrive.” Eleanor rubbed slow circles over her belly. That seemed to settle the discomfort a little. “Just a few more months to go.”
“From the look of it, Captain Reynolds can’t wait, either.” Marion smiled. “He still hasn’t gone back to France, and I thought he would be heading back once he confirmed you were pregnant.”
Eleanor smiled. “He says he’s been given permission to stay on leave for another year. I think he just doesn’t want to leave me when I’m this sick.”
“You think?”
“He has been sticking closer to me when you’re not around.”
Which he had. Nathan was being a very attentive father-to-be, doing anything he could to make Eleanor feel better. Eleanor had told him several times that he could go back and carry on fighting against the French – they did need him – but Nathan had simply responded that his priority now was his wife and child. Nothing was getting in the way of that.
For a man who was very set in his ways and determined to go back to France, that was a big step. Eleanor had never thought she would hear that. While she did feel a little guilty for Nathan not serving his country, she wasn’t about to complain. She would make every second count.
There was a series of barks, and Eleanor watched as Nathan picked up a stick and threw it, Samson charging after it. She smiled.
“If I’m honest, it’s nice to have him around.”
“I can imagine” Marion murmured. “At least you know you’re married.”
Eleanor glanced over. Her friend was sitting beside her on the terrace, staring out across the lawn. Eleanor didn’t need to guess who Marion was looking at, not with that faraway look on her face. Her friend had been like this since being properly introduced to Simon. Eleanor had wondered about it at the beginning, Nathan laughing when she told him about it. To him, it sounded like Marion was quite taken with Simon. And from what her husband knew, the feeling was mutual.
Eleanor didn’t know about that. The two of them barely spoke, and they were rarely in the same room long enough to talk. But Marion’s expression said she would happily spend all day listening to the Earl of Reading.
“Marion?” Eleanor leaned over and nudged her friend’s knee. “Are you all right?”
“Hmm?” Marion blinked and turned to her. Then she shook herself. “Oh, forgive me, Eleanor. I didn’t know I had drifted off.”
“Where did you go?”
“I’m…” Marion’s face went a little red. “I was just…soaking in my surroundings.”
Eleanor grinned. “Soaking in the sight of the Earl of Reading, from the look of it.”
Marion’s eyes widened. “Eleanor!”
“What? What’s wrong with making a passing comment?”
“It’s not a passing comment, and you know it,” Marion snapped.
Eleanor looked out at her husband and his friend. Simon was now making Samson play fetch with him, the pup tripping over his feet as he chased around after the stick. Seeing the Earl look so carefree and relaxed was refreshing. It was no wonder Marion found him attractive to watch.
“I have noticed how much you look at him. There’s no harm in looking, is there?”
Marion scowled. “There is when nothing can come of it.”
“You believe that nothing can happen between the two of you?”
Marion looked away.
“Eleanor, I’m not of his station, and Lord Reading still pines for his dead wife. I can’t compete with a woman I’ll never meet.”
There was that. Simon was still mourning his wife. But he had been doing a lot of looking at Marion himself. Eleanor had noticed. There was a good chance he was ready to move on. Eleanor couldn’t think of anyone better than Marion to help him with that.
“Oh, Marion.” Eleanor clasped her friend’s hand. “You’re worrying too much. I never said you had to approach him and express undying love. Just enjoy admiring a good-looking man. That’s what I’m doing.”
“It’s different for you. You’re married to him.”
Eleanor giggled. “There is that factor.” She rose to her feet, swaying a little before she got her balance. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk. Let the boys play with the dog.”
Marion hesitated, then she rose to her feet and gave her friend a smile. “All right. I could do with stretching my legs.”
“Good.” Eleanor slipped her arm through Marion’s. “And then you can help me choose a few names. Nathan and I are still stuck. We could use some outside advice.”
