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Chapter 1

Katherine blew a strand of hair away from her face as she stood in front of the door, her gaze on the faint carvings on it. The double Italian doors that served as the entrance to Bowmount Hall was all she could stare at as she stood there, contemplating on how to push open the door after being missing for the whole night. She’d fled to the church upon the news she had heard. Victor was gone, and she would no longer see him. He was gone from their lives, forever.

All she wanted was to be alone, so she could fully comprehend what was going on. So she could wonder where it had all gone wrong. Maybe if he had listened to her, then none of this would have happened.

The screech of iron wheels made her eyes widen and she tensed. Her heartbeat increased when the carriage stopped.

“Oh, dear Lord, Katherine!” She heard a loud gasp.

She would know that voice anywhere. Her eyes were certainly still red, but she could not care less because she knew her best friends had arrived.

“We’ve been so worried,” Esther said. Her voice was louder than it had been before. They were close to her now.

“Katherine!” Anne said hurriedly, before she felt her shoulders jerk backwards and Anne hugged her. Katherine blinked a few times, her hands to her sides, her eyes brimming with fresh tears. She began to wonder if it was right that she returned home now. Perhaps a few more days to herself would stop her from crying so much.

“You had us worried,” Anne cried, her head on Katherine’s shoulder.

Esther stood behind, her right hand raised in confusion and her face scrunched. They had been worried. Lady Anne Huntington, Duchess of Richmond and Lady Esther Hamilton, Duchess of York had been her closest friends for as long as she could remember. They had been with her through everything she’d faced in her life. It was understandable that both of them would be standing before her now, in tears. She wanted to hold them close and bawl her eyes out, but she didn’t. She wanted to be strong.

The front door opened then, large doors pulling backwards, and Mr. Stewart looked out, his first expression was that of irritation, before he took in the sight before him. “Oh dear, Lady Bowmount!” He proceeded to yell into the house. “Lady Bowmount is home!”

“I am fine,” Katherine insisted, pushing herself away from Anne’s hold. She held both their gazes for a brief moment before she turned, and without looking at anyone, she walked into the house.

“Lady Bowmount!” someone called after her, she was not sure who it was. She didn’t care to know.

“Katherine!” It was her mother.

She stopped walking, and in front of her, in the hallway, stood her parents and her brother, James. She didn’t want to see all of them now. She just needed to be alone. She didn’t want anyone coddling her. She just needed space, peace, and quiet.

“Katherine…” her father whispered.

She wondered what was running through his mind as he stood there, staring at her and saying with his eyes ‘I knew something bad would happen.’ She didn’t want this.

She nodded at them curtly and repeated the same thing she told Anne and Esther. “I am well.” Then she turned and walked up the stairs that led to her bedchamber.

She didn’t want to cry anymore, she’d gone through so much, yet she stood through it all. She wanted to have some time alone, some change of clothes and then peace and quiet. From the corner of her eye, she saw everyone watching her as she walked. Only Darlene, her lady’s maid, knew to walk behind her, quietly.

“Mother!” she heard Victoria call from downstairs, and she wondered where she’d run out from. Katherine didn’t want to see her yet. She ignored her daughter’s tearful cries, knowing full well that the people she trusted were down there to care for her.

 

*****

 

“It’s alright to want to be left alone, Katherine. I had wanted to be left alone, too.”

Slowly, Katherine turned. She was about to head down to meet everyone who awaited her. Perhaps she’d kept them there in silence for too long. She’d wanted to show them that she was fine, but the voice stopped her.

Lady Louise Willington, the Dowager Marchioness of Bowmount, stood there in a black muslin. Her hair was a mess, and her eyes were red rimmed. She pressed her lips in a thin line before she spoke.

“When Victor’s father left me and ran after the quick-rising actress, Sarah Balfour, I was heartbroken. I was shattered. I loved him very much, and his affair was a betrayal. But most of all, I knew that I could do nothing about it. That was the moment I lost him. We were never on good terms even until his death. While he gambled away all we had and drank himself to stupor.” Louise sucked in a breath and breathed out harshly. “I had to keep everything together; I had to make sure the little that was left, the little I could manage, was enough to give my son a good life. But it only got worse when he died, and we lost everything.”

Katherine creased her brows, wondering what and why Louise was telling her this.

The Dowager Marchioness went on. “When I lost Victor’s father and was left with two children to fend for, I was enraged. Angry. I was so lost in my hatred for him, for how he ruined everything.  I directed my hatred at Anne, but still, it affected my son, as well.”

Katherine clenched her teeth. “Why are you telling me this?”

The Dowager Marchioness stepped forward; her lips curled upward in a sad smile. “Because I know how angry you were at Victor as he left. You didn’t want him to go.”

“I was scared,” Katherine whispered. She had been frightened that storms would beset Victor’s ship.  She had been right.

“I know. Do not let your guilt be the reason you keep away from Victoria. It was irresponsible of you to leave her. You have to know something, dear— be strong, for yourself and your daughter.” The Dowager Marchioness’s eyes were glistening with tears.

Katherine creased her brows, knowing full well that the tears were not only from Victor’s death. Katherine and the Dowager Marchioness had never really been close, but they had mutual respect for each other. Katherine rarely ever spoke to her; they never argued over anything. The Dowager Marchioness never outright expressed hate or anger towards Katherine, and yet, there was something there. Katherine felt that the Dowager Marchioness simply saw her as a means of escaping the debt Victor’s father had put them all in. Now, Katherine was moved to inquire what the problem actually was.

“Pray tell, is there something more that I should be worried about, other than burying my husband?”

Louise nodded slowly. “Victor is dead. You bore him no son. Therefore, this house now belongs to neither of us. The former Lord Bowmount had a sister Victor’s Aunt. She lives in Flitwick, a small town far from here.” The Dowager Marchioness’s eyes widened. “She has a son, and he is the next in line. Katherine, we have to brace ourselves.  Her son will come to claim what is his. The moment the news of Victor’s death reaches them, this manor is no longer ours.”

Katherine felt her blood drain from her face. Of course, of course! The blasted rules that left a lady vulnerable. The manor was no longer hers the moment Victor’s death was announced. None of it was hers anymore. Nothing for Victoria. Everything that Victor had worked so hard for, everything that she had invested all her dowry in, would be given to some stranger who only had to set foot inside to lay his claim. Without knowing the sweat that Victor had put into everything, and without knowing how much she had given to see the rise of the house of Bowmount.

She felt as though she had been punched as the reality of her situation hit her. Everything that belonged to her alone that had been in her name alone had been put into reinstating the house of Bowmount. Bowmount Hall was for the male heir. She sucked in a breath as everything clicked. She had nothing. Nothing to her name, nothing for herself. Nothing. And her husband’s hard work was gone, to undeserving strangers who knew nothing of it.

“Katherine, you must be strong —”

“I am strong,” Katherine said sharply. “I am strong. No one will take away what Victor put such hard work into rebuilding. No one!”

“Katherine, it’s not your call,” the Dowager Marchioness whispered. “It is how it will be.”

“We would have nothing.”

The Dowager Marchioness shook her head immediately. “We would have something to live with dignity and ensure Victoria’s future. Isn’t this important too?”

“You know what I mean,” Katherine said. Of course, she knew they would have something. They would be given a relatively satisfying yearly income that ensured their comfort. Money and grain and anything for survival. Any other lady in her place would be more than satisfied. But not Katherine— to her, the estate was important.

Victor had put in much work to put it all together and no amounts of money, or support from her own family could replace what her husband struggled to create.

Staring at the Dowager Marchioness, Katherine wondered what she must have gone through when Victor’s father had died, leaving her penniless. Had she been faced with this? Had she felt so empty, so weak that she needed to prove that she was strong? Katherine wondered a lot of things, and above all, what it felt like to lose everything at the snap of a finger.

“Katherine —”

Katherine squared her shoulders as she cut her off. “We won’t think about anyone taking away what my husband worked and sacrificed his life for. I won’t let it happen. This is our home.”

“Katherine —”

“We will focus on Victor’s funeral and mourning him. We will give him the respect he deserves. We won’t cloud our minds with rubbish. This is our home!” she thundered. “This is my home!”

The Dowager Marchioness looked like she wanted to say more, but she pressed her lips together, nodded once, squared her shoulders, and clenched her teeth.

Katherine went on. “We will get ready for Victor’s funeral. We have nothing to fear. We won’t let anyone take our home from us.”

Louise said nothing, her jaw only clenched, and her hands clasped together. Katherine stared at her green eyes, seeking a response, an assurance, some kind of hopeful words.

“Promise me that we won’t lose what Victor worked for. We will keep it together, won’t we, Mother?” Katherine breathed. She felt like she was suffocating. She had never had such a long conversation with Louise and not one where she needed to say, Mother, in seven years. And yet, one day and everything had changed. Everything. Even Louise was showing her vulnerable side.

“Katherine, this is a reality that we must face,” she said, sternly.

Katherine shook her head. “We will keep this manor and everything else my husband worked for before his death. We will let no one claim what is ours.”

“Katherine…”

She began to mutter to herself, assuring herself that everything belonged to her. To her daughter. For their future. She turned back to the Dowager Marchioness. “No one will take it all away from us.”

Louise wanted to say more, but she relaxed her shoulders and nodded very slowly. “No one will take anything from us, Katherine. We will make sure.”

Katherine was not sure why the Dowager Marchioness said that, and with such faith, with such eagerness, with such sincerity and certainty. Perhaps it was the realization that both of them were in this together, that they had been the most important people to Victor before his death. But as Katherine turned, knowing well that the Dowager Marchioness was solidly by her side made her feel stronger. She raised her shoulders as she walked down the rest of the stairs. All she had to think about was Victor’s funeral. That and her daughter’s future. No one would take what was hers away from her. No one.

Chapter 2

Seven Months Later

Lord Arthur Shepherd, Marquess of Bowmount had expected that the path that led to his Uncle’s home would be quite distant from the rest of Somerset, as the Bowmount Hall was a frontier, one of the greatest frontiers of England — save for its tragic fall, he sighed, shaking his head softly and opting to stare outside, rather than think too much about the fall of the house.

He didn’t like change, movement, adjustment. He hated it. When his mother had told him of his inheritance, he had been stunned and had refused to go. His mother had insisted that he left right away to claim what was his. But Arthur had thought that it was disrespectful, to simply storm into the Bowmount Hall and claim everything while they were grieving.

His heart clenched again, for a cousin that he barely knew and for his young widow, whom Arthur had never met. He recalled seeing Victor a few times when they were younger.  Hearing of Victor’s death had saddened his mother, left her down for days, knowing that he had no heir. His mother never liked the Dowager Marchioness, Victor’s mother. They never got along. And she barely knew Victor’s wife, so she kept insisting that he go there, to claim what rightfully belonged to their family. Arthur didn’t know Lady Katherine Willington. He had never met her, but his mother had. She had described the current Lady Bowmount as unpredictable, fierce, and unreadable.

Her persuasion left Arthur no other choice than to write to them, expressing his condolences. The reply he received from Victor’s widow had been cold; nothing more than a brief thank you. He shook his head. Perhaps he was overthinking, but he felt odd about her reply. He felt as if she was angry at him. Perhaps it was just him. What had he expected her reply would be like?

Then he wrote to the house again, announcing his arrival. He hadn’t felt that he needed to state that he now owned the estate and the manor, but his mother had made sure he included why he was coming. To claim what was his, being the next in line, after Victor. The next reply had been from the Dowager Marchioness, Lady Louise Willington. She had written him a short response, straight to the point.

We await your arrival, Lord Arthur Shepherd, Marquess of Bowmount.

He was not sure if the reply was a sign of acceptance or a mockery, but either way, he felt most uncomfortable by the change. He had, however, proceeded to inform them of the date of his arrival. He had predicted that he would arrive late evening, instead, he arrived midday.

He poked his head outside the carriage and called to the coachman. “Are we almost there?”

His eyes took in the large house, built like a castle, with wood and high stone slabs. The combination amazed him. The pillars by the large entrance door caught his attention. He stared up at it. The green grasses cut low and clean surrounding it looked beautiful. He blew out a breath just as the driver announced.

“My Lord, we have arrived.”

Arthur nodded, knowing that they had indeed arrived. He alighted the hackney, his black valise in his left hand, and his right hand clenched to his side. He paid the coachman and turned to stare up at the mansion as the carriage rolled away.

Nodding to himself, Arthur muttered words of encouragement to himself before he ran up the stairs and raised his hand to the door to knock. He knocked twice and stepped back, staring at the door as though it led to a foreign land.

There was no response. He knocked on the door again, louder this time. The door swung inward, opening to reveal a man. He seemed about middle-aged, but his hair had no grey in it. His cheeks were chubby, and so was he. The man raised a brow at Arthur. “Yes?”

Arthur smiled at the man and raised his trunk. “Hello, I am Arthur Shep —” He stopped, he was not simply a barrister now, he was more.

The man still raised his brow, questioning. His dark hair seemed too dark for one who looked like he was aging.

Arthur cleared his throat. “Lord Bowmount. I sent a letter to inform the family of my arrival.”

The man’s eyes widened a fraction, and then his expression turned still as he bowed stiffly, and most unwillingly. “Welcome, Lord Bowmount.”

He pulled the door wide open, so that the daylight filled the hallway. Arthur stepped through the threshold, feeling very self-conscious. This was now his home. He felt like he had stolen it.

The man breathed out, and then with a slight bow of his head again, said, “Lord Bowmount, welcome —”

He nodded curtly, although he didn’t like when he was called Lord. It was foreign to him, new. Everything was new. To himself, he was still simply Mr. Shepherd. Not a Lord with all of what he was seeing. The excess light in the hallway soon faded as the door was closed.

“Did you arrive with a coach? A coachman, valet?” The man behind him asked. Arthur sensed his question was asked irritably. He ignored it and turned to the man with a small smile.

“No, I came alone.”

The man’s eyes widened. “Alone? A Lord such as yourself has traveled far to settle in your new — to settle, and you have come with no carriage or coachman, or valet? ”

Arthur was tempted to smile, and he did. “You sound as though I have done something atrocious.”

The man raised his nose and squared his shoulders. “I haven’t said such. I was only asking. It’s most unusual, My Lord.” He looked away from Arthur, his gaze bouncing around, as though waiting for something. After a while, he said. “Come with me, My Lord. I presume you do not mind waiting in the drawing room while I inform the ladies of your early arrival?”

Arthur shook his head. That was indeed the right thing to do. “I shan’t mind. Lead the way.”

He was led through the wide hallway, with closed doors at every corner and a bright light from the be very end of the hallway, where a large window was situated, sending sunshine into the house. The man, whom he presumed was the butler, stopped at the large door on the left and pushed it open. Arthur blinked at the large settee at the corner, before taking in the rest of the furniture. He walked in to take his seat on the blue velvet settee beside the shelf.

Arthur felt uncomfortable. The house was quiet, as though no soul lived in it. It had been seven months since the death of his cousin. Surely, the household had recovered a fraction. Why then was a large home so lifeless? He crossed his left leg over his right and set his valise beside his feet. He relaxed into the settee, exhausted from his tiring journey.

“Excuse me?” A voice distracted him from his rest. He opened his formally closed eyes and sat up.

A young girl with dark hair pulled back in a chignon and dressed in a plain grey cotton dress stared back at him. Her large brown eyes were blinking in horror. She was a maid. He knew this from her dress, and the white pinafore she wore over it. She seemed to be surprised that he was sitting there. She recovered quickly and curtsied, though he could tell that she was confused as to who he was.

Then slowly, she said. “Lord Bowmount.” It was a statement that sounded like a question. He was about to respond to her when they were interrupted.

“Darlene!” a voice called. The voice was cool, feminine, strong, and sharp-edged. The voice came with authority. “Whom are you speaking with?”

Darlene looked to the side, into the simple opening by the corner. She looked at him briefly, curtsied, then walked away. He heard whispers, before the clump of shoes echoed in the hallway.

From the corner, he saw a black dress peek out before he saw the lady who wore it. She stepped into the hallway slowly, but with certainty. He froze as he took the lady in. There was a kind of authority the woman emanated. He sucked in his breath as the lady came to a halt in the middle of the hallway. He blinked, wondering if she was truly Victor’s widow.

Standing inches away from him was a woman who possessed everything he had so often seen, but with so much more. She had golden blonde hair, and blue eyes that were so bright they seemed to dance and sparkle as she watched him. Her cheekbones were high, and they suited her face well. Her lips were small and plump and pink — they looked as though she pouted. They attracted his eyes.

He felt his insides twist at the sight of her. It was as though time stood still and all he could do was to stare at was her. She stood with both her hands clasped, her shoulders squared, and her jaw tilted upwards. His mother had been right. Lady Katherine Willington, Marchioness of Bowmount, was fierce. But no one had told him that she was beautiful and breathtaking, beyond anything he’d ever seen before, anything he’d imagined. The way she stared him down made him go still, because he was mesmerized by what he saw, and her gaze intimidated him.

Arthur rose and bowed. “I am Arthur Shepherd, Lord Bowmount’s cousin. I wrote to you about my arrival, Lady Bowmount.”

He saw her raise her brow for a second before her lips turned down and her gaze dimmed. Her quick change of mien was unsettling. “You must be Lady Bowmount, I presume?” he blurted, uncertain if he was right. However, he trusted that it was indeed she who was Victor’s widow. She was dressed as a lady, stood as one would, wore black, which would signify her mourning, and she was in Bowmount Hall.

She creased her brows; her lips turned down in a slight frown for only a second before she went back to her blank stare. He swallowed hard at the movement. Her gaze flickered to his, and for a second, it held his. He parted his lips to speak, but was still captivated. Finally, he looked away from her and spoke. “Lady Bowmount, my condolences about Victor. He was a great man.”

Lady Bowmount said nothing. She simply blinked and cast her gaze down for a second before they rose again. Every move she made caused him to go more and more still. He was not sure what was going on, but suddenly he was afraid to be there, standing before her, or even talking to her.

He went on. “It’s been such a long journey from Flitwick. But after a bit of time to refresh myself, I would like to sit and discuss the details of the manor and title with you.”

Lady Bowmount narrowed her eyes at him. “Very well.”

With one glance beside her, she said, to someone whom he could not see, as they were all standing behind the door. “Mr. Stewart, show Lord Bowmount his bed chambers.” To Arthur, she said coldly, “Welcome to Bowmount Hall.”

With those words, she turned and walked down the hallway, leaving him standing there, staring at the open doors of the waiting room.

From beside him, the man he’d seen earlier walked in front of the door. His jaws were still, but he bowed. “Lord Bowmount, I shall take you to your bedchamber.”

Arthur nodded once. He picked up his trunk from beside his feet and walked out of the drawing room. He was frozen for a second at the long line of people who stood in the long hallway. They all bowed as he walked past them, while the butler proceeded to introduce them all.

“This is Analise, the cook,” he said, and pointed at the plump lady who curtsied with a grim face.

As they walked on, he introduced all the other workers. Fin, the stable boy, Darlene, the lady’s maid, Amelia, the nurse maid for Lady Victoria, Gerald and Randalf, the coachman and Lord Bowmount’s Valet, respectively.

“And I am Richard Stewart,” the butler said once he was done introducing all who stood by the hallway. Arthur watched as they bowed and curtsied and walked away. He was stunned at the number of people that had been employed. Last Arthur had heard, Bowmount Hall had fallen and they could no longer afford to pay workers, so all had left. If this many workers now worked at Bowmount Hall, he wondered if he would be able to do what Victor had done.

“Abigail is the Dowager Marchioness’s Lady Maid,” Richard said as they walked through the hallway and passed what looked like a salon.

Arthur thought he’d seen the Dowager Marchioness inside, but he was not quite sure because Richard was walking at a quick pace and he followed behind him. If that was the Dowager Marchioness, why hadn’t she come to acknowledge his arrival.

He didn’t understand what was going on. He had not expected to be welcomed with open arms. It was the law that he inherit, so he wasn’t sure why he was being treated with such disdain. The quietness. The scorn from Darlene and the butler, the cold welcome from Lady Bowmount. He didn’t understand any of it at all. Katherine had said welcome, but he felt anything but and in his own house. As he walked behind Mr. Stewart, he wondered what they had planned for him. The entire household seemed to be burning holes through his skin when they stared at him. He pressed his lips together. Something was not right. There seemed to be a conspiracy amongst them all.

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Chapter 1

Kinsale, Ireland

The two horses leapt over the hedge simultaneously, the paler of the two pulling ahead as they galloped along the cliff’s edge. To their right, the River Brandon was calmer, barely a ripple as it glistened under the mid-July sun. David often liked to take this route, strolling along to smell the rich salt in the air. This was one of his favorite places. But when his brother was flying on ahead, intent on making their late morning ride a race, it was hard to stop and admire the view. Peter loved a race.

Then again, so did David.

Peter reached the point where the cliff edge had a steady drop down into a cove. A little private area that was barely used by anyone other than themselves when they were children. He adjusted his hat and gave David a triumphant grin.

“I’ve won!” he declared. “Again! For someone who spends every day in the saddle, you’re rather slow, David.”

David rolled his eyes as he smiled, trotting up to join his brother. “I got distracted with the view.”

“Ha! You’re not willing to admit that I beat you fair and square.”

“And last time I checked, you weren’t always this combative when someone graciously accepted a loss.”

David’s twin smirked and turned his white horse towards the mainland. “When you live a life at sea, you find out things don’t go by the same rules as on land. Speaking of which,” he made a face at the ocean behind them, “I want to get away from here. I don’t want to smell that stench.”

David laughed. “You work on a ship!”

“Doesn’t mean I have to enjoy my job when I have shore leave. Come on!”

Peter set his horse off at a quick canter. David urged his horse after him, not willing to be left behind. He and Peter only had a few days before Peter went back to sea again, this time sailing to the Caribbean, transporting people heading to live on the many islands out there. David didn’t want to waste time squabbling. Then again, Peter liked a good argument.

It was good to have his brother back. Kinsale wasn’t the same without him, especially with their father in such a subdued state. Peter had been at sea when their mother died after a long illness. David and his brother Geoffrey had to watch as their mother, who had been the peacemaker, the one who tempered the boys’ fiery behaviour with her calm approach, withered away in her bed. She passed away in their father’s arms, and Ian Harrison hadn’t recovered from it.

David was still struggling from his mother’s death himself, but it was nothing compared to Viscount Harrison. Ian was a shadow of his former self. They had been married for twenty years, and their marriage had been strong, solid. Now Ian was on his own, and he didn’t seem to know how to cope. Geoffrey was the most worried about their father, and he was close to tears whenever his attempts to cheer Ian up failed.

David felt like he was stuck in the middle. Now, at least Peter had come back. With a few days for a bit of fun and distraction, it was like they were children again.

“What’s going on?”

“Hmm?” David hadn’t realized he had slowed down. Now Peter was slowing his pace to fall in beside David, giving his brother a curious look.

“You went off in your own world there. What’s wrong?”

“I was thinking that we need to do something about Pa.”

“Like what?”

“Stop him moping.” David winced. “I know that sounds callous, but Ma’s been dead for two years now and yet Pa is still mourning her. I don’t think I’ve seen him crack a smile in months. Geoffrey’s noticed as well.”

Peter snorted.

“Geoffrey always was a soft one. He is always about feelings.”

“He’s only sixteen.”

“And that doesn’t bode well for him as a man. Women might find him sympathetic to their feelings attractive, but it’s not going to get Geoffrey anywhere, is it?”

“Leave off on Geoff. This is about Pa.” David shook his head. “I think he’s slipping away from us. The strong man who was once in charge of this family is not there anymore.”

“Of course he’s there. He’s just preoccupied.” Peter sighed. “Look, David, you needn’t worry so much. I’m sure Pa will be fine. He’s stronger than you think. And two years is the appropriate time to mourn a spouse, you know that.”

“I know that, but…” David sighed. “I just don’t like seeing him so sad.”

The three Harrison sons had inherited Ian’s fiery temper. They were all similar, in that respect. As they grew up, the three boys learned to deal with it in different ways. Peter had struggled the most, which was why Ian had suggested signing him up as a midshipman when he was twelve. Peter had protested, but life at sea had tempered him. He wasn’t as fierce as before, but the light in his eyes had never gone away. If anything, it had grown.

As Ian grew older, he became more somber. David wasn’t sure what to make of the new gentleman sitting at the head of the table. Hopefully, they could get the old Ian Harrison back.

“Well, we’ve got a dinner party to go to tonight.” Peter suggested. “I’m sure we can find a way to cheer him up there.”

David found himself laughing. “At the O’Reilly estate? Are you sure about that?”

“Maybe you’re right. That’s more likely to make him even worse.”

David couldn’t argue with that. The O’Reilly family were their neighbors, and they were absolute bores. But, Ian never turned an invitation down because he was a gracious man. He wasn’t about to be rude to their neighbors, even if Ian rolled his eyes whenever he got a letter from them. There had been talks about arranging a match between David and their eldest daughter Lady Eveline, but that had been quickly scrapped. David was glad about that. Lady Eveline was just as boring as her parents.

“Look, how about we take him out riding next time we go?” David said. “He’s coming with us, no arguments; along the clifftops, just as he used to when he was teaching us to ride. He always love a race.”

“I know.” Peter grinned. “And I always win.”

“Only because Pa lets you. He’s always going to be the best horseman.”

“I’m going to overtake him very quickly. I know it.” Peter nodded out ahead of them. “Just as I know I’m going to be making introductions with that girl.”

“Huh?”

David hadn’t noticed that they were now on the outskirts of Kinsale, in an area called Compass Quay. It was where most of the fishermen lived as it was easier access to the boats to get out and collect their wage in the Atlantic Ocean. Even further inland, the smell of fish was enormous and it was making David’s eyes water. People were going on about their business, barely giving them a glance.

Irish people were more dismissive of their nobility than the English, seeing them as another member of the community, but with finer clothes. David liked being on a more level footing with his workers. Everyone was human, and he found work was so much easier to get done when he wasn’t lording it over them. Peter was not of the same mind, turning his nose up at the villagers whenever they came near.

Whoever thought a sailor would be such a snob?

David followed Peter’s line of sight and saw a girl at the well, turning the handle. What he saw made him stare. She was close to their age, maybe a little younger, with light brown hair loosely tied back, but with most of it falling over her shoulders. She was tall and curvy in all the right places. She wore a simple cloth dress in pale brown with the sleeves rolled up as she turning the handle on the winch.

She was beautiful. Even with sweat beading her forehead under the hot sun and wearing servant’s clothes, she was beautiful. David couldn’t take his eyes off her. He could see why Peter had picked her out, but then he remembered where they were.

“Are you mad?” he hissed. “She’s one of the villagers, Peter!”

“And? Nothing wrong in a bit of fun.”

Peter was smirking, his eyes still on the girl. David groaned. His brother liked women. Even at nineteen, he had started making flirtatious comments at several of the ladies in Irish Society, even the older ladies. Being at sea seemed to have given him some confidence when it came to talking to the opposite sex, something Peter hadn’t possessed when he was younger. Or maybe he was that desperate for female company after being at sea with dozens of men for months on end.

David was aiming for the latter.

“I don’t think seducing a village girl would be classed as fun,” David pointed out. “I bet you she’s not even old enough.”

“Then let’s go and ask her.” Peter kicked his horse into motion, setting off on a quick walk. “Come on, you can see how it’s done.”

David hurried after him. “Can’t you keep your mind out of the gutter for more than a few minutes?” he hissed.

“You go to sea for months on end and you’ll see how hard it is to cope without a woman.”

“You were sent to sea to keep you out of trouble.”

“Well, it’s clearly not worked.” Peter laughed. Then he turned away, his smiling fading as he sat up in his saddle. “Whoa, look at that.”

The girl had unhooked the bucket, full of water, and was now dragging it off the lip of the well. She had also been approached by three young men. They had surrounded her, effectively pinning her against the wall. One of the lads was saying something to the girl, his hand touching her face even as she shied away.

David felt a knot hardening in his stomach. Then he shook himself. What was wrong with him? Why was he getting so worked up over another man touching her?

He had been in Peter’s company too long.

Then he stared as the girl promptly dropped the heavy bucket onto the lad’s foot, the bucket tipping over and water cascading over the already soggy ground. The first lad howled and staggered away, hopping on one foot as he grabbed onto his toes. The girl then picked up the now-empty bucket and swung it, hitting the second lad in the face. She was grabbed by the third lad, but David saw her jerk her knee up, catching him between his legs. The lad groaned and stiffened up before falling over.

Peter burst into laughter. David couldn’t help but smile. The girl had guts.

“Well, I think we both know what her reaction would have been if you did that to her.”

“She wouldn’t. I’m not that brazen.”

“Excuse me?”

Peter flushed and shifted in his saddle. “All right, maybe I am. But, I can move faster.”

“I highly doubt it.” David laughed.

Then he saw the scene before them had changed. The three young men had disappeared momentarily while they had been talking, and the girl had gone back to drawing water from the well. Mud was clinging to the hem of her skirts, and she was struggling, but didn’t back down as she lowered the bucket. While she was working, her back was to the rest of the square, and she didn’t see the three lads come back out with a few more young men. All of them were focused on her, and they began to spread out as they approached her.

David kicked his horse into gear. “Come on.”

“What?”

“You’re going on about how gentlemanly you are,” David shouted over his shoulder as he galloped away, “prove it.”

The girl was now aware of the trouble she was in. She pressed herself against the well, her body tensed ready for fight. David urged his horse to move faster. In any other circumstances, he would have intervened, but he wouldn’t have felt the same way as this. He had never felt the panic in his chest. He must have been dropped on his head at some point. That could be the only reason for reacting like this.

He reached the girl first, leaning well out of the saddle and grabbing her around the waist. The girl screamed as he lifted her off her feet, and she tried to fight back, but David clung on even as she scratched at his neck. He took them to the far side of the square and pulled his horse to a stop, letting go of the girl as she slid out of his grasp. Then David dismounted.

Back by the well, Peter had arrived. He had jumped off his horse and was sauntering towards the gang, swinging his cane.

“Would you like to try that again with me?” he declared. He pointed the head of his cane at the lad who had touched the girl. “You first, sir?”

The men were beginning to back away. David turned to the girl, who was watching the scene in stunned disbelief. Up close like this, she was even more beautiful. Soft skin turned a golden brown under the sun, and the most stunning blue eyes David had ever seen. He found himself staring, unable to look away.

“Excuse me?” The girl was looking at him strangely. Then David realized he had been staring at her with his mouth open.

He cleared his throat. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” The girl flushed and brushed her hands on her skirts. “It’s nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“I’m sure you couldn’t handle half a dozen men or more on your own.”

“Are you mocking me because I’m a woman?”

“I would never do that.” Combative. David was surprised to find that he liked that. “But there is a point when you need to admit you need some help. And be gracious when accepting it.”

The girl snorted. “Is that how you were raised? To charge in swords waving around?”

“No sword out for me.” David nodded at Peter, who was still having a stand-off with some of the young men. A few of them had already retreated. “My brother is a bit more wayward than I am and we don’t treat women the way they were treating you.”

They stared at each other. David couldn’t help but stare. Those eyes were captivating. He just couldn’t look away. And she stared back unblinkingly. Finally, she backed down first, licking her lips before looking away.

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

“I beg your pardon?” David bit back a smile. “What did you say?”

“You heard me. Don’t make me repeat it.”

Even as she snapped at him, David saw the ghost of a smile. He felt something punch him in the gut. Whoa. If that was how he reacted after a small smile, he couldn’t imagine how his response would be to a full one.

Footsteps had David spinning around. Peter was strutting towards them, twirling his cane and whistling. He gave David a smug look.

“They’ve gone now,” he declared. “They shouldn’t be bothering you anytime, miss.”

The girl sighed. Was she a little flushed in the face? She wouldn’t look directly at David, her hands fidgeting.

“I’m sure they’ll be back later,” she said. “They have a habit of bothering me. Especially when Father’s working and not around to keep an eye on me.”

“Where does he work?” David asked.

“The Harrison estate. He’s one of the groundskeepers.”

David and Peter exchanged glances. That David hadn’t been expecting, and Peter looked equally surprised. Normally, those who worked on their father’s estate lived a little closer, mostly for convenience. They wouldn’t be living in Compass Quay. Peter turned his charming smile to the girl.

“I’m sure if we told Pa about this, he might be able to sort something out. Maybe move you closer to our home.”

“Your father?” Her eyes were getting large, her mouth falling open.

David had a sudden urge to kiss her. He needed to take a step back.

Peter laughed. He didn’t seem to have noticed his brother’s discomfort.“I think we forgot to introduce ourselves.” He took off his hat and bowed. “Lieutenant Peter Harrison, at your service. And this is my twin brother, the Honorable Mr. David Harrison.”

David cleared his throat. Now he was feeling inadequate next to his brother. At least Peter had a title. “Just simple Mister, I’m afraid,” he added.

But she was looking at him. It wasn’t Peter she was staring at, but at him. Then she gave him a sweet smile that David felt deep in his gut and held out a hand.

“Miss Arabella Powell.”

David took the hand, and bowed over it. He kissed her knuckles and glanced up as she gasped. He saw her startled expression, but also how her eyes had darkened. God, she was beautiful.

David cleared his throat and straightened up. He couldn’t stay bowed over her hand forever.

“Would you like us to escort you home, Miss Powell?”

“No, I…” Arabella licked her lips. David was captivated by the movement. “I can manage.”

“Would you like help gathering more water?”

“I said I can manage.” Flushing, Arabella lowered her head and hurried past them, brushing against David’s arm. “Good day, sirs.”

Both brothers watched her hurry back to the well and begin to turn the handle again. Peter made an approving sound in his throat.

“My, she’s beautiful.”

“She certainly is.” David murmured.

“Back off, David.” Peter slapped his cane across David’s chest. “She’s mine. I saw her first.”

“I was simply making an observation, Peter. I wasn’t making this into a competition.”

“But I am.” Peter’s eyes narrowed at him. “Keep away from Arabella Powell. She belongs to me.”

David raised his hands and stepped back. “Steady! You’ve got her. I’m not interested.”

But, even as he said it, David realized that was a lie. He was interested. There had been something in the air between them, and it was intense. David would normally take a step back if Peter had made a claim on a woman, but not this time.

This time, David knew Arabella was his.

 

Chapter 2

London, England

Nine Years Later

David fished out a gold coin from his purse and pressed it into the steward’s hand as he walked past.

“Thank you, Frank. I’ll see you again soon.”

“Good evening, Mister Harrison.”

David collected his cloak and hat from the footman by the door and put them on. He was worn out, and all he had done was sit by the fire and read all evening. Everyone left David alone, knowing that he could get engrossed in a book for hours. It wasn’t until Frank the steward told him what time it was that David remembered he had to go back to his father’s London home and get an early night. It was going to be a long journey down to Cornwall so, David could catch the boat that travelled straight to Kinsale.

He had to get back to Kinsale and check on the land. Hopefully, it was as prosperous as it had been the previous month. The weather was perfect for a solid season and David was looking forward to seeing the books showing profits. They needed it. The profits he would be using for himself. And then, the slate would be wiped clean.

David hated being in debt to anyone, but there had been no way around it. He had built up the reputation of being reliable, of being able to take care of his workers. His father had entrusted the farming land to David’s care a few years before, and David had promised to make it flourish. And it had until recent months. Even with things picking up, it was going to take a while to return to how it had been. David didn’t want to go back to his father and say he had let things get out of hand by not paying close attention to the accounts. Even visiting his son’s extended family in England, Ian Harrison knew everything. He kept his ear to the ground. If he knew what David had done to make sure things kept on track, he was going to be furious. Peter had already seen that side of their father, and David didn’t want to have it directed at him.

It was pitch black as David went outside. He could barely see anything beyond the railings lining the park across the street. The air was significantly colder, and David could see his breath in front of his face. Considering this was the middle of October, that was odd. David was used to it being warmer well into November. Even with the air coming off the Atlantic Ocean, Kinsale managed to stay warmer for far longer.

Then again, this was England. In England, anything could happen, including terrible weather.

Turning up the collar on his cloak, David stepped onto the cobbles and headed in the direction of his father’s house. Whenever he was in town, Ian always let David make use of the lodgings he had bought a few years back shortly after his wife died. David and Geoffrey had used it on frequent visits to London. It was now to be gifted to Geoffrey and his new wife once they came back from honeymoon in the north of Ireland.

For now, David was making the most of it.

“Harrison.”

David stopped and turned. He hadn’t realized there was someone in the shadows. Even as he squinted into the dark, David could barely make the outline of the person lurking there. Until the man stepped out, giving David a smirk. David groaned. Not now. He wasn’t in the mood.

“What do you want, Simpson?”

“Is that all I’m going to get from you?” Stephen Simpson spread his hands. “No polite greeting? No asking after my health?”

“Seeing as you’re as healthy as a horse, I think asking after it would be rather pointless.”

Simpson chuckled. “Point taken.”

David’s skin crawled whenever the man was around. He liked fine clothes, and he swanned around as if he owned half of London. Barely coming up to David’s chin, Stephen Simpson was a middle-aged man with a slightly portly figure, dark hair cut close to his head to disguise the obvious receding hairline, and a slight dusting of a beard across his square jaw. There wasn’t anything remarkable about him, apart from the fact he looked out of place wearing clothes almost as expensive as David’s garments.

But, David had figured out pretty quickly that appearances were deceptive. This man was not one you would ask after his health. He was something else. David tapped his cane on the cobbles.

“What are you doing here? This isn’t your part of town.”

Simpson snickered. “Come on, Harrison, you don’t need to ask. You know why I’m here.”

“And I told you the last time you approached me, you’ll get paid when you get paid. I gave you a specific date.”

He hadn’t missed the date, had he? David was sure he had said at the end of October. He had at least two weeks left. Didn’t he?

“Maybe you did, but the interest goes up from the day you took out a loan with me.” Simpson folded his arms. “And it’s the interest that I’m concerned about.”

“You never said anything about interest.”

“I thought you knew from your brother how I operated. As soon as the loan is taken out, interest immediately starts to build.”

David didn’t know that. He had heard about Simpson when he heard Peter ranting about owing Simpson money for one of his own debts. It was a stupid move to go to the same man who had a book solely for Peter’s debts, but David didn’t know who else to go to. He wasn’t about to ask any of his friends if they knew someone who could let him borrow some money short-term; it would always end up going back to Ian. David didn’t want to feel like a failure when he had that conversation with his father.

“That’s illegal, surely?”

“Any more illegal than you coming to me begging for help?” Simpson shot back.

He had a point. David swallowed. He knew he wasn’t going to like this. “How much is the loan now?”

“Twelve hundred pounds.”

“What?” David thought he had misheard, but Simpson’s smirk said he certainly hadn’t. “That…that’s extortion!”

“A big word for a farmer,” Simpson sneered.

That was ridiculous. He couldn’t do that, surely? David’s arithmetic wasn’t that good when trying to do it on the spot, but he knew the interest on that was not even on the scale. Even if he was late on the payment and the interest was five percent, it wouldn’t have gotten so high. Not unless he didn’t pay the amount loaned for a couple of years.

“You’ll get the money I borrowed from you at the arranged date, Simpson,” David growled. “Not before. And certainly with no interest, seeing as I’m not late.”

He turned away, hoping that this would be the end of the conversation, but then Simpson grabbed his arm.

“I believe you’re going to have to rethink what you’ve just said, Mr. Harrison,” he said quietly. “Remember what happens when money isn’t paid in full or not at all? I’m sure your brother has told you about all the…antics that he’s had involving the two of us. Seeing as sailors are at sea all the time, you’d think he would be a bit more…prompt in paying up.”

David did know. Even when he was being shot at by the French and Spanish on the Atlantic Ocean, Peter Harrison still managed to find time to get into fights in back alleys. David didn’t want to count how many times Peter had come back beaten up.

He shook Simpson off. “You do realize that beating me up is going to have my father coming after you.” He added, “He won’t tolerate your behaviour.”

Simpson chuckled. It wasn’t a very nice sound.

“Threatening me with your father, are you? You were concerned about him knowing you had nothing in your account when you came to me. You didn’t want him to find out that you had been a little careless with the allowance he had given you specifically for the estate.” His eyes seemed to glow in the dark. “Do you really want him to know there’s nothing left?”

He did have a point. Ian would be furious. But he wouldn’t turn his back on David, would he? David squared his shoulders.“He’ll stand by me,” he declared.

“Will he?” Simpson purred. “Or will he disown you for good once he finds out what you needed the money for?”

“Don’t make it sound salacious. You know what I needed the money for.” David shook his hand off and stepped back. “Go away, Simpson. No interest, load paid in full on the last day of October. And don’t even think about sending people after me.”

“I don’t need to.” Simpson dusted down his waistcoat. “I do that myself.”

David looked him over. He was easily a head taller than Simpson, and bigger. What could Simpson have up his sleeve that could overpower him? David had grown up having scuffles with both of his brothers. Dealing with this little slimy bastard would be easy.

He twirled his cane, tapping the head into his hand. Then he snapped the cane out. The heavy end of the cane caught Simpson in the face, knocking him back a few paces. Simpson cried out and clutched at his nose. David lowered his cane and braced his feet, ready for a fight.

“Try it, Simpson,” he challenged. “Just try it.”

Simpson lowered his hands and stared at them. Blood covered his fingers, and David could see more blood on his face. The man looked up at David with stunned outrage. He snarled and started towards David.

“David?”

Simpson jerked back like he had been shot. David looked around to see Peter hurrying out of the club. He hadn’t realized his brother had been inside. Peter jogged over to David’s side.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” David gave Simpson a pointed look. “Mr Simpson was just leaving.”

Simpson bared his yellowed teeth, hissing at him. “I’ll make you pay for that, Harrison,” he growled. “You’ll regret laying a finger on me.”

“Try it.” David advanced on him. “I dare you.”

Simpson faltered and started to back away as David stalked towards him. Then, he hurried away, mumbling something that sounded like obscenities as he crossed the street. David let out a heavy sigh. He then realized his hands were shaking.

“David?”

David looked up. Peter was watching him curiously. It had been a while since his brother had witnessed David lash out. David licked his lips and swallowed. “I’m all right. Just get me out of here.”

Peter nodded grimly. “Happy to oblige.”

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Prologue

The sunlight shone dreamily through the windows of the parlor at Westmore House. The warmth of it shone onto the silk wallpaper and flowed like liquid onto the patch of parquet where Hestony stood beside Hal Ellington.

“That hairstyle looks very well on you,” he whispered.

Hestony blushed at the compliment. She felt her cheeks lift in a smile and her heart skipped as she fluffed her blonde curls coquettishly with her fingertips. She had known Hal for months now, since her cousin Emilia fortuitously married his cousin, Luke Preston, the Earl of Westmore. When Hestony met Hal, she would never have imagined it was possible to feel this way about anyone.

“Thank you, Mr. Ellington,” she murmured.

“Hal,” he said at once. “Please, use my name. We have known each other too long for formalities. It has been months, now!”

Hestony swallowed hard. “Very well, then, Hal.”

Saying his name made her cheeks flare hot, despite the long duration of their acquaintance. She had never used his name before – not to his face, anyhow. In her mind, she’d always thought of him as Hal, but had never dreamed she’d have a chance to use it. She looked away from his arrestingly-lovely blue eyes and across to the window open onto the garden.

Hal smiled. “Well, then, Lady Hestony.”

“Hestony,” she said swiftly. She arced a brow at him, making it a challenge.

He grinned, his lips pulling back in a handsome smile. “Well, yes. Hestony.”

She felt her whole body warm up, hearing her name on his lips. Her heart thudded. She didn’t know what to say, so she stepped a little away, heading to the fireside.

“You will go riding, later?” she asked. “Luke said he was going, and…”

“I will go if you are,” Hal interrupted swiftly.

Hestony nodded. “Well, I had thought Remington needed some exercise, and…” She twisted her fingers in the white muslin skirts of her gown. His eyes were on her and the way he was looking with such admiration made her heart thump even harder.

“Well, then,” Hal said. He’d crossed the room to stand a few inches away from her. “That’s settled. We’ll go riding together.”

Hestony smiled as she looked into his eyes. She felt self-conscious, but also more beautiful than she’d ever felt, when he looked at her like that. She wondered if she should change into her blue riding dress – blue brought out the color of her sky-blue eyes.

“Luke said he’d go down at five of the clock,” she said, wondering why her voice was suddenly so tense. Hal had stepped closer, and she could smell the scent of the spicy unguent he used on his hair; mixing with the musky scent of his skin it was subtle and exciting.

“Well, then,” Hal murmured. “I reckon we have plenty of time.”

“Yes.”

Hestony felt strange, being so close to Hal, and yet, at the same time, she didn’t want to move away. She wanted to stand close to him like this – or even closer. Hal seemed to feel the same way, for he had moved so that he was now an inch away. She tilted her head and looked up into his eyes.

“Hal,” she whispered.

He bent forward and suddenly her body felt something that she never felt before, an overwhelming desire to lean up, and a little forward, and press her mouth to his.

Hal moved forward and it seemed he felt the same way, for his lips touched hers. She gasped.

He tensed, but he didn’t move his mouth away from hers, and she felt, as she remained there, his hand descending onto her shoulder. She sighed and reached up, stroking the back of his head. His hair was soft, cropped close to the back of his neck with military severity. She felt him tense and wondered if she should take her hand away, but then he pressed his body against hers and the kiss deepened, his tongue probing in between her lips.

She sighed, closing her eyes. It felt so remarkable, so sweet, that she wanted to stay here, in his arms, with his lips on hers, forever.

A sound of footsteps made Hal jump. He stepped back and Hestony looked up into his eyes, feeling suddenly nervous. He stiffened, waiting for the sound to die down. Whoever it was walked straight past down the hallway. Hal relaxed, and a tentative grin blossomed on his face.

Hestony felt a smile blossom on her own lips. She felt so wonderful inside; a beautiful sweetness suffusing her, spreading from her heart right through her from toes to head.

“Hestony?” he said. His voice was husky. “I’ll see you outside?”

She swallowed hard, nodding. Her heart was thumping like a drum against the stays she wore beneath her gown. She nodded.

“Yes, Hal.”

He bowed with smooth grace and hurried down the stairs.

When he had gone, she leaned against the wall, her arms around herself, a soft smile on her face as she stared into the distance, recalling the moment endlessly.

She smiled dreamily, even as a small flare of worry fired off in the back of her mind. What exactly had she just done? Was it something she shouldn’t have done? She had a strong sense that kissing a gentleman whom she’d only recently met was something her mother wouldn’t countenance, but she wasn’t particularly concerned. She was here with Cousin Emilia, her best friend as well as her closest relation, and if anybody knew anything about the rudiments of kissing, Emilia would know. Still smiling, she drifted off to go and find her.

“Emilia?”

She peered inside of the drawing-room, but it was empty. The pianoforte stood unused, though a book of sheet-music on the top showed that Emilia had recently been here.

“Emilia?” she called again.

The long windows looked out over the front lawn, the height of the house causing the view to extend across the valley and all the way to the distant hills. Hestony looked out briefly, and then tensed.

A horseman was riding away from the gate. She thought at first it might be Luke, Emilia’s husband and the owner of Westmore House, and so she watched him riding, surprised Luke had gone out earlier than he’d meant to. But it couldn’t be Luke, for his horse was a biscuit-brown thoroughbred, and this was a night-black horse. Hestony shivered as she watched him ride at speed towards the hills, thinking that, whoever that was, he was not there for anything good.

 

Chapter 1: A Ball in the Countryside

The downstairs parlor was larger than the upstairs one, and Hestony felt cozier there, so it was where she headed, still feeling shaken by the sight of the unknown rider. She paused in the hallway, spotting Emilia seated in the parlor on the big upholstered chaise-lounge. With her were Raphaella and Canmure – friends of Luke’s – and two other people Hestony didn’t recognize. She held back in the hallway, feeling a little hesitant to interrupt the gathering.

“Hestony?” Luke walked up behind her, his voice soft. A tall gentleman and Hal’s cousin, Luke was certainly striking to look at, Hestony thought as she turned to him, though he was not the sort of gentleman she would usually find attractive. His voice was gentle, and low with concern.

“Hello, cousin Luke,” Hestony greeted him. After marrying Emilia, he had become her cousin – more or less. She always called him so.

“What’s the matter?” he asked gently. “Canmure and Raphaella are just leaving, and I don’t even know who the other two are – must be friends of theirs. I never met them before in my life. You mustn’t feel unwelcome because of them.”

Hestony covered her mouth to smother her laughter. Luke had whispered, but they were really very close to the door and the risk that the unknown guests had heard him made the whole thing even more amusing.

“Hush, Luke,” she whispered. She was still grinning as she walked in over the threshold with him in tow.

“Hestony!” Emilia greeted her. “How good to see you! I thought you might be resting, or out for a walk. Come and join us. Canmure and Raphaella are here too, though they have to leave at five for a recital.”

“Hello,” Hestony smiled at them nervously. Both men shot to their feet.

“You haven’t met Lord Grayford and his sister, Lady Leona?” Emilia inquired mildly

“No, I haven’t. Very pleased to make your acquaintance, My Lord. My Lady.” Hestony bobbed her head to both of them. Lord Grayford and Canmure sat down again after a polite bow.

“I am pleased to meet you, Lady Hestony. Alas, we also have to part company at five,” Lord Grayford said.

“I wish you all a pleasant party, then,” Hestony said, quite glad as they stood up to leave.

“Goodnight, Lady Hestony, Lady Emilia.”

“Pleasant evening.”

When they had left, Emilia stayed where she was, standing by the wall. She turned to Hestony, hands clasped.

“We’re going to give a ball here at Westmore.”

“A ball?” Hestony felt her brow lift in a delicate frown. “Cousin, are you sure? I mean…won’t all that organizing be a little hard for you?”

Emilia patted her hand gently. “Oh, Hestony. Cousin, you have a good heart. But, no…oddly, I am finding that carrying this child is giving me plenty of vitality! Raphaella mentioned it was the same for her mama.”

“I see,” Hestony frowned. “But, cousin…if there is anything that I can do…”

“I will be very happy to have your help,” Emilia said gently. “It’s going to be good fun to organize such a thing together!”

Hestony nodded, though she felt a little daunted. She had organized many parties, but never by herself. Her mother always had the guiding hand and could be so domineering that she felt quite nervous to take on the task alone.

“It will be good fun to have our own ball here in the country. A little bit of London elegance in the summer” she chuckled.

“Yes! Capital,” Emilia agreed with a friendly nod.

 

 

Over the next week, Hestony and Emilia discussed plans for the ball – it would be held in the small ballroom at Westmore House, which had last been decorated over twenty years ago, but was still classic-looking and appropriate. It was big enough to hold forty guests. They drew up a guest-list, refined it, and discussed the choice of musicians and refreshments. They planned the little details and chose their own gowns. Hestony had brought two ball-dresses with her, and Emilia had one which would still fit, despite the growing presence of the child.

“All set, then.” Emilia smiled.

“All set,” Hestony agreed.

The evening before the ball, she felt somewhat less excited. She stood before the mirror, a nervous frown on her pretty, neat features. Her hair was fluffed around her face in curls, decorated with a ribbon as a band about her head. She wore a dress in muslin, of a yellow so pale it could have been white.

“Hestony, don’t you think you should wear the pearl-set?” her mother’s voice said from the doorway. “Pearls suit you far better than that necklace…it’s a little plain.”

“It’s my heart necklace,” Hestony said, touching the little pendant with her finger. It was a gift from her grandfather who had passed away years before. She still liked to wear it on special occasions, and it was her favorite piece.

“Fine,” her mother shrugged. “Do as you like.” She sounded hurt. “I just think the pearls are far showier and suit you well.”

“Mama, please…” Hestony almost pleaded. “I’m so looking forward to this evening…”

Her mother was already walking down the stairs.

Hestony bit her lip hard, not wanting to be upset or angered by her mother’s ways. She glanced at herself in the mirror.

“I do look pretty,” she told herself firmly. “And I’m going to have fun.”

She headed down the stairs to the coach.

Westmore House was twenty minutes away by coach from the lodgings she and her mother had borrowed from their friend, Lady Amhurst. The countryside was bathed in mauve dusk and Hestony felt her spirits rise as they travelled towards the ball. She was still excited. Her mother had relaxed somewhat, now that they were in the coach, and she seemed content to watch the scenery as it passed beyond the windows.

At the house, they stopped at the head of the drive. The coachman, Mr. Emms, jumped out to help them down, and Hestony drew in an anticipatory breath as she stood at the foot of the stairs.

Westmore House was a fine home, made of pale sandstone with an elaborate entrance way and gables. The place was transformed by the light of torches: turning from an ordinary, if fine, manor to an enchanted world.

“Hestony! Good evening,” Emilia greeted her enthusiastically as she came up the steps. Her cousin was radiant in a yellow dress with long silk gloves, her hair pulled back from her face and hidden under the briefest of nets – a nod to her married status.

“Cousin. You look beautiful,” she whispered sincerely.

“And you too cousin! You look radiant. Luke’s just gone down to supervise the musicians…he’ll be back in a moment. He’ll be so pleased to see you.”

“Thank you, cousin,” Hestony murmured. Her eyes followed Emilia’s gesture to the back of the hall, where a group of musicians, dressed in black, were adjusting their seating. She searched the area around Luke, hoping to find his cousin, Hal, nearby. She searched the room once more, and spotted him, standing just beside the musicians. She hurried over, trying not to look as though she was headed in that direction purposefully.

“Mr. Ellington, how pleasant to see you here.” She dropped a curtsey, averting her eyes. Her heart was thumping. She was both nervous and excited.

“Lady Hestony,” he murmured. His eyes lingered on her in a way that made her blush. “It is a pleasure to see you here, indeed.”

Hestony smiled. “Flattery will probably get you far,” she teased., “but I have to resist it as best I can.”

“It was not flattering,” Hal said, and he did not smile. “I spoke the truth.”

Hestony looked at the floor, too moved to speak. “Oh, Hal,” was all she could think to say.

“Come…we have so many lovely things to eat and drink, and a grand choice of musicians…somebody very clever had a hand in organizing this, it would seem…?”

Hestony flapped a hand at him. “Now that was flattery, Mr. Ellington. But I am not about to tell you it was not also very gratifying.”

He laughed. “I’m glad. But it’s also true. You and Emilia have outdone yourselves. I never knew Luke to organize such fine parties alone, that I can tell you.” He laughed.

Luke seemed to have had a reputation as a bit of a stick-in-the-mud, at least that was how it seemed to Hestony. Emilia had certainly seen to it that the house was becoming a center of the local gentry – the ballroom was full of people from all over the region, and the musicians played beautiful music that could have been played anywhere in London. Modish and melodious, it set the scene, which was already glittering and lovely.

“It’s a beautiful place,” she murmured to Hal, who passed her a glass of lemon cordial. She sipped it delicately, looking up at the walls, which met the molded ceiling in beautiful designs of fruit and flowers, all carved out of the plaster. The designs were picked out in gold paint further down, and the columns themselves were marble-faced. The floor was inlaid with marble, too, and shone in the reflected light of fifty long-burning candles. It was lit up beautifully inside, and seemed enchanted to Hestony.

“This room is beautiful,” Hal agreed. “But have you seen the water-garden? It’s so beautiful at this time of evening. Really, I think Cousin Luke ought to be most proud of the place.”

“The water-garden?” Hestony whispered. The idea of sneaking out at night with Hal was almost too good to be true. She knew it would be frowned on. Her mother was busy talking to her own group of friends, and it looked like she was too occupied to try to curb Hestony’s adventurousness. She nodded.

“Yes,” Hal whispered, and from the look in his eyes she could guess that he was thinking very much what she was thinking. “Would you care to? Visit it, I mean?”

“Now?” Hestony whispered.

“It does look better at night,” Hal allowed.

Hestony flushed. The thought of sneaking out into the gardens was so exciting! She could hardly believe he offered, but at the same time she couldn’t let such a wonderful opportunity pass.

“Let’s do that.”

Hal grinned. He looked round the hall and she thought that he looked exactly how she felt – like a child about to do something very naughty.

He took her hand, and as the musicians started to play dance music, they slipped out into the garden.

Hestony breathed in the scent of dew. She tiptoed over the grass and felt the damp on the sides of her silk dance shoes. She stopped for a moment, trying to keep to the stone pathway, and Hal took her hand, thinking she needed steadying.

“Are you alright?” he whispered.

Hestony turned and nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

He smiled. “The stones are slippery, at night. I do not want to risk you falling.”

“You’re so caring,” she whispered.

He stepped around to face her. “I would do anything to make sure you are safe.”

Hestony felt her throat tighten. She blinked away a tear. “Oh, Hal,” she whispered. “I am so lucky.”

“Nonsense,” he dismissed.

She giggled.

“Now,” he added in a whisper, “shall we go and see these gardens? I believe it’s this way. I think I can hear the fountain.”

Hestony nodded and they tiptoed together down the path.

At night, with Hal, the gardens were another world. Shades of blue and black mixed together with the glossy shine of candlelight spilling from the house onto the lawns, rendering them into a world of wonder, where anything could happen.

“Here,” he whispered. “We’re almost there, and…there!”

He pointed dramatically. Hestony stared. Stretched out in front of them was a vast expanse of water – she guessed it must be about twenty feet across – and into that sprayed a fountain in such mist-fine drops that their landing was the most delicate tinkle of sound, like tiny bells. In the dark, the water was sheened with silver. It was magical, a thing of spells and wonder.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

“I’m glad you like it.”

Hestony turned as she felt Hal’s warm presence by her shoulder. His hand was in hers and she found herself unable to breathe. Here in the quiet gardens, there was nobody to see them or to tell them they could not do as they wished.

Hestony felt him move from behind her, his hand slipping from hers, and she looked up into his eyes. He looked down into her eyes and her heart started to thump.

His lips descended on hers tenderly. She closed her eyes, letting her body press against him, his arms so strong where they held her against his chest. She felt her eyes close and she focused on the feeling of his mouth, gently exploring hers. His tongue was in between her lips, and she surprised herself by feeling no shock, only the longing that they could do this forever.

He stood back, sighing. Her eyes were open, and she stared into his. Blue and wide, he looked a little wild.

“Hestony,” he whispered. “We should not…I don’t wish to…to disgrace you. I think you know what I mean?”

She frowned, not sure at first. Then words she’d heard from servants – casual phrases dropped both by them and by her friends – started to make sense. The feeling she had inside her, and the things she longed for without entirely knowing their form, were for people bound in matrimony.

“Should we go back?” she suggested.

He smiled, his grin a beautiful thing, a little crazy, just like she felt. “I wish we wouldn’t.” He chuckled. “But we should. We will be missed. And I do not want to do you harm.”

“You never could,” she whispered.

As they walked back through the silent, cool grounds, the music of the fountain still in their ears, she wondered if she should mention to him the rider she had seen, and how it had made her feel. She would have forgotten about him, except for the fact that, the afternoon before yesterday, she had seen him again. Or thought she had.

“Hal,” she began.

“Yes, my dearest?”

She tensed. He had never called her that before. It took her breath away. She forgot about her worry and smiled.

“Nothing,” she said.

He smiled back and folded her hand in his, tenderly kissing the back of it. Then, hands clasped, they walked together back to the hall. Hestony forgot all about the dark presence and only remembered him briefly as they slipped back into the ball, and then only to think how insignificant it all seemed in the face of the wonderful excitement she felt this moment.

 

Chapter 2: A Trip to London

Hal bit his lip. He stood on the step, his stomach a tight knot of sadness and pain. He put his hands on Hestony’s shoulders and looked into her eyes.

“I shan’t be away for very long,” he said. Inside, he felt utterly empty. If he had been riding away for some unknown period of time, he couldn’t have felt worse. He wished he didn’t have to go! A plague on business!

“I know,” she said, giving him a brave smile. “It’s not as if London is far away…”

He smiled back, though his heart ached to do it. “It’s only three days.”

“I know.”

He would be gone for just a week. He planned to ride back as fast as possible, changing horses as often as he could. Maybe he could make the ride back in two days? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be away a second more than needed.

“Well, then,” he breathed in, trying to keep his expression calm. “I will see you soon. Take care? Be good, in my absence.”

She made a face, then smiled. “I’ll be good. It would be no fun to be anything else, if you’re elsewhere.”

He laughed and tried to resist the urge to pat her cheek. In the end he lifted his hand, cupping her face gently with his palm. His lips hovered away from her soft, moist ones, and he fought the urge to kiss her. He wanted to with every fiber of his being. He could feel the coachman watching impassively from the driver’s seat on top of the carriage, and he wasn’t about to give the staff cause to gossip about Lady Hestony.

“Take care,” she called, as he stepped down the stone stairs towards the waiting coach. “Go safely and come back as soon as you can. Have fun!”

“You too,” he called back, drawing in a deep breath and holding in his feelings. What he wanted to do was let his tears slide down his cheeks, but he couldn’t afford the risk of being so unrestrained.

He smiled and waved as she waved with her handkerchief, then closed the coach door, aware that his eyes were misting up. He bit his lip and kept his face stiff until the coach had turned in the drive, still waving at her on the steps until she was a small figure out of sight. Then he turned away, letting the window-blind fall over the coach window, shutting out the light.

“Confound it, Hal! You’re not at the races,” he swore, as his coachman set a jarring pace over the cobbles. All the same, it was his own fault – he’d requested that he take as little time to get there as possible.

He sighed. He wished his father had chosen a less-inconvenient time than the middle of his holiday with Cousin Luke to request him to check on the London accounts. Their solicitor operated from Goldsmith Street in London, and the only way to find out about the inconsistencies in the reports from the bank was to go directly there.

“Father can’t go himself,” Hal reminded himself crossly. “He’s not well enough for it, as you know.”

His father’s health had been very bad for months – he had made a surprising recovery when Hal finally got himself down from their estates in the Borderlands and back home to the estate. All the same, a three-day coach-trip and a stay in London in July was not going to be attainable for him.

And so off I go. Back to London, when everything in me wants to be here right now.

He sighed and leaned back in the coach and tried to sleep. As it always did, his mind fed him imagery of Hestony as he fell asleep, which, under the current circumstances, was not particularly helpful as it made him saddened.

It’s only eight days.

The coach trip down took three days. On the evening of the third, Hal stumbled out of the coach and into the inn, feeling like his legs had been beaten all over and then lightly ironed. He could barely walk, and his legs ached as he went up the stairs, threatening to cramp up.

“A room for one, please. And could you find accommodation for my coach and team, and a place for my coachman to stay the night?” he asked the man behind the desk. He checked that he had his wallet with him, relieved, as always, that he could afford to pay for a good-quality room for him and the team. Traveling was so much easier when one had enough cash to do it comfortably.

He barely stayed awake through supper, which he took in the parlor of the inn, away from the taproom and its crowded noise. Once finished, he went straight up to his room, where he soon fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

 

 

“It’s you!” Logan greeted him as he walked into the tea-shop on Broad street the next day.

“Hello, Logan,” Hal greeted his friend as he shook hands. He felt dreadful – so tired that he could barely open his eyes, his belly churning with hunger.

“You look terrible!” Logan said cheerfully. “Come on. Tell me what’s going on.” He pointed him to a seat and they sat down opposite each other at a small, elaborate wrought-iron table.

“Thanks,” Hal said with a grin. “As ever, you compliment me. How have you been?”

“Not bad, not bad,” Logan grinned. “I’m finally back from Cambridge, though I’ll be going up there again after the summer – the place gives me a good excuse to stay out of my home as long as possible,” he chuckled.

Hal smiled. Logan had been avoiding his authoritarian father ever since Hal had first met him at Cambridge, four years ago. Hal had no idea how Logan had contrived to stay there for so long, but, as the third son of a duke, it seemed Logan had small enough responsibilities on his shoulders and the ability to spend his time as he chose— at Cambridge, all year, except the summertime.

“I’m glad that you are as you ever were.” Hal smiled. “I’ve been well. My father’s poorly – as I mentioned in my last letter – which is why I’m down here to check on the accounts, despite wanting to be elsewhere.” He made a face.

“You have your own Cambridge, eh?” Logan asked, brown eyes twinkling.

“Not exactly,” Hal said carefully. For Logan, Cambridge was a cross between a retreat and a den of hedonism. He spent half his time living the most dissolute life Hal could imagine, and the other half being almost monastic, shut away with his reading.

“Where have you been, then? Clambering about on rocks, in your Borderland home?”

Hal laughed. “Not exactly. When I’m there, I tend to be quite sedentary. But, as it happens, I was in Yorkshire.”

“With your father?” Logan said it as if he would imagine men preferring to spend time in purgation than with their families.

“No,” Hal smiled. “I was with Cousin Luke, actually. You might remember him – he was at Cambridge three years before me?”

“I wasn’t there, then, old boy,” Logan grinned. “Remember? I came the same year you did.”

“Oh,” Hal nodded. “Yes. I just imagined you’d managed to sneak off to Cambridge before then.”

“No such luck,” Logan said, pulling a face. “Only went off when I was eighteen. Same as you. You’re only three months older, you know.”

Hal chuckled. “That’s true. I decided to spend this summer in Yorkshire, and Luke invited me to stay at his estate.”

“Got any girls there?” Logan asked, giving him a grin. Logan was exceptionally handsome – or at least, Hal had always thought he must be far more attractive to women than Hal himself was. He had a thin jaw, large brown eyes, curling brown hair and full lips, with a fine chin as well. He used his looks to full advantage, too, being somewhat profligate, or seeming so to Hal at any rate.

Hal blushed, hearing his question, then frowned, not sure how to answer. “Well…”

“That’s admission enough!” Logan exclaimed. His eyes twinkled. “Hal! That’s grand!”

Hal smiled. “You do make it sound like hard work, for me to actually be attractive.”

“Nonsense!” Logan pushed him on the shoulder, making the proprietor stiffen up, expecting a fight. Logan was smiling, though, and the man subsided into the shadows again. “You’re a stunner, Hal. I don’t know how it’s possible you never knew.”

Hal blushed. “Logan…I’m not.”

His friend chuckled. “Only in your opinion. Not in the opinion of ladies, which is the only opinion that matters. Now, tell me all about this wonderful new compatriot.”

Hal shifted awkwardly in his seat. Where to begin? Hestony was simply the most beautiful, most wonderful lady he could imagine. How could he begin to explain that to Logan?

“She’s…” he paused. “She’s very pretty, but only half as pretty as she is sweet, and only half as sweet as she is witty, and…”

Logan interrupted. “In other words, my friend, you are utterly in love. Congratulations! It’s wonderful to be in love.”

Hal ran his tongue over his upper lip thoughtfully. “I’m glad you said that,” he said. “I would have thought someone so worldly as you would have thought me an utter fool.”

“A fool?” Logan leaned back in his chair, astonished. “No, Hal. Someone as worldly as me can only look at you in love and feel awe, and maybe just a little envy. You are in a state I have always known existed, but never felt before. I wish you and her much joy.”

Hal could see on Logan’s face just how serious he was. He swallowed hard. “Thanks, friend,” he said. Having Logan’s sincere opinion did make him feel much better. If Logan thought that what he was doing was sensible, then nobody – no matter how worldly they claimed they were – could criticize him. Logan was surely the worldliest gentleman he knew, and if he found nothing foolish in it, then it was no more than sound sense.

Logan stretched. “So, Hal? Have you plans for this evening?”

Hal shook his head. “I had thought to retire early to bed. I’m a little weary after the traveling.”

Logan lifted one shoulder, an elegant shrug. “As you wish.” He grinned. “You’re here a few days, are you not? We can have some fun at the Margate Club tomorrow, if you’re feeling more chipper.”

Hal nodded, though his heart wasn’t truly in it. Now that he had met Hestony, he had little interest in long evenings spent playing cards and drinking with the dandified set of London. He found the whole thing tedious at best, distasteful at worst. Those men had little interest in settling down, and, at the moment, he had to confess that thought was uppermost in his mind.

“You look a little disenchanted with the idea?” Logan questioned.

Hal blushed. “No…it’s not that,” he murmured. “I was just thinking that it’s been quite a while since I went drinking with the lads.”

“It has, indeed!” Logan grinned. “Well, to tell the truth, it’s a little wearing for me, too.”

“Really?” Hal stared at him in surprise. Was this the worldly Logan, lady-killer of extensive reputation?

“You needn’t say that as if it’s the most unexpected thing in all of London.” Logan grinned. “You’ll make me feel like a complete dissolute.”

“You’re not completely dissolute.” Hal grinned back.

“Only slightly, eh?” Logan smiled, his head tilted to the side. “Well, I suppose that’s fair enough. Honestly, though…I envy you your uncomplicated love.”

“You do?” Hal was utterly surprised. Of all the things he’d expected Logan to confide, the fact that he sometimes wished for a simpler, sweeter life himself was by far the most unexpected.

“I do,” Logan confirmed. “My life is…complicated. I long for simplicity.”

“I can understand that,” Hal allowed. “My life feels simpler now. I know what I want, and it’s simple enough. I only wish to spend as much time as I can with the lady I so admire.”

Logan made a small huffing noise, and Hal felt as if he might be being mocked, except that the expression on his friend’s face was haunted, rather than amused.

“What is it?” Hal asked, feeling a little sorry for Logan.

“Nothing,” Logan shrugged. “Just that…in the face of such innocence, I feel extremely old and tired.”

“You’re certainly not old,” Hal assured him. “In fact, I reckon you look younger than I do.”

“Really?” Logan touched his hair, disconsolately. “I saw five gray hairs the other day. Five! Hal, I’m positively aged!”

“No, you’re not,” Hal contradicted, smilingly. “You’re eight and twenty. That’s young.”

“Not as young as I was, old boy,” Logan countered.

“Still young, though,” Hal commented lightly. “And young enough to change everything about your life, when you choose to.”

Logan rolled his shoulders. “Well, there’s a thought. I wouldn’t mind changing the fact that my accounts need to be paid soon. I suppose I can – by the expedient of telling my solicitor to pay the things.” He sighed.

Hal chuckled. “We can go together, if you’d like? We can take coffee at that newly-opened establishment in Bakerwell street? What’s it called? Exley’s, or something?”

“That’s the one,” Logan nodded. He looked more cheerful at the thought of going to the office with somebody else. “Well, then. We’ll do that, and take a coffee afterwards. Shall we meet at ten of the clock?”

Hal nodded. “Yes. Let’s. I look forward to it.”

“I do, too, old boy,” Logan agreed gently. “I do, too.”

 

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Chapter 1

The music played softly, sending an air of happiness and celebration through the entire room. Lady Esther stood by the corner, placing the lilies in the right places. Everyone was gathered, waiting for the arrival of the couple. Lady Katherine was at the other end, signaling to Esther, asking if everything was alright. Esther nodded vigorously; her excitement was quite obvious in her smile.

It was the beginning of a new season and her friend, Anne Balfour, was now wed to Lord Henry Huntington, Duke of Richmond. Lady Esther had taken it upon her to deal with the wedding preparations. Anne, along with Lady Katherine Ramsbury, daughter of the Duke of Somerset, happened to be Esther’s best friends. The three had been inseparable since youth.

The ballroom threshold pushed open minutes later, and a shout erupted from every corner of the room. The couple walked in, hand in hand, eyes on each other. Lady Anne, now wife of Henry Huntington, Duke of Richmond, was dressed as a bride should be in a flowing white dress and her hair adorned with white roses. Esther reached up to wipe away a tear of happiness. She was delighted that her friend had found joy at last.

Despite the circumstances surrounding their union, Anne and Henry had pulled through. Esther shuddered, thinking of it all. She didn’t want her relationship to be so complicated. She knew she didn’t have the strength for such. She just wanted to wed Nicholas, be happy, and start a family. The roar of laughter drew her attention to the crowd. She looked up.

Clinging to Lord Richmond’s arms, Anne hid her giggle by pressing herself into his embrace. She looked beautiful. Esther wondered if she would look so divinely happy and elegant on the day she and Nicholas wed.

“Oh, Nicholas,” she sighed as she watched Anne chuckle at something Lord Henry said. Theirs was true love! Even someone who stood miles away could see it.

Esther sighed again at their bliss. Not in a jealous way, but in a romantic way. She could hardly wait to be joined with Nicholas and share their love. They were going to get married, and they were going to look into each other’s eyes, just the way her friend and her new husband were doing at this moment.

Esther had known Nicholas Kel, Viscount of Milway, since she was a babe. Their families had strong friendship bonds and the two had grown up together. At her debutante, he had been there for her. And not long after, he had approached her and started to make advances. When he was sure she felt the same way as he did, he went on to seek permission from her father and began courting her. They went to events together, shared quality time, and even spent time with one another during afternoon tea.

Esther was so confident that she loved him. He meant so much to her. She couldn’t wait for them to become man and wife, finally.

Her eyes widened when the Duke and Duchess of Richmond announced that the waltz might take place. She clapped her hands gleefully and squealed, attracting stares from around her. She blushed when a young gentleman beside her stared at her in amusement. Esther put her hand to her mouth and cast her gaze down.

Looking around, Esther could see no sign of her fiancé. She wanted to have a dance with him. However, as much as she loved to waltz, on this occasion, she also wanted him to be there when Anne threw the bouquet. Esther was hoping on catching the bunch of flowers.

She walked up to Nicholas’ sister, Mary, who stood with her red hair pinned up high and her hands holding on to her husband’s, Lord Julien, a Scottish Count. Esther smiled in her direction as she grew closer. Mary was very close with Nicholas, and Esther assumed that she would know of his whereabouts.

“Hello, Lord Julien,” She curtsied. Then nodded to Mary, who wore a bright smile. “Lady Mary.”

“Lady Esther!” Mary kissed both her cheeks and stood upright. “Hello.”

“Have you seen Nicholas?” She requested, hurriedly, glancing behind her shoulders. “I want us to waltz together.”

Lady Julien nodded, pointing to the door behind her. “He just went out for a bit to get some air. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.” Her smile softened. “And Esther, he kept talking about having to walk down the aisle with you. He can’t wait.”

Esther creased her brows. That was so unlike Nicholas to become emotional. But honestly, she wasn’t surprised that the ceremony had moved him as it was quite affecting. Casting her lashes down, Esther nodded at the couple. “I have to find him then.”

Gathering her skirts slightly, Esther headed towards that direction which led to a dark path of the manor.

Esther stepped onto the darkened pathway and walked toward a small, stone structure erected a distance away from the ballroom. Since she didn’t see him in the gardens or along the path, she assumed he was inside the enclosure. Being of an unassuming character, Esther kept her steps light to avert an echo on the polished stone footpath and, of course, she would never have thought to have called out Nicholas’ name. That would have been too assertive for someone of her timid nature.

As she approached, rugged breathings hung in the air. Was someone choking? Should she seek help before going further?

She stopped by the candleholder beside the wall. She stared around. The ball seemed so far away from the corner where she stood.

“More,” came a low moan from the open area.

Esther creased her brows, still quite confused. Then she walked deeper into the secluded area, making sure to avoid the clump of her shoes.

“Yes! More!” A woman’s raspy voice said.

Esther stilled; her spine went stiff. Her hands went cold. Was it what she thought it was? Had she stumbled upon a passionate interlude? Blushing deeply, Esther prepared to turn away until she heard the woman’s next words.

“Yes, Nicholas…more!” the throaty voice moaned.

“No.” Esther shook her head, it couldn’t be.

Propelled by her faith, she stepped towards the opening and peered her head out to look around the dimly lit corridor. Her face was drained of colour as she took in the scene. A lady had her back to the wall, her hands in her partner’s hair, their lips exchanged kisses frantically, quickly, as though they couldn’t have enough of each other. His hands moved against her exposed thighs, his breath ragged, more like panting. Moans filled the air. Esther was unconcerned about the heat and passion these two oozed, she was more concerned that standing there, caressing that woman, was her fiancé, Lord Nicholas Kel.

 

****

 

Esther was shaking. Her eyes kept blinking deliberately, trying to hide her tears. It couldn’t be, could it? That he had…No, not my Nicholas!

She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her dress and turned to the wall to breathe for a moment. Her fiancé was still in there, in the arms of another, sharing a heated moment. As it appeared, a moment of pure passion. Her hands shook as she rapidly blinked.

What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she go out there and let him know she had seen him?

She shook her head, knowing full well that confronting him meant shattering right before his eyes. She craned her neck sideways, to see if anyone was looking at her. Thankfully, there was no one around. She swallowed hard and starting walking back to the ballroom, with her gaze down and rubbing at her hands.

“Esther, is everything alright?” Anne’s voice jolted her, her head jerked up, and her tears returned.

Anne inclined her head, her dark hair glowed, under the silver band that held the flowers. She looked beautiful. Her dark eyes settled on Esther who was again crying. “It’s nothing. You should return to your husband. You’ve just been wed.”

Anne touched her shoulders. “What happened to you Esther? It doesn’t matter that I am wed. You’re my friend.”

Clenching her jaws to hold her tears, Esther shuddered.

Anne moved closer. “Esther, if there is something wrong, then I implore you to let me in on whatever is going on.”

But Esther barely heard the words as she pulled Anne behind her and walked towards the entrance door, hoping no one else would follow. Esther nodded towards the darkness, her eyes glistening. Anne peered out, her eyes went wide, and Esther watched as her jaw clenched. She made to move forward, but Esther gripped her arm, with tears now cascading down her face, she shook her head and whispered. “Leave it be, Anne.”

Anne stared at her horrified. “Leave it be? Your fiancé, who is supposed to love you, is betraying you at my wedding! We should stop it! How can he be doing this?”

From behind them, another voice intruded. “What’s going on? Anne, you need to return to the ball. You’re being missed.” Esther sighed as Katherine joined them. She didn’t want everyone in on this.

Anne nodded, her shock still visible. When Katherine saw her pointing out towards that direction, she made to push past them and head out. But Esther gripped her arm hard, to prevent her from accosting the passionate couple, but her friend saw everything she needed to see.

With her expression cold and unreadable, Katherine looked between them. “Anne, I’ll stay with Esther. You should return to the ball. The Dowager Duchess of Richmond has been looking for you.”

“I left while everyone was dancing so I’d be unnoticed.”

“The dance is over now. Run along,” Katherine insisted.

Anne nodded once, and reluctantly turned around and walked back inside the ballroom.

Katherine turned to Esther abruptly with her voice low. “Esther, you can’t stand here crying or wallowing in self-pity. Go there and confront him. Let him know what you have seen. Now!”

Esther shook her head. “I — I can’t.”

Katherine gripped her shoulders softly, turning Esther so she could face her. “You have to do this. Gather your strength and face him squarely. He has to know that you have seen him.”

Esther shook her head again. But this time, Katherine was more insistent. “Confront him, Esther. It doesn’t matter that you cry before him. It’s a sign that you truly love him, and he has broken your heart.”

After much persuasion, Esther gave way and nodded to the path. The moans were not as loud as before. She could only hear the giggles of the woman that stood before him, baring her breasts to him. As Esther stepped out, walking reluctantly, her tears rushed. She swiped at them angrily, feeling her rage building up. As she approached, they both looked up.

The redhead pulled away from him and turned her back to Esther, gathering herself. Nicholas’ eyes widened, and he pulled at his breeches, but his face was as hard as a stone.

“Why?” Esther tried, unsuccessfully to stop herself from crying.

Nicholas cocked his head to the side. The clump of his boots echoed in her ears as he stepped forward, pulling at his waistcoat. “Lady Esther, you ask why? Because I have pleaded with you for months, days, pleaded to have you —”

“I said you’d have me when we are wed!” Esther cried. “You will wed me, then you have me. Was that too much to ask?”

“Yes!” Nicholas snapped. “It was too much to ask. That I keep myself for a wedding night that seems to be taking forever to happen.” His face softened. “I loved you, Esther, and I wanted nothing more than for our bodies to be witness to our love. But you wouldn’t give me that, so I sought it from elsewhere.”

“From another woman,” she muttered.

“I didn’t mean for it to get so far. But I remember asking for your touch five days ago! You turned me down, blushing. Esther, that was hard for me, even painful! Wedding be damned, I needed you!”

Esther nearly choked. He had called her beautiful that night. And he had said that she blushed like an angel. And that was after she had turned him down — all just a lie.

“It was just months away! You just lost your grandmother, and we thought that the ceremony would happen after your family would be through the mourning period. I wouldn’t get married to you when you still wear the black band!” she pointed to his arm where he tied the mourning band, a sign that he was still in mourning for his loss.

“Nonsense!” he snapped. Esther paled. “This band means nothing. It doesn’t stop us from sharing our love beyond telling each other.”

The redhead brushed past Esther, leaving Nicholas’ scent at her wake. A reminder that Nicholas had just bedded another. Esther nearly choked on her tears.

“And then being with her? Does that mean you get to express your love to her? Do you love her? Is that why you were with her? Do you?!”

“Look, Esther —”

“I loved you. I wanted our wedding night to be special. But then you go and do this?”

He hissed and snarled at her. “I would have ended this engagement if not for the ton. What they would say, what would they gossip. In all honesty, Esther,” Nicholas snapped the last button of his coat while trying to button up. “You bore me. You keep casting your gaze down, not looking in my eye when we talk, shifting at every little touch. You lack fire. I want a lady who would —”

“I will never forgive you for this.” Esther whispered, her tears falling more as the harsh reality of his words hit her. “It ends here, Lord Milway. You go and find yourself someone with the fire you seek. And I do hope you both burn together.”

Esther was crying profusely now. She turned abruptly and ran out of the corridor. She ran past Katherine, whom she knew had been eavesdropping. Esther clapped her hands over her mouth and ran through the twin doors that served as the main entrance of the ballroom, leaving curiosity at her wake.

She was so sure of what would happen when she opened her eyes the next morning. The news would have spread like wildfire, and she would be tongue-tied, unwilling to tell why her engagement to Nicholas had broken off.

 

Chapter 2

Stefan Hamilton, Sixth Duke of York, stood outside of Sands Castle, home to his mother, the Dowager Duchess Elena Hamilton, and his brothers and sister. It felt wonderful to be in the arms of his family once again. He had missed them so much.

“Stefan!” The young boy called, running towards him. The blonde that followed behind him had a scowl etched on her beautiful face, and a much older boy stood by the pillar, arms crossed, a smug smile on his face.

“Help me, Stefan!” Robert giggled, rushing behind Stefan for cover.

Alexandra glared at Stefan, “Hand the lad over.”

Stefan laughed. “Calm down, Alexandra. I’m sure the lad made a mistake. He’ll never trouble you again, I promise.”

“You always promise that Robert will never cause trouble, but he always does! There’s no escaping him. And he troubled me because he knew you’d arrived. So he could run to you and take cover. Hand him over, Stefan! I’ll spank him, so he knows never to do that again.”

“And what would mother say about you spanking her beloved, Alexandra?” Robert chided.

“Argh!” Alex growled. “You see now what he does?”

Behind her, William hid his chuckle behind a cough. Although his siblings’ disagreement entertained him, he did not want to be drawn into the fray.

Stefan tried to mediate between the two. He touched Alexandra’s shoulder and grinned down at her. “Come on now, Alex. We all know Robert always says you’re his favorite. Teasing you is his way of getting to you.”

“By troubling me, you mean. I find no favour in that.”

William couldn’t hold his laughter anymore, he burst out, clutching his sides.

Stefan hid his laughter behind a somber look. Acting as the arbiter to one of his siblings’ disputes was not the welcome he had anticipated.

“Alex, my dear sister. I’ve come a very long way from France. Is this the welcome I get?” He spread his arms wide and grinned at her.

Even his little sister could not refuse him when he smiled. She smiled back and jumped on him, hugging him dearly. “We have all missed you, Stefan!”

William sauntered over to them. Robert hugged his legs. He saw his mother emerge from the door, a smile on her face.

 

***

 

He had been gone for nearly three fortnights. When he was handed the duchy and everything involved in its running after the sudden death of his father, Stefan was shocked. He hadn’t been emotionally ready to take over such responsibility.

After a year of being the Duke of York, he found that he was doing it all wrong, unable to make the right decisions, unaware of what was truly happening around him. He had been trained for the day he would take over but he had not expected it to be so soon.

His mother had sent him to France, to meet with the Duke of Guise, who was her father’s longtime friend and confidante. She had said he would help her son pull through. And he had because Stefan was back— stronger and better.

“Who made this meal?” Stefan asked, nearly choking on how much salt had been added to the stew.

Robert pouted his small lips, shaking his head. “Alexandra thought she’d surprise you upon your return, so she persuaded the cook to let her prepare this. But it’s not much of a surprise anymore since the meal isn’t so good. Am I right, Stefan?”

William, who sat beside the eight-year-old burst into laughter. “Sometimes I forget you’re still a babe, Robert.”

“Am not!” Robert snapped. “Stefan said I’m a lad!”

“A lass, you mean.” Alexandra smiled sweetly from where she sat. She had been quiet while everyone ate. Except, no one was eating. They had not touched their meal at all. Only Stefan had been eating. They all knew that a lady of fine breeding with no practice whatsoever, couldn’t possibly master the art of cooking.

Stefan dabbed the side of his mouth and tossed the napkin aside. Alexandra cast her gaze down, ashamed. Stefan smiled at her. “Come on, Alex. You’re a noble lady of seventeen. Cooking isn’t for you.  Mama must have taken care of the things that a girl of your status should know by now. How to dance, paint, sew and —”

“Lady Castleroy has demanded that I learn to sew now!” Alex cried, unable to hold her tears any longer.

Robert no longer laughed or pouted. He stared at his sister in pity. William looked away.

“Who is Lady Castleroy?”

“Lady Castleroy is her chaperone.” William cleared his throat.

“Chaperone? Hmm… And she…?”

“Has been giving Alex a tough time. She’s too hard on her. And her debutante is a year away, not days away. Mother would not agree to what me and Robert say. She believes Lady Castleroy will prepare Alexandra to appear before the ton,” William hissed.

He seemed furious. “It’s quite unfair! The lady gives her almost impossible tasks. She asked Alex to walk with heavy books from papa’s library on her head! It was outrageous! And mama wasn’t around to see!”

Stefan rubbed his jaw. Although Alexandra was older than William by two years, the boy was very protective of her. Even Robert, who bothered her often, was protective of her as well. His siblings were close, they understood each other. And he liked that they did. He was proud that they were so loving. That they understood each other’s pain. Even though he was much older than they all were, he often stayed around talking with them. He didn’t want to be estranged with any of them. Not ever. Not after what had happened to —

“Stefan! Will you talk to mama? Alex wants another chaperone.”

He rose instantly. “Of course, Robert. I will speak with her now.”

With substantial strides and a growling stomach, he headed towards the salon. He pushed the doors open and stepped in. His mother sat there, rocking back and forth in a chair and reading one of the poems she enjoyed so much. He stopped by the door when he smelled something. He tilted his head, his nose flaring.

“Mother, is that chicken —?”

“Oh, of course, dear. I’ve had a meal prepared for you. I knew that after eating Alex’s surprise, you’d still be hungry.” She chuckled. Then she gestured to the table beside the settee opposite her. “You should help yourself.”

His mother always knew what to do. He took a seat and began eating immediately. “So, Mother, what is this I hear about Alex’s chaperone giving her a difficult time?”

The dowager scoffed. “Nothing of such, dear. Lady Castleroy is strict, yes. But, at this point, she is what Alex needs.”

“But —”

“Alex wore breeches a month ago and went to shoot arrows at trees. I think she has forgotten she is a lady and not a boy. Her debutante is less than a year away, and if she keeps this up, she may end up a spinster for life. I don’t want that for her.”

Stefan pressed his lips together. After taking a sip of the wine his mother had placed before him, he inclined his head. “No one says anything good about Lady Castleroy.”

“It means she’s doing her job then. I want Alex to be a proper lady before the season ends.”

Stefan saw the point in what his mother was saying. Alexandra liked to behave like a lad. And maybe he had a hand in that somewhat by humoring his sister so much.

“And you!” The Dowager Duchess tossed her book aside and sat up, startling him a little. “You need to find a bride before the season has ended. I want you wed within two months!”

“Mother,” he sighed.

“That’s final, Stefan. Your reputation already precedes you. Everyone knows about all the women you bed.” The Dowager Duchess scowled. “I want nothing of that! You will bring home a proper young lady, not one who behaves like a lad, not an actress — oh definitely not — not one with a dotted background either. I want the future Duchess of York to be perfect.”

“Mother —”

“I suggest you stop sleeping around and settle for one. I will have no more word of you spending the night with any random woman. If word gets to me, you won’t like what I will do.”

He raised his brows at her threat. If there was one thing he was with her, it was honest. Touching his neatly combed blond hair, he flashed his heart-winning smile at her. “Mother, pray tell, why one lady should be allowed to have all of this?”

The Dowager scowled. He went on. “Mother, you know my feelings. I’ve always been plain-spoken with you regarding my views on marriage. Besides, William would be of age soon, and I assure you, you’d see your daughter-in-law then. But certainly not from me.”

“Stefan, stop that. It only works on other women, not me.” She had caught him. He was trying to win her over with his smile.

“Does my smile not remind you of father?” he teased.

She glowered at him, but he could see she was trying not to smile as well. “Stefan.”

He chuckled. “I’m not doing anything.” He shifted the table aside. The plate left was filled with bones, as he had eaten everything that had been on it.

“No, Stefan,” she called as he rose. “You will do exactly as I say. Keep away from all those women who let you bed them! Stefan —”

He bit his lips so he wouldn’t smile. When she threatened her children, one would think she had no love left for them. But he knew exactly how she felt about her beloved children.

He walked over to her and kissed her chastely on each cheek. She froze. “Where are you heading to?”

“I have…business to tend to tonight.”

“But you have just arrived!” The dowager massaged her temples. “Oh, dear Lord.”

Stefan knelt beside her, his hands on both sides of her chair. “Mother, you know I can’t get married. I don’t want to, ever. I am happy just the way I am. I need no lady to fill any space in my heart.”

The dowager’s eyes softened. “Child, there is a void in your heart, and when you find love, you will be free. All of this burden will be lifted from your shoulders. I know why you fear —”

He rose to his feet, shoving his hands in the pockets of his coat.

“No, mother. Don’t.” His smile disappeared and was replaced by a stony look. “I will not get married. I don’t want a bride. Love is an illusion; it does not exist.”

“What I had with your father was no illusion Stefan.”

“I know…but you were lucky. Not everyone is in luck when it comes to love, and you know it.”

“You have to let it go Stefan.”

“I have.”

“I hope, for the sake of Alexandra, William, and Robert, that you have. Because you have to, my child.”

He nodded at her once. “I’ll see you later Mama.”

“You’re getting older, and you need to wed.”

“I’m barely seven-and-twenty, Mama, I’m not quite old yet,” he muttered dryly and pulled open the salon door.

He had plans for the night. Thank God he’d made out those plans before going to see his mother. Because now more than ever, he needed to escape. He needed to escape Sands Castle and its pressures.

He had sent word to Miss Althea Bagsaw. He was to spend the night with her at Morton’s Place. Even his mother’s insistence of abstinence would not stop him. He didn’t need a damned wife. He just needed someone to satisfy him, and that was all. He had missed bedding English women. While in France, he had his fair share of women, but he had kept it at a minimum because the Duke watched him like a hawk.

 

**

 

The orphanage was swamped with little children, who despite everything provided, still looked unhappy, some angry, some sad and most seemed indifferent. He suspected it was not hunger that kept them this way but a void. A void which they hoped would someday be filled. Their parents had abandoned them, leaving them to endure the pains of the world alone. Stefan didn’t know what that was like, because all his life had his parents at his side. But he did know what it was like to lose a loved one. He donated to the orphanage a while back, and upon his return, he had announced that he was going to be there much more often, overseeing things for himself. After all, it was his duty to look out for his property — as the Duke.

While he watched the children, at the other end of the large room, by the doors that led to the nursery, there stood a lady. A few more other ladies surrounded her, but this one caught his eyes because she was… What? Because she was simply standing there?

He wasn’t quite sure. She looked delicate, fragile even. She stood, talking to a little girl and handing her something from a bag. She was dressed in blue and her light brown hair was left to tumble down her shoulders in waves. Her skin was pale, her long delicate fingers held on to sweets, which he presumed she was giving out to each of the children. She was slender, and not so tall, which made her look almost petite. Maybe that was what made him stare at her.

“Your Grace,” a lady said as she bowed, coming to stand in front of him. Lady Kinross. She was in charge of the orphanage. “You requested to see the children who are gravely ill. We have their room ready for you to visit.”

He blinked twice, before nodding. “Yes, yes. But who are all these people here?”

He gestured around to people walking by, and to the ladies at the end of the room.

Lady Kinross shrugged. “People who want to do good by helping children. They come to visit as they please. But we have marked out this day for visitors…”

“I see.” he nodded. “Take me to the children.”

The lady smiled, and he walked behind her.

 

 

***

He moved the horse closer to the river and the animal neighed. When they stopped at the bank, Stefan made no effort to get it to drink from the river. One could bring a horse to the water, but one can never force it to drink from it.

The horse neighed again, shying away from the water. Stefan sighed, looking up. He glanced ahead to see that the other side of the river was higher, with rocks built atop and dried to the earth. It seemed beautiful, staring at it from where he stood. Behind it, the horizon had risen. The sun glinted partly, for its image was covered by the rock. His horse seemed restless and nearly distracted him from staring at the sun. He held onto its reins firmly, but set his gaze high.

The horse neighed again, walking away from the river. Stefan almost gave in, but he remained where he was. He wanted to watch the sun as it changed colors across the horizon. Another neigh made him sigh. “Oh, all right. Let’s head out.”

He turned, and almost as though the sun was calling out to him, he heard a gasp. He swung back sharply. Standing at the edge of the rock and staring down at the river was a lady. He couldn’t make out her face because the sun shone her way and into his eyes, blocking his full view.

“Don’t move!” he screamed. But it was too late. Small stones rolled gently down the rocky hill, the lady gasped again and jerked forward a little. Stefan caught his breath as she stumbled down the stony hill and fell into the water with a loud splashing thud. She fell at the center, where the river was the deepest. He cursed, let go of his horse, took off his boots, and walked quickly into the river. The path where he stood was shallow, but as he drew near, the water’s current increased and his feet sunk deeper.

Soon, he was under, his breath held and his hands moving before him, clearing his path. He looked around, searching for the lady. When he neared the edge close to the rocky hill, he saw her sinking. Her hands were limp and the water was carrying her away from him. He swam quickly to her. Trying to fight the current, he tugged at her left hand with his right and used his left hand to fight against the pull of the water. He swam them both to the surface and toward shallow water. Once he could stand, he walked towards the riverbank, pulling her along with him.

His horse nickered, watching him. It was a miracle the beast had not fled. While the lady remained still, he pulled her to him and laid her on the riverbank. She was still motionless. He cursed. The water must have gotten to her. He pushed her hair aside, as it had been covering her face, so he could perform artificial respirations by placing his mouth on hers and breathing into her to extract water from her system.

He was stunned when he saw it was the lady from the orphanage. He held his breath and stared at her gown. It wasn’t what she had been wearing at the orphanage.

Sighing loudly, he bent his lips to her parted lips, placed his lips over hers, and blew his breath into her body mightily.

He repeated the process a few times and moved away from her, waiting for her reaction. He watched as the lady moved a bit, then gasped, her eyes flying open. Her lips parted, and water sputtered out if it. She was soon coughing and his hands instinctively rubbed her back. He sighed, thankful that she was alive. Soon, she laid back down on the sand, her breathing rough, like she was trying to catch her breath.

He was still above her. Her eyes flew open again, and he was soon staring into beautiful grey ones. Stefan watched as a flurry of emotions passed across her face and through those eyes. He had to crease his brows as he deciphered what those feelings could be. There was fear, panic, and then, maybe, sadness. She had, after all, almost lost her life. He stared at her, her pink lips, her high cheekbones, the flutter of her lashes. Soon he was leaning in, he heard her intake of breath, but he couldn’t stop himself. He closed in on her and once again placed his lips upon hers. This time, however, with a completely different intent. She gasped at the contact, and soon, they were both biting at each other’s lips very slowly, uncertainly, still conscious of what was happening. His hands curled into her brown hair, which felt like silk in his hands. So soft. He moaned as he pressed his body to hers, almost entirely lying above her. He felt her fists clench his waistcoat, and then, shove at his chest.

Weakly, he tossed himself aside, landing on the sand. He heard the scrambling noise beside him. Stefan glanced over just as the lady picked up her skirts by the hem to flee. He didn’t look up to know what direction the lady took to. Stefan simply lay there, staring at the sun and wondering what madness had fallen on him.

 

---

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Chapter 1

Destitute!

 

“Good God!” gasped Jonathan, running his fingers through his thick auburn hair, and adjusting his ink-stained clothing.  He had just seen his mother at the entrance to his student apartments in Oxford.  He ran to her. “Mother!  What in heaven’s name are you doing here?”

She was clearly distraught, dressed in black clothing, wearing crepe over her face as a veil, and tears staining her face.  As soon as he realized this was not merely a social call, he embraced her heartily, catching himself before expressing his displeasure at seeing her in his Oxford flat.

Jonathan Anderson-Reese, the third of that name, only son and heir to the Earl of Yarmouth, was a brilliant young gentleman of twenty-two, excelling at Oxford, both academically and socially.  He studied mathematics, just at a time when mathematics was vitally important to the world, or so he told everyone.  Having excelled at Oxford for nearly four years, he was now well-connected in the best circles of Liberal Tories who had been exerting their powers and their desire for modernization throughout the realm. In his opinion, a first at Oxford, especially in Math, was of critical importance to his future.  The fact that he was more than usually handsome, his tall, lean form causing many of the young maidens who frequented the town of Oxford to swoon, was a very helpful and fortuitous godsend.  He had large blue eyes framed by longer and darker than usual eyelashes, a straight and well-formed nose, and long auburn hair that fell over his face in a fetching manner.  The fact that Jonathan seemed totally oblivious to his effect on young ladies was a particular boon to his popularity.  He was a modest man and very kind.

One of the most fascinating things about Oxford was how it often made one forget one’s connection to one’s own family. And so, the sudden appearance of Margaret Anderson-Reese, Countess of Yarborough, was a shock to his system, almost making him forget his manners.  Nevertheless, his love for his mother allowed him to embrace and console her, despite the shock of seeing her in his dormitory, forbidden to women.

“Oh Johnny!” she cried in despair.  “I bring the direst news!”

“What can it be, mamma?” he said, knitting his handsome brows, perplexed.

“It’s your father!” she said through a veil of tears.

“Why what has become of the old goat?”  he said jokingly.

“Johnny, he has died,” she said flatly before beginning to sob.

Jonathan stopped smiling abruptly. “Dead?  What do you mean?  How can he be dead?”

She took him by the arm, away from his comrades, Peter Nunn and Simon Northridge, who were trying their level best to hide the fact that they were eavesdropping.  She pulled him into his bedroom, which was in a shocking state of disarray, and whispered the dreaded news to him, directly into his ear.  “Three days ago, your father… took his own life!”

Truthfully, Jonathan had wondered how the old duffer had lasted so long.  He was far older than his mother, who, at forty-one, was still a shapely and attractive woman. Jonathan had the good fortune to have inherited her good looks, while his father, also named Jonathan, the Earl of Yarmouth, was nearly sixty, and looked a good deal older.  Years of dissolute living, drink, and cigars had taken their toll on his face and his corpulent body, and he looked old enough to be her father.  Nevertheless, in deference for his mother’s feelings, he bowed his head and nodded.

“Well, mother, we must soldier on.  These are not times for inaction.  What needs to be done?”

“Johnny, you must come with me today and help.  I am in despair and there are people asking awkward questions.”

“Momma, forgive me.  This is very distressing news.  And, I don’t mean to be indiscreet, but may I ask how it happened?”

“He used his pistol.”

“Father had a pistol?”

“He had just received this awful weapon, only weeks ago.  Some sort of thing called a revolver.  They say he shot himself in the eye.  And Johnny,” she added, again weeping copiously.  “It was I who discovered him in his study.”

“Oh mother, that is ghastly!” said Jonathan, trying to collect himself, and trying to sound confident.  “Now mother.  Would you please allow me a few minutes to collect my necessities, and I shall join you?  I’m afraid this news has yet to hit me.”

“Of course, Johnny.  It is terrible, terrible news.”

“Yes, it is.  But, mother, I am afraid that ladies are not allowed in the bedchambers of young gentlemen.”

“But I am your mother!” said Margaret.

“Be that as it may, you saw how my chums were ogling you.  You are far too handsome a woman to be able to convince the dons that you are my mother.  And I am such an old crow myself.”  Jonathan said these words with the intention of calming his mother, whom he loved very much, and did his best to cover the shock and dismay of losing his father.  True, his father had been a cold and somewhat aloof man, but he was still his father, and Jonathan had loved him regardless of all his flaws.  He was not a kind man or a generous man, but he was the only father he had, and Jonathan slowly came to realize that losing his father, even under these circumstances, was heart-wrenching.

Jonathan had entered Oxford at nineteen and was now twenty-two – ancient in the eyes of many of his peers, who had entered at sixteen and were matriculating at twenty.  Jonathan himself had only a single term remaining before he graduated, and so he was at first loath to abandon his studies.  It was late January, moreover, and it was rather unpleasant to travel in winter, regardless of the mode of transportation.  Especially if one had to go to Lincolnshire, which was a fair distance away.

His mother withdrew forthwith, and Jonathan began to assemble his necessities.  As a student at Oxford, he was unaccustomed to dressing as the son of an Earl, but that, it seemed, was about to change.  He would assume the mantle of Earl forthwith, he surmised.  But, as he himself acknowledged to his friends, Peter Nunn and Simon Northridge, as he packed, he hadn’t the foggiest idea what was going on at the time. He was utterly befuddled by this news of his father passing and so he packed several combs but no socks, a periwig he had used in the Christmas pageant, but no topcoat.

“I say, lads,” said Jonathan, after he had ushered his mother into the drawing room and returned to his chambers.  “Something quite grim has happened.  You see, my father, The Earl of Yarmouth, has had an accident and has been shot.”

“Dear God, man!” said Peter Nunn with a look of consternation.  “That’s rum luck.  Is he to be alright?”

“I should say not,” said Jonathan. “He’s dead, you see.”

“Good Lord!” exclaimed Simon Northridge with a shudder.  “Dead, you say?  That’s a bit of bad luck.”

“Quite!” said Jonathan.  “But the thing of it is, as the eldest son – indeed the only son – I must see to his estate.  No time for emotion. I must spring into action, if only to preserve my mother’s emotional state from disaster.”

“What?  You’re leaving Oxford?”

“I’m afraid so, Simon!” said Jonathan.  “But it shall only be for a term, I think.  It can’t be avoided.  The old man was a bugger with numbers and his estate is sure to be in tatters.”

“Well it’s in good hands now, old man,” said Peter in a soothing voice.  “You’re running first!  Of course, if you leave now, I daresay, I shall take first.”  He looked at Jonathan, who was clearly upset and decided to change his tone.  “But, do know I shall be thinking of you every day, old sock.”

“Thank you, Peter,” said Jonathan, pulling his valise to the top of the stairs.  “I’ll be back just as soon as I can.  Wish me luck!”

“Yes, of course, old man,” said Peter.  “Anything we can do, you let us know.”

“Perhaps you could find me a young woman of means.  I have a ghastly feeling father has spent our fortune.”

Peter and Simon laughed, slapping him on the back, knowing full-well that Jonathan would never have trouble attracting a woman.  Even among his friends at Oxford, both of whom were very handsome, he was known as the handsomest one.

“Don’t be daft, man!” said Simon, trying to sound helpful.

Jonathan turned and bumped his valise down the wooden stairs.  He collected his mother at the foot of the stairs.  “How shall we travel, mother?” he asked.

“I have hired a carriage,” she said.  “It is waiting outside.  It shall take us home.  Nan travelled with me; you remember Nan, do you not, Johnny?”

He was distracted and ignored her comment.  Nan, the mistress’ personal maid, was a mousy old crone with a pinched face, and Jonathan had never liked her much.

“Well, it is before noon, but even so, it shall take days.  It’s two day’s travel to Stafford Manor.  And I should think his solicitor is in London, is he not?”

“I haven’t the slightest notion, Johnny.  That is why I need you so.”

“I see,” he said, trying to maintain his composure.  “Do you know the name of his solicitors.  Do you have his will, mother?”

“Oh, Johnny!” she replied.  “I am still in the depths of despair having lost your father only three days ago.  How can I turn to these sorts of things?”

She had a point.  However, practical matters were most important in moments of trial and tribulation, as his philosophy professor had often noted.  He decided to rest up on his trip to Lincolnshire and drifted off to sleep without comforting his mother.

The coach was relatively comfortable and the driver more than able to handle the difficult terrain.  They stopped in a pleasant roadside inn halfway and took rooms while changing the horses.  They arrived at Stafford Manor before supper the next day.  When he managed to dig himself out from under the many blankets and wraps in the coach, he cleared frost from a small patch of the glass, to look out over his lands.

Lincolnshire in January was an uninspiring place, in a constant repeating pattern of greys, browns, and blacks.  The trees had lost their leaves and stood silent sentinel against the winter cold.  The snows had not arrived yet, which was a blessing as Lincolnshire could get large snowfalls at this time of year.  Mercifully, there was nothing like that.  It was just the hardened, frozen ground over which the coach had to travel that made the final few miles so uncomfortable.

Stafford Manor came into view before long, its pointed roofs standing in noble strength against the slate grey sky.  It was coming toward darkness when they pulled into the courtyard, greeted by two grooms who took the horses and fed them.  The coachman helped Nan and Jonathan’s mother from the coach and attended to the luggage.

Soon, the butler, Ponsonby, and two younger valets appeared.  “Master Jonathan,” said Ponsonby, smiling sadly.

“So good to see you, old chap,” said Jonathan wearily.  “Would you be a good man and have my rooms made up? I am simply beat.”

“That has been seen to, my Lord.”

Jonathan looked at Ponsonby in confusion.  “So, he’s really gone, then.”

“He is most definitely dead, my Lord.  I am most terribly sorry.”

The words sunk in with weight to Jonathan’s weary soul.  Suddenly, he became aware that he was the sole provider and soon to be Earl of Yarmouth.  This was a dread he had avoided for many years, and only now, when his old friend Ponsonby had begun to call him the title previously reserved for his father, did he realize the gravity of this whole series of events.

“And, where is he?”

“Well, he has been taken to the embalmers.  I trust that was the right thing to do.”

“I suppose it is.  But honestly, I haven’t the slightest idea.  And his solicitors?”

“I know not.  However, there are two gentlemen expected here in the morning at ten, and I hope they will be able to shed some light on his frightful affair.  I am told to prepare you for some grim news, my Lord.”

“Grim, eh?  Well, then I shall need my rest.  First, mother and I are famished.  Nan too.  Can you rustle up something for us, and find a place for the carriage driver?  I don’t know his name.”

“Jim is our man, my Lord.  He has a room here.  And your repast has been prepared and is awaiting your presence.”

“I see.  Many things have changed in just a few years then,” said Jonathan.

“Yes, my Lord.  And may I say, ‘welcome home,’ my Lord.”

“Thank you, Ponsonby.”

Jonathan climbed the stairs, paused on the landing, looking at his childhood bedroom, and felt a wash of comfort roll over him.

“These two gentlemen…” Jonathan started looking back at Ponsonby, “who do suppose they are?

“I really don’t know, my Lord, but I fear the worst.”

“The worst?  Has there been some sort of trouble?”

“If I may be candid, my Lord, I suspect your father was involved in some frightful business.”

“Frightful business?  What sort of frightful business?”

“I’m afraid it will have to wait until morning when someone with more knowledge about this nasty business can let you know.”

“Dear God, Ponsonby!” said Jonathan.  “This is most worrisome.”

“Good night, my Lord.  I trust you will sleep well.”

“Thank you, Ponsonby.  That will be all.”

Sleep well? he thought.  Dear God!  What if father was involved with the criminal element?  What shall I do then?

 

Chapter 2

Messrs. Braithwaite and Kerr

 

Jonathan did not sleep at all well that night, despite the comfort of his childhood bed and the memory of the plush animals in his youthful menagerie.  Throughout the night, because of the shock of hearing about the death of his father, thoughts of nefarious characters filled his dreams with dread.

The following day, Jonathan rose and breakfasted with his mother and Cecily, his younger sister, who was just entering society.  At eighteen, she was rather glibber than was fashionable these days, but she was a beautiful, brown-eyed brunette with a great deal of sense and an impeccable sense of style.  Her bright brown eyes were inherited from her mother, and she was a very pretty young woman, tall and thin like Jonathan, and exceedingly clever.  She had a way of dealing with grief by saying shocking things, which could be off-putting for others, although Jonathan understood her and loved her for this quality.

“Johnny,” she said, toying nervously with a rigid piece of toast.  “I should think you are at that age when marriage would be a good idea.  And, what with father having shuffled off this mortal coil, I think it’s your chance to introduce me to the good people.”

“Cecily!” said Margaret in exasperation.  “That is a shocking way to speak of your father.”

“Oh, tut-tut, mother,” said Cecily.  “We all knew he was a spent shell.  I shan’t go through with this charade. Father was a man of very little character, and I am sorry that he felt so poorly about himself, but I must admit, he was a modest man with a lot to be modest about.”

“Cecily, please!” said Jonathan in alarm.  “We must be clear: you must always speak good of the dead.”

“Well, daddy’s dead.  Good!”

“Go to your room, young lady!” thundered Margaret, tears forming in her eyes.  “I will not have this shocking display in my house.”

“Mother.  Before you fly off the handle again, I think you should have a word with Josiah Braithwaite and Alastair Kerr.  I encountered them as I took my morning constitutional.  It appears they are here to collect on a gambling debt of your husband’s.”

“I beg your pardon?  Who are these gentlemen?”

“You shall see.  In the meantime, Jonathan, I believe it is time for you to go a-courting.  Some rich young thing who will restore the family fortune.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you are talking about.  Are these fellows Father’s solicitors?”

“No, brother, they are not.  Father never had the good sense to hire a solicitor.  You can say what you like about him, but he did not think much of the future, despite his decrepit state of body and mind.  These men are what one would call moneylenders.”

Cecily was an outspoken woman at the best of times, but this display was unlike anything either of them had experienced before, and both Jonathan and Margaret were shocked as she left the room.

“What’s gotten into her?” said Margaret.

Jonathan shook his head and sighed. “You know this is how Cecily deals with grief.  She is usually a rather caring and loving person, but she cannot accept death, and so she makes it into a joke.”

“I see, but it is very difficult to absorb.”

“I understand, mother. But, honestly, did you know about any of this?” asked Jonathan quietly, moving his knife and fork to the sides of his plate.

Margaret looked into Jonathan’s handsome blue eyes and saw none of her husband reflected back.  Johnny was a very handsome young man and she was, in many ways, happy that he would inherit the title. Even so, she had many fears about his ability to take on what she imagined would be a crushing debt.

“Well, Johnny,” she said, trying to put the best face on their misfortune.  “You know your father was somewhat secretive about his affairs, and I must admit, I had no knowledge of any of this.”

“And these two so-called moneylenders?  Who are they?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say,” said Margaret weakly.

Jonathan could see that the events of the last few days had taken their toll on his mother. Jonathan being a kind and sensitive soul, who loved his mother very much, decided to let it go for now.

“Very well,” said Jonathan, rising from the table.  “I shall see to these two gentlemen.”  He bowed to his mother and left the room, making for the drawing room.

 

“Good day, gentlemen,” said Jonathan affably, as he strode into the drawing room, dressed as he imagined a young earl might dress.  It was winter and chilly, and every fireplace in the manor was going with all its might.  He wore a topcoat of deep aquamarine, with a high collar, and tight-fitting trousers that accentuated his shapely legs.  His shoes were Oxfords and he wore spats and carried a top hat under his arm.  He was the picture of what he imagined would be his role.

The two gentlemen – and this term was used loosely by Cecily, it seemed to Jonathan – rose from their seats, and smiled in a way that made Jonathan think that they had lost the required muscles to master the smile.  Both of them were somewhat ragged, greasy men, and hunched with avarice.  There was a definite smell of something unhealthy that clung to their dress.

“Eh, my Lord Earl of Yarmouth, I presume,” said the first.  “Allow me to introduce myself and my colleague.  This is Mr. Alastair Kerr of Cheapside, and I am Mr. Josiah Braithwaite, also of Cheapside.  We found that we had quite a lot in common, you see,” he continued.

Jonathan frowned in incomprehension.  “And what is your custom with me?” he asked quizzically.

“Well, we are both what you gentlemen call ‘moneylenders’ you see,” said Alastair Kerr in a pronounced Scottish accent.  “We wouldna bother you but for the pressing nature of our business.”

“I see,” said Jonathan.  “And what is this business of yours?”

“Well,” said Josiah Braithwaite, cutting in.  “We heard about your father’s death in the papers almost a week ago and made our way here as soon as we could.  We have been staying at The Merry Tax Collector for the last two days, awaiting your return.  There’s the matter of the repayment of a rather substantialized lend made to your father, the late Earl of Yarmouth.”

“I see.  And how much is this ‘substantialized lend’?”

“It is in the amount of twenty-five thousand guineas,” said Mr. Kerr.  “Ten thousand to Mr. Braithwaite, and fifteen thousand to my person.”

Jonathan was taken aback.  “What on earth?  That is an astronomical sum!  Do you have some papers to attest to this?  I was planning on looking into his papers today.”

“Aye, we do,” said Mr. Kerr, holding out a damp sheet of paper.  Braithwaite, similarly, held out a crumpled piece of parchment and Jonathan could clearly see the scrawled signature of his father, and large sums of money on them.

“Please, give them here -” he began.

“I think not!” said Kerr.  “You may peruse them to authenticate their authenticity,” he said, clearly getting confused by his own words.  “But we shall be submitting these to the courts on the first of March if complete repayment is not made.”

“Well, I confess, I do not know the state of my father’s affairs, but I shouldn’t think that will be necessary.”

“If you’ll forgive me for being so bold,” said Braithwaite. “I’ve had dealings with gentlemen like yourself before, and I have found not a few times that the courts were the only place I could get satisfaction.  You see, I’m not a rich man -” and it is true that from his dress he looked to be frightfully poor – “and I need my money, to conduct my commerce.”

“I sail aboard the self-same ship as my colleague Mr. Braithwaite,” said Mr. Kerr with a bow of his greasy head.  “We shall sail now, good sir, and will leave our calling cards should you find yourself in the city.”

“Thank you, gentlemen,” said Jonathan, maintaining his composure.  “I shall be in touch forthwith.  Good day.”

Both gentlemen slithered out of the room before he had a chance to bid them farewell, and Jonathan knew he had a problem on his hands.  Cecily, who seemed to have known about all of this, had been correct, despite her unforgivable rudeness at breakfast.

Jonathan strode warily into his father’s study and began to rifle through his papers.  The whole room was in disarray, and it appeared to have been neglected by the servants for months.  There were bits of food and empty glasses with the dregs of port and brandy scattered here and there.

He opened a drawer of his father’s desk and saw the revolver his mother had mentioned.  He picked it up feeling the weight of it in his hands.  It was, as the box said, a Collier five-chamber flintlock revolver, manufactured in England.  It was a magnificent weapon, with a beautiful burnished wood handle inlaid with what appeared to be silver.  Why his father had this thing was beyond Jonathan’s understanding.

He wrapped it in a silk handkerchief and put it in his coat pocket.  Then he set to work to try and find some evidence that his father had spent any time at all on his finances.

After an exhaustive search, he found several crumpled papers in a wastebasket at the foot of the desk that contained notes about his debts. Jonathan smoothed the papers and began to add them up.  After a few minutes, he realized that the debts were equal to the debts to Messrs. Braithwaite and Kerr.

What on earth was father up to?  wondered Jonathan.  And why was he in such a state of mental agitation that he took his own life?  I must investigate.

He resolved to travel to London to find a reputable estate lawyer who could help him untangle this mess.

There were hundreds of papers scattered hither and thither in the room that seemed to have some connection to the running of the manor, including notes of account to the servants, and many promissory notes indicating that most of them had not been paid in many months.

He rang for Ponsonby.  Presently, the butler appeared at the door and popped his head in guiltily.  “Shall I enter, my Lord?”

“Why of course, Ponsonby,” said Jonathan.  “I rang for you.”

“Quite right sir,” he said smiling tensely.  “It’s only that my Lord forbade anyone from entering this room.”

“Well, that explains the state of disarray,” said Jonathan.  “But may I enquire, Ponsonby, the last time you, or any of the servants, were paid?”

“Well, sir, that is a rather tricky proposition,” he said looking askance.

“Come, come then,” said Jonathan.  “I need to know my good man.”

“Well,” said Ponsonby.  “The fact of the matter is, we’ve lost three of our maids because they hadn’t been paid since September.  And as for me, if you’ll forgive me, my Lord, I haven’t been paid since December.”

“That is most unacceptable.  I shall make sure that you are paid forthwith.”

“That is very kind, my Lord,” said Ponsonby.  “But by your leave, I think you will find it a trifle difficult.  You see, my Lord, your father had something of a penchant for Pharaoh, and it seems that his demise may in fact be attributable to this tendency.”

“Tendency?” said Jonathan.  “What is Pharaoh?”

“Pharaoh is a card game.  A betting game, you see,” said Ponsonby.  “It is very popular in Cheapside.”

“Cheapside?  That is where those moneylenders come from.”

“Quite,” said Ponsonby.   “Those gentlemen were frequent visitors to Stafford Manor.”

“I see,” said Jonathan, realizing his father had left him in a bit of a spot.  After furrowing his brows for several minutes, during which time Ponsonby stood shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, he looked up.  “Please do ready the carriage, Ponsonby. I must go to London and I shall be staying at the house on Wimpole Street.”

“I shall make the appropriate arrangements, my Lord,” said Ponsonby as he backed out of the room with a bow.

 

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