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Chapter One

The tavern’s Thursday night show—which was one of the biggest attractions for patrons—was about to end.

Margaret got to her feet with a sigh, ready to start cleaning. It was so packed that there was hardly room to breathe; she wondered how the crowds could stand it in there.

She preferred to watch the performance from behind the makeshift stage. It almost felt as if she were part of the show as she watched the players from this vantage point as she recited their lines loudly on stage and then ran off, complaining that their bonnets were too tight. Beside her, Oscar hacked and spit a glob of green mucous on the ground with a choking sound. Grabbing the ever-present cup on her belt, she hurried to the pitcher of water sitting on the table behind the stage.

Her brother shook his head, twisting his lips. “I don’t need it.”

“Well, drink it because I want you to, Oscar.” Her voice was sharper than she’d meant it to be.

He gave her a deep, put upon sigh and reached for the cup. “Alright.” She watched him down it all, the blue tinge around his lips and labored breathing worrying her more than she could say. But there wasn’t much else she could do for him at the moment.

She had taken him to a healer she knew in the rookeries a few weeks ago, who gave her some yarrow and purple foxglove to make into a tea. It had helped a little, but not enough, and every day she woke up fearing she might lose her five-year-old brother.

Her one and only remaining kin.

Oscar looked up at her and frowned as he returned the cup. “Why are you frowning like that? Did Luther steal your buns again?”

In spite of herself, she could not help but huff in amusement. Luther was the chimney sweep who spent his time when not working hiding in corners and stealing food. He had so far managed to pick Margaret’s pockets twice, much to her annoyance, but she was wise to him now. She wasn’t surprised it had come to Oscar’s mind. The last time Luther had done that, they’d had to sleep hungry.

“Not at all. I’m just worried that there might not be any soup left over, seeing as it’s so full tonight.”

Oscar wrinkled his nose. “Oh, well…” he hacked and coughed and spat again, the globule of mucous tinged ominously dark, “I’m not very hungry tonight anyway.”

She knew full well it was a lie but didn’t call him out on it or point out that she’d heard his stomach growling. If she had some spare change, she might have gone out to get him a pigeon pie, but tonight they would have to rely on Mrs. Gendry’s generosity to eat.

Margaret’s lip twisted, “Go on and get me my bucket. The sooner I finish, the faster we can leave and you can get some hot water for your throat. Don’t think I missed your wheezing there, young man.”

“I wasn’t hiding it.” Oscar tossed his head dramatically, “I shall go now and get a bucket from Maisie. She’s much nicer to me than you are.”

Margaret laughed, knowing full well that Oscar adored her employer. “You do that.”

She listened as he walked away, his breath seeming to come increasingly short with every step. She could not wait to get to their lodgings at the Devil’s Acre, tuck him into the meager blanket on their palette, and give him some hot water to drink. Not being able to afford some tea or, better yet, a tisane for him, it was the best she could do.

With the Season approaching in a few weeks, gentlemen tended to abandon King’s Street entertainment for the more hallowed ballrooms and parlors of the West End. As a consequence, Margaret and all the other tavern girls got fewer tips. She was eager for the surge in patrons, though she did not exactly enjoy having to endure the groping and remarks that accompanied them. Many a gentleman had tried to lure her to the dark alley behind the tavern, in search of something more than a quick grab at her bottom.

Fighting them off had become so commonplace that she hardly thought about it these days. Her hands shook as she rinsed out the rag she used to wipe off the tables. Oscar’s wheezing drew closer as he returned with her bucket and she knew she was going to have to do something about that soon.

Perhaps I should accept carte-blanche from some wealthy gent, as the actresses do.

She shuddered at the thought. Her mother had lived under just such an arrangement with a minor nobleman. The toll it had taken on her was apparent to anyone who had been forced to live with her bad moods when he was not around. When she had sickened with the consumption, her protector had simply disappeared, leaving a young Margaret to watch helplessly as her mother faded away, all the while begging for scraps to feed herself and her brother.

I won’t do that again. I won’t watch another loved one die before my eyes. There must be some remedy I can try. Dear God, won’t you help me?

***

Edward Gillet, Baron Rodney stumbled into the tavern, deep in his cups and yet not deep enough to forget the news that had made him start reaching for the nearest bottle.

It can’t be.

Three hours later, and he still could not believe it. He’d loved Leonora de Havilland since they were children. He could not imagine spending the rest of his life without her. He’d thought she felt the same.

So why is she engaged to the Duke of Grafton?

He had to assume that her father had forced her hand. There could be no other explanation.

“Don’t you worry, Leonora, I will save you,” he slurred as he dropped into a seat, raising his hand for the serving girl to bring him a drink. As she walked towards him, hips swaying with unconscious grace and blatant voluptuousness, he found himself caught up in appreciation of her wiles. His eyes traveled upward, taking in her tightly cinched waist that then blossomed into two pillowy soft cushions that looked quite conducive to laying one’s head. The creamy expanse of her cleavage seemed unmarred by any blemishes, quite unusual for a demi-rep.

I would wager that Grafton would not say no to her substantial temptations.

The woman cleared her throat rather loudly and he lifted his gaze, realizing that he’d been staring rather rudely at her breasts. His eyebrows quirked in some surprise as he took in her heart-shaped face. Her body was compelling, but her face, complete with full lips and dark, seductive eyes, was certainly stunning.

“What is a beautiful woman such as yourself doing working in this squalor when you could be living in comfort?” he blurted unintentionally.

She blinked at him, not looking surprised, but rather disappointed. “I do not make my fortune on my back, thank you very much. Here is your ale.” She placed the tankard down with some force, so much so that a little of the liquid flew up and landed on his hand, which shot out to capture her arm.

“Wait.” He swallowed. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to imply…” he trailed off, realizing he was about to utter a lie. He absolutely had meant to imply. “Forgive me, I meant nothing untoward.”

She twisted her arm out of his. “That’s quite alright.” She marched away, every step imbued with anger. He blinked a few times, watching her leave with regret. “I’m sorry…”

He put his elbows on the table like the commonest plebeian, his mind mulling blearily over his encounter. He was not usually that clumsy with women, but he could forgive himself because he wasn’t usually this miserable.

Oh, Leonora…what could you possibly have been thinking?

He grabbed the tankard of ale and downed it. He’d been around the Ton long enough to know what kind of reputation the Duke of Grafton had.  He was quite the bounder, frequenting James Street quite often, as well as it’s more wanton neighbor, King’s Street.

Not that Edward had first-hand knowledge of this; the Duke of Grafton hardly spared him a glance, let alone socialized with him. Were the Duke to grace him—a mere baron—with his presence, it would have to be a matter of singular urgency. Perhaps if he lost his cravat and needed a quick replacement he might demand that Edward surrender his. He’d seen the Duke do just that to other men at their club.

Not that Edward would surrender his cravat. He hadn’t put in all those hours at the Pugilist Society to allow himself to be pushed around by anyone—duke or not. He frowned, taking another drink as he thought morosely of Grafton pushing Leonora around. Granted, she would be a duchess with a substantial fortune to her name, but she could never be happy with him—he was sure of it.

I must save her!

He looked up to see the beautiful server putting down a bottle at the next table along with several glasses. Her nose was turned up as she subtly and skillfully ignored one of the men who was trying to get her to sit in his lap. Very deftly, as if quite accustomed to it, she twisted out of his grasp and swayed away. Edward shook his head, impressed by her presence of mind. There was more to this girl than met the eye.

She does not belong in this place.

***

Margaret sighed as she put down her tray, slipping off her cap so that she could re-knot her hair. It kept slipping out of its ties and falling in a black curtain about her face. In addition to obscuring her vision, it was just another thing that an ill-mannered gentleman could grab onto in an attempt to bend her to his will.

She would not have it.

She was so very tired of this place. If it were not for her brother, she might have left long ago, settled herself on a quiet street corner, and waited for death. She looked to the corner where the cook let Oscar huddle as he played with the stick figures he’d whittled himself. Margaret was quite proud of his talent and was already thinking that they might sell some in the market once he got older and his skill was more developed. It would give her a respite from this place, and maybe she could find other things to sell.

Oscar doubled over, sounding as though he was choking as he hacked and coughed, his thin shoulders shaking. Margaret’s shoulders dropped and she closed her eyes in despair.

Please don’t take him away from me.

She didn’t even know who she was begging; she felt that any higher power had abandoned them long ago.

She walked up to the cook. “Ma’am, may I have some hot water for my brother to drink?”

Mrs. Gendry looked up at her, a frown marring her forehead. She inclined her chin towards the cauldron of boiling water that was used to clean the dishes, and Margaret took that as permission. Grabbing a cup, she filled it and then walked to Oscar. Crouching in front of him, she held out the cup. “Here, drink this. Be careful, it’s hot.”

Oscar nodded, taking the cup tentatively and sipping slowly.

Margaret nodded. “Good boy.”

“Old Tom for the gentleman in the corner!” the publican called and Margaret quickly got to her feet. She took the tray of gin and made her way back out into the public room. Her eyes passed over the room, realizing that the ‘gentleman in the corner’ was the same who had asked her what she was doing here.

She had first spotted him as he’d made his unsteady way to a seat, and had felt sorry for him. His shoulders had drooped and he was hunched over as if he was dealing with a heavy burden. She had gone up to him, meaning to be kind and perhaps make him smile. But as soon as he’d opened his mouth and proved himself no better than all the other gentlemen who frequented the tavern, her pity had turned to inexplicable, blinding anger and disappointment.

When she returned with his drink, she merely slammed it on the table and tried to flounce it away. However, it was not surprising that he detained her by slipping his cool fingers around her wrist.

“Let me go, sir,” she said with as much firmness as possible, willing her voice not to shake. She could feel every one of his fingers on her hands, however, and it was unsettling to her spirit.

“I will. Forgive me, I do not wish to cut up your peace. I simply have a question.”

Margaret blinked at him, already anticipating what he would say. She waited in silence for him to prove her right.

“Would you like to leave this place forever?”

And there it is.

She pulled at her hand, which was still trapped in his. “Not at any price, sir. I will not sacrifice my dignity or my virtue for any man.”

He huffed in annoyance. “You misunderstand me. I do not offer you carte blanche or any such arrangement. I mean to give you a job.”

Both her eyebrows rose in disbelief. “A job? As what? Your mistress?”

“Oh no.” He sighed, casting his eyes about. “It is difficult to explain.”

“No, it isn’t.”

He growled in his throat. “Would you stop thinking the worst of me for five minutes?”

“Let me go then.”

To her surprise, he let go of her wrist, his large hand returning to his knee. He was a big man, and she was relieved that he let her go without much fuss. There was no way that she could have fought him if he insisted on holding onto her. “There you go. Now you’re free. So will you listen?”

She placed both hands on her tray, inclined her head to the side, and indicated that he should continue. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes before fixing his dark gaze on her again. “Alright, this may sound slightly beyond the pale, but let the records show that I wish you to do no more than compromise his position. That is all. You need not do a thing more.”

Margaret frowned. “What are you talking about?”

The dark-haired man pointed to the other chair. “Won’t you sit down and let me explain?”

Margaret shook her head. “I cannot. I’m working.”

“Alright then…” he cast his eyes about, biting his lip as he thought, “what about if we meet after you are finished here?”

“I cannot. I have to take my brother home.”

He sighed in exasperation. “What if I take you home in my carriage?”

“It would not be a good idea. I live in Devil’s Acre. You would be robbed of everything you own—including your carriage—should you set foot there.”

He pursed his lips. “In that case, would you consent to me hosting you for the night in my abode at St. John’s Wood? No one will see you there and you’re welcome to use it as long as you like, with no interference from me.”

She frowned. “Why can you not just tell me now?”

“It is difficult to explain. You have my word as a gentleman that neither you nor your brother will come to any harm. I keep a cottage there in case I do not wish to make the journey to my manor. I assure you, you will be safe and no one will disturb you there.”

Margaret looked him over thoughtfully. What he was offering was exactly her idea of heaven. A roof over her head, a warm place for her brother to lay his head. It sounded too good to be true, and she could not help feeling like it was a trap.

She studied the man from head to toe; the cut of his jib spoke of quality and riches. His impossibly wide shoulders said he did not spend all his time on sedentary tasks. The size of his hands was alternately frightful and compelling. His dark eyes looked into hers as if he could see into her soul. She had to blink a few times to stop herself from shivering as she met his gaze. Nothing and everything about him rang alarm bells in her mind. He looked like a man used to getting what he wanted—without having to take it by force. She sighed, her eyes sliding to the hidden corner where her brother sat hunched over, coughing his lungs out.

He looks honest enough, and his house is likely warmer than the hovel we live in. At least Oscar will sleep warm tonight.

Hoping she wouldn’t regret it, she agreed that she and her brother would consent to be his guests for the night.

The strange man nodded, his shoulders sagging as if with relief. “I thank you.”

She nodded and went back to her duties. She half expected that he would get tired of waiting and slip away, but he sat, sipping at his Blue Ruin with studied slowness, watching her in a surreptitious way. Throughout the night, she noticed his eyes would dart to her and then away. Considering she could feel his eyes on her like a brand, he wasn’t as discreet as he thought he was.

Once her shift was over and she had finished wiping down the tables, she went over to collect Oscar in the kitchen. Bending over him, she whispered in his ear, “Now we’re going to a different place to sleep tonight. I need you to behave yourself until we are alone. Do not speak. Do not ask questions. Can you do that?”

Oscar nodded, his eyes wide and full of questions.

They walked up to the man. “We are ready now,” Margaret said.

 

 

Chapter Two

Edward sought the right words to ask the skittish chit to do what he wanted without scaring her and failed to find them. They rode to his cottage in St. John’s Wood in silence. The only sound in the carriage was the boy’s hacking cough, which seemed to be quite bad. Edward gave him a sidelong glance, his mind churning with ideas. Judging by how closely she held the boy, he surmised that she was worried about him. Edward couldn’t blame her—the lad sounded quite ill.

He would ask his housekeeper, Mrs. Phillips, to inspect the boy’s chest and find something that might help. He might even offer to fetch a physician to look over the boy.

That might be worth her cooperation.

He relaxed back into his seat, satisfied that he had a plan. The carriage came to a stop at the door and he stepped down, turning to help Margaret and her brother out of the carriage. The driver would wait for him and take him home once he was done. Edward directed them to precede him to the front door, not missing how they looked around in fear.

He gestured towards the cottage’s parlor. “Please, have a seat while I see what refreshment I have on hand.”

She blinked at him in surprise. “No no, I can do it. Just show me where…”

He opened his mouth and then realized that he did not know her name. “Forgive me, I did not introduce myself. I am Edward Gillet, Baron Rodney, at your service.” He gave her a very proper bow.

“Er, I’m Margaret Russell, this is my brother Oscar.” She stammered a bit over the words, as if unsure if she was doing it correctly, and then gave an awkward curtsey.

He smiled and nodded. “That’s a good start.”

Her eyebrows wiggled in confusion. “I’m sorry, what is a good start?”

“The curtsey.” He took her by the elbow and steered her towards the parlor. “You will have to learn to do it properly if we are to succeed in this endeavor, but at least you have the rudiments.”

“I do not understand.” Her elbow was sharp and bony in his hand and he wondered if she had eaten any dinner yet. He seated her on his red crushed-velvet armchair, her brother sinking to the floor beside her on his imported rug.

“Please, just relax here. I do believe I have some wine, cakes, and fruit.”

He crossed to the fireplace to coax the flames to life and place two candelabras on the tables for additional light. Edward noted that while Margaret sat stiffly, her brother was less wary, looking around curiously at everything as he leaned back against the seat. He was clearly tired and should have been abed long ago. Edward imagined that Margaret had no one to leave him with when she was working.

The boy was rather gaunt, his dark hair lying limp against his face and far too long for a child his age. His clothes were patched and old, but as well-kept as needle and thread could manage. Edward suspected that his welfare was the key to her agreeing with his plan.

She sat hunched in on herself, looking just a little intimidated by her surroundings. He was quite proud of the room. He’d decorated it to suit his tastes and only his—it was his space. The walls were lined with blue and gold silk wallpaper, brightening the room without feminizing it. The plush soft leather settees were dark brown and gave off a good contrast while the hand-woven Turkish rug rounded out the room nicely. The entire room was bathed in soft firelight, softening Margaret’s features and giving her brother’s face a healthy cast.

He could see the boy surrendering slowly to the arms of Morpheus and decided to wait until the boy was asleep before making his proposal.

He went to fetch what food he had on hand and returned with a tray piled high with cakes, fruit, a decanter of brandy for himself, and a hot toddy for the girl and her brother. Oscar was now wide-awake and staring at the array of choices in wonder.

“Is all this for us?” he piped up, his very first words.

Edward quirked an eyebrow. “Of course it is. Tuck in. Eat as much as you want.”

Oscar looked extremely skeptical at Edward’s words but reached slowly for a honey cake, his eyes still on Edward. When the Baron made no move to stop him, Oscar snatched it up and stuffed it quickly into his mouth. Margaret was far subtler, picking up a piece and eating it fast, but not blatantly so.

Edward wondered when they’d last had a good meal but pushed the thought away as rather too depressing in his present mood. Instead, he smiled, pushing the tray closer to them.

“M-may I have another?” Oscar was staring warily at him, hand half-outstretched even as he asked.

“Of course.”

The boy snatched another cake, biting into it with relish.

“Have a drink as well. It will warm you right up.”

“Oh, it’s quite warm in here.” Oscar nodded, nevertheless picking the cup up carefully and taking a sip. He choked a bit. “What is this?”

“Have you not had chocolate before?” Edward had added some into the boy’s drink to sweeten it.

He shook his head vigorously before burying his head in the cup. Edward hoped it had cooled enough not to burn his tongue. His eyes flicked to Margaret, who was watching her brother with sad eyes, her cake gone.

“Won’t you have an apple, Miss Russell?”

She turned to give him a sharp look at that. “I’m just Margaret,” she said.

“Not if you agree to my proposal, you’re not.”

Her eyebrow quirked. “And what proposal is that?”

He gave Oscar a pointed look before leaning back, his hands flat on the arms of the chair. “All in good time.”

***

Watching Oscar stuff himself with food, Margaret could not even be annoyed with the Baron for his evasiveness. But she worried about what she would have to do to pay him back for all this. Whatever he meant her to do, it must be quite horrible. She put down her cup of cocoa.

“Is there somewhere my brother can lay down for the night?”

Oscar whipped his head around to give her a betrayed look, his mouth open and lined with crumbs.

“Of course. Just down the hall is a bedchamber. I’m afraid you’ll have to share the bed, but I daresay it’s big enough for both of you.”

He got to his feet. “Oscar, please do follow me.”

Oscar met Margaret’s gaze, his own wide and filled with wonder. He had no sense of danger in this place, which was relieving—but also worrying. “Go with him, I shall join you shortly.” She put some emphasis on the latter part, chiefly for the Baron’s benefit. Oscar stood up, snatching up one more cake before he followed the Baron from the room. She waited, tapping her fingers, until the Baron returned and took his seat opposite her.

“Alright then, we’re alone. Now tell me what I have to do in this ‘job’.”

The Baron took a deep breath, his eyes darting hither and thither as if trying to think how to tell her. She wondered if perhaps he was some sort of cannibal.

Does he mean to eat me?

He had said it wasn’t some carte blanche arrangement. She could cook and clean but she doubted that was what he needed her for. There were far too many people more qualified than her to work in a nobleman’s kitchen.

“There is a certain…gentleman,” the Baron began before he stopped, blinking furiously as he looked into the fire, “that I would like you to seduce.”

Margaret shot to her feet, words of recrimination already on her lips. The Baron calmly held up a hand. “Hear me out.”

Slowly, she sat back down, glaring at him. “When I say ‘seduce,’ I do not mean that you need to compromise yourself in any way. A mere kiss will do.”

Again, she opened her mouth but he held up his finger. “In return,” he put in quickly, “I will turn you into a lady. I will purchase everything you require to look like one, allow you to live under my roof, and I shall have a physician by to see to your brother’s cough.”

Margaret blinked, stared at him, and blinked again. She looked around, relishing the feel of being truly warm for the first time in months—years, perhaps. She hadn’t failed to notice that Oscar’s coughing had reduced significantly once he was somewhere warm and dry. And the Baron had said he would get him treated.

A part of her was still skeptical as to his motives. Surely if all she needed to do was kiss the man, there were plenty of more qualified people who could do that. Why, any bit of muslin standing on a dark street corner was more qualified than she to carry this out. She swallowed, thinking of the cold pallet awaiting them in the hovel they called home.

“When you say you will turn me into a lady, what do you mean by that?”

He took a breath. “Well, you will need a new wardrobe for sure. A few lessons in manners, perhaps some cream to soften your hands and powder to lighten your skin.” He cocked his head to the side. “Although it is remarkably unblemished for one of your class. We might not need to do much with it.”

“Why do it at all? Why not get some other lady who already has all that to kiss this gentleman?” Margaret asked.

“Well…because, frankly, no lady would do it. When I saw you, I knew that you were just the kind of beauty that would turn his head. You do not seem to be aware of it, but you’re quite breathtaking.” His eyes gleamed darkly as he stared at her and she could not help the blush that stole over her face.

Lowering her lashes, she avoided his gaze. “And once I have kissed this man, then what?”

“Well, I shall settle an amount upon you and…” he paused, his finger pointing to the ceiling, “I shall give you this house to live in.”

She raised an eyebrow. “All that, in exchange for a kiss? It does not seem like an equal exchange.”

“To me, the end result is worth anything.” She frowned, hearing the emotion in his voice. There was something more here than she knew. Something personal to the Baron. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, a faint cough from down the hall reminding her exactly why she needed to agree to this.

How can I turn this down?

She had never kissed a man, let alone seduced one, but the Baron had not asked if she had experience. He had merely assumed that because she was baseborn, she was one shift away from being a bit of muslin. She wanted to be angry with him, to rail and scold, but she did not have the luxury of refusal.

If I don’t do this, Oscar will die.

She had asked for an answer and this was the one that came.

“You say I do not have to compromise myself, but how will I get this man to kiss me and then get him to stop?”

He leaned forward eagerly. “Well, it’s simple. I shall transform you into a lady. Heaven knows you’re a thing of beauty—in the right clothes, with the right mannerisms, no man will be able to resist you. He will take a liberty or two, but he won’t go too far if he thinks you’re a lady.”

“The right clothes will not make me a lady.”

“No, they will not. We shall have to get you the right name, too. That’s solved easily enough.”

Margaret’s eyebrow quirked. “I do not understand.”

Edward sat back, hand on his chin. “Lady Gabriella will do nicely, I think. She is my cousin and a widow. She resides in the country and seldom comes to Town. Being widowed would also explain the boy. You will have to pass him off as your son.”

Margaret’s frown got deeper. “Slow down, please. I do not follow you. You want me, in addition to seducing an unsuspecting gentleman, to pretend to be someone else?”

“I know, I know. It’s much to take in. Why don’t you go and rest and we can discuss it further in the morning?”

She stared at him with wide eyes. “I have to work in the morning.”

He shook his head. “Not anymore. You have only one duty now, and that is learning to be a lady.”

She blinked a few times, extremely skeptical about everything. She did not want to resign her position, just in case this—whatever this was—turned out to be a bunch of nonsense. No doubt the Baron was fairly flush in the pockets, but that did not mean he was serious about this endeavor.

“I…”

He stood up, reaching for her hand and pulling her to her feet. “For now I will ask only one thing of you; that you trust me. Please, go and rest. It’s very late and you’re tired. I shall be back in the morning with breakfast.”

Margaret stared at the man before her, trying to take his measure. If he’d wanted to hurt her, he had had plenty of opportunity this night. Could it be that his strange proposal was sincere—could it truly be that simple?

The only thing Margaret knew for certain was that she was dead on her feet.

She nodded her agreement and the Baron bowed to her.

Let us just see what happens. If worse comes to worst, I can insist that he get me new employment.

“Good night, Miss Russell.”

She turned her head so fast that her cap was dislodged and half her hair hung down over her shoulders. “Goodnight, sir.”

She reached up, trying to straighten her cap as she walked down the corridor. After a moment, she gave it up as a lost cause and snatched the cap off her head, walking until she saw a wooden door at the end of the corridor. Behind her, she heard a door open and close and concluded that the Baron had left.

Reaching for the door, she slipped into the room. There was a single burning candle on the dresser, the light just enough so that she could see her way around. She half expected that Oscar would be waiting anxiously for her, but he was buried under a mountain of blankets, sprawled on the bed, snoring softly. She smiled, watching him sleep for a while before looking around the room in awe. It was bigger than their entire lodgings, the bed a huge four-poster piled high with blankets. There was wood paneling on the walls and huge bay windows, now covered by red velvet curtains. Everything screamed luxury, and Margaret was afraid to touch a single thing.

Shucking off her woolen gown, she climbed into the bed in her shift and settled herself comfortably. Oscar immediately shifted around so that his foot lay on top of her knees and his arm stretched across her face. She smiled, very familiar with his manner of sleeping, seeing as they usually shared a pallet.

She sighed. This is much more comfortable.

She closed her eyes, trying to relax. It was difficult, as her stomach was still twisted with worry and her mind was swirling with confusion. The Baron’s words echoed in her mind as she wondered if she could even pull off his scheme convincingly. She was no lady, had no aspirations to be one, but she wanted this for Oscar—a comfortable warm bed for him to sleep in and plenty of food to eat, as well as medicine for his cough.

But will I be able to pay the price for it?

 

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Chapter One 

 With the music swirling overhead, and the large ballroom brimming with fashionable guests and desirable young ladies as far as the eyes could see, Michael’s boredom almost felt like a betrayal. He raised a glass of wine to his lips, watching as lords and ladies waltzed around in the center of the room to the lilting music, their slow movements making Michael’s boredom deepen. 

He sighed. 

“Mind it,” came a low drawl next to him. “If you dare to sigh again, you just might bring the ceiling down around our heads.” 

Michael didn’t bother to look over at his friend’s sarcastic tone. “At least it will make this night more entertaining.” 

“If you deem crawling out from under heavy rubble entertaining, then I do not understand how we are friends.” The slight humor he detected had Michael glancing to his left, his lips quirking at the sight of Stephen’s smirk. Stephen raised his own glass of wine to his lips and met Michael’s eyes. “I must say that I am quite surprised, though. I thought you quite enjoyed balls.” 

“I thought so too,” Michael said with a nod. He looked back ahead and swallowed the sigh that bubbled up his throat. “Or, rather, I once did. I’m afraid it no longer has the luster it once held.” 

“How unfortunate to hear.”  

They were standing by the refreshments table, within reaching distance of more glasses of wine if they needed it. Nearby stood a door that led into a small parlor where Michael knew the other gentlemen of this ball—the ones who were also disinterested in talking and dancing—sat drinking whiskey and playing card games. Michael felt inclined to join them. 

But he’d never been one to mingle with those he did not know very well. Because of that, other men marked him as unfriendly and unapproachable simply because Michael was more than content sharing his time with his only close friend—Stephen Johnson. The fact that they had grown up together in the countryside had made their bond one that could never be broken. He supposed that was why Stephen was standing here with him sharing in Michael’s boredom, rather than enjoying a few games of whist with the other gentlemen. 

While he did not particularly care for the company of other men, however, it was quite the opposite for the ladies. Michael scanned the room, noting that quite a few of the young debutante ladies were looking his way interestedly. The sight of them should have inspired eagerness within him, but he only felt resigned. 

“I see Miss Belinda is in attendance tonight,” Stephen spoke up. Michael looked at him in time to see Stephen jerk his chin to the left. His dark brown hair shifted out of place a bit and Stephen reached up and tucked the tuft back into position. “Have you greeted her yet?” 

“I shan’t,” Michael said. 

Stephen looked at him, no surprise in his eyes. In fact, he too seemed a little resigned—and just a tad amused. “Do not tell me you have fallen out of favor with her,” he said. 

“Rather,” Michael explained in a disinterested rumble. “She has bored me. I find I cannot remain in her company when she only ever talks about her paintings all day.” 

“She is quite artistic, I hear,” Stephen mused. “And has a lovely voice.” 

“Yes, if only she wasn’t so determined on always using it for speaking.” Michael didn’t have to look in Miss Belinda’s direction to know that she was staring at him. She’d been doing so ever since he arrived. For a while, he’d wondered if she would muster up the courage to approach him, but it appeared she was far more timid in public than she was behind closed doors. 

“The last I checked,” Stephen replied, “you did not mind her talkative nature.” 

Michael chuckled at that, knowing exactly what Stephen meant. “She is quite the beauty, but it has reached a point where I simply cannot deal with it any longer, no matter how lovely she may be on the eyes. Perhaps you would like to try her out for yourself and then you will understand what I mean?” Michael suggested, wagging his brows with a small smile. 

“You have no fear of God, it seems,” Stephen mused, shaking his head.  

Michael only shrugged. He didn’t feel bad for leaving Miss Belinda behind, even without so much as a word as to why he no longer wanted to see her. She’d known who he was before he approached her, had known of his particularly rakish reputation, and yet, she’d willingly fallen in love. He surmised that she’d believed she would be the one to change him. There had been many who had made that mistake before. 

He couldn’t be the one to be blamed for her heartbreak, and now that he was done with her, he had nothing else to occupy his time. 

Stephen, the second son of a proud and pious Viscount, had a family more concerned for his reputation than Michael did, and so as such had mostly been only a witness to Michael’s more immoral exploits, keeping his own nose clean. Michael’s suggestion had partly been in jest, but he sometimes wondered if his friend wished to enjoy himself the way Michael had been. It was hardly fair he’d had all the fun over the last two years they’d spent in London, and now they had left the city, it seemed there would hardly be a chance of any kind of scandalous fun to tempt either of them. 

It seems there will be no hope of a new conquest here tonight. Perhaps I should just return home. 

The moment the words crossed his mind, a lady crossed his vision. She seemed to materialize out of nowhere, her cerulean ballgown drifting around her gentle curves as she turned to speak to the lady on her right. Her hair, like strands spun from gold, was twisted up into an elegant style, wisps framing a heart-shaped face.  

It was Lady Selina, the daughter of the Earl of Warwick. Michael knew of her the same way most gentlemen did—as the beautiful lady who had rejected any and all of the gentlemen who approached her. He’d seen her once before, but the moment had been too brief to be of note, he had not spoken to her. Michael had been courting another lady at that time, he didn’t let his attention drift to a shy closeted debutant. 

Now, he couldn’t fathom how he’d been distracted from such a vision. The sight of her was like a punch to his guts, familiar tendrils of lust spreading throughout his body. He smirked to himself as the blood rushed from his head, taking in the silky gown and how it framed a generous bust and lovely hips.  

I can already tell that she has a perfect figure underneath that gown. I wonder, has any other gentleman been lucky enough to witness it? 

“In truth,” Stephen was saying, completely oblivious to Michael’s distracted attention, “I did not think Miss Belinda would fall for your charms. As I’ve heard, the Duke of Hollwell is quite protective of his daughter, and quite religious.” 

“That is precisely why she was so willing,” Michael responded, his eyes never leaving Lady Selina for a second. She laughed at something the lady on her right was saying, but then her smile slipped away nearly instantly. If Michael didn’t know any better, he might think she was as bored as he was. Though, perhaps he was not any longer. “Though,” he continued, “it would not have made a difference. I can charm any lady in England.” 

“You think too highly of yourself,” Stephen quipped without malice. “With such a large head, my friend, it is a wonder how you fit in through the doors.” 

Michael wrenched his gaze away from Lady Selina for a brief moment to look at Stephen. “Surely, you do not doubt me?” 

“I do not doubt that you are gifted in that aspect,” Stephen said. “But every lady in England? Come now.” 

“Are you willing to place a bet on it?” Michael challenged, a grin slowly stretching across his face. Stephen met his eyes and Michael saw the usual spark of competition light up the muddy brown. 

“Very well, then,” Stephen agreed with a nod. Then he looked back in front, searching through the crowd before him. Michael caught when his eyes darkened with mischief before Stephen said, “Surely you know of Lady Selina of Warwick, do you?” 

Well, well. What are the odds? Michael smirked, looking back at the graceful lady who captured the attention of all the men around her. It intrigued him to see that she didn’t seem oblivious to those eyes. Instead, she appeared disinterested—even when she glanced in Michael’s direction and then slid her gaze away as if he was nothing more than a blade of grass. 

“I believe every gentleman knows of Lady Selina,” Michael murmured, running his gaze down the length of her body. The candlelight within the ballroom not only illuminated her graceful figure, but sparked images in Michael’s mind that made his body go hot. 

“Then you are aware that this is her third Season, yes? And she has earned herself the reputation as the Aloof Princess. She’s received so many marriage proposals and have turned down every single one of them.” Stephen sounded proud of himself for having chosen such a difficult lady.  

The Aloof Princess was quite fitting. The men that surrounded her might as well be decoration with how little she cared about them. 

The boredom was already lifting as Michael studied his new challenge. Her beauty would make this quite easy for him. A lady he could not look at would prove to be a little more difficult. “What are the terms of this bet?” he asked Stephen. 

“No terms,” Stephen said confidently. 

Michael raised a brow at him. “Are you so certain that I will not be able to court her?” 

“Your reputation precedes you, Michael,” Stephen said with a shrug. “And from what I have heard, Lady Selina does not care for looks or prestige, but she wants to fall in love. But if you believe that you have the power to charm any lady you set your eyes on, I am more than willing to watch you test your claim.” 

A mad grin stretched across Michael’s face as he looked back at Lady Selina. She didn’t seem to care to pay anyone particular attention than the lady on her right. Michael shifted his focus to her, noting that she looked a lot like Lady Selina—the same blond hair, the same gentle shape and short stature, the same heart-shaped face and full lips. Only this lady appeared to be a bit younger, more immature in her stance. Her eyes were filled with excitement and she seemed to be trying very hard to keep herself still. 

Considering it is the first time I have seen her, I suppose she is debuting tonight. Lady Selina’s sister, perhaps? 

A plan was already forming in his mind, slowly he nodded, knowing very well that Stephen was watching him. 

“All right,” Michael said finally. “I shall take you up on your bet. By the end of the Season, the Aloof Princess will be mine.” 

*** 

At this point, Season balls were becoming draining. They were the same things over and over again, with the same people. Dancing and laughter, and generally good camaraderie all around, save for one single thing—Selina could not find a single gentleman she cared to be courted by. 

That fact only served to dampen the experience for her, even though she knew she would be subject to more balls and events in the coming weeks – it was her third Season and though she’d done this more times than she could count – it felt as if it was only getting harder and harder. 

“Would you smile, Selina?” came Tereza’s voice next to her. Had they been at home, Selina was certain her sister would slip her arm into hers and pull Selina to her side. But since they were in public, Tereza only laid a hand on her shoulder.  

“If you stand here looking so dour, no gentleman will approach you.” 

Selina opened her mouth to respond, but Tereza was already lifting her hand and waving it in the air as she continued, “Oh, what am I saying? You look absolutely lovely tonight. I’m certain every man in attendance is simply dying to dance with you. I, on the other hand, should have simply stayed home. I’m certain no one will even look my way.” 

That brought a frown to Selina’s lips as she took in the dejected shoulders of her dear sister. There was at least one happy thing about tonight and that was finally being able to attend a ball with her. Tereza had been looking forward to this day for a long time and pained Selina to see that, now that the day had come, Tereza’s insecurity had risen to an all-time high. 

“Don’t say that,” Selina chided gently. She too had to resist the urge to tuck her arm around her sister. “You are more radiant than every other lady here.” 

“You’re just saying that,” Tereza said dismissively, even as she blushed.  

“Because it’s true,” Selina insisted. “Heavens, I always knew you were lovely but tonight you have really outdone yourself. You should relax and enjoy your moment, Tereza. I’m certain tonight will be a good one for you.” 

“I am relaxed.” Her knitted brows said otherwise. 

“If you are so relaxed, then perhaps you should stop fiddling with your fan.” 

Instantly, Tereza tucked her fan behind her back and pouted a little. “All right, I’ll admit that I am bit nervous. I’ve been looking forward to this day for quite some time now, and now that it has arrived, I haven’t a clue what to do with myself.” 

“You need not do anything but partake in the festive music and enjoy yourself with your dance partners,” Selina told her. “It is really quite simple, if you think about it.” A tad boring, almost. 

Tereza slid her Warwick blue eyes over to Selina. Her lips had a touch of rouge spread across it, deepening the blush of her cheeks and her porcelain skin. Once again, Selina felt a spark of pride at seeing how beautiful her sister looked this evening. Normally, it took quite a lot of effort for Tereza to keep her hair within its hold and the hem of her gown dust-free, but every bit of her boyish nature seemed to have been tucked away for tonight. 

I only wish she could see that beauty herself. A thread of guilt ran through Selina at Tereza’s earlier words. They hadn’t been said begrudgingly, but Selina knew very well that Tereza felt like a wallflower standing next to her. 

“What if no one wants to dance with me?” Tereza asked softly. Worry flickered in her eyes for a moment. “What if my debut is a failure?” 

Selina blinked in surprise. Tereza was many things, but she certainly was not a negative person. “That’s stating the impossible, Tereza,” Selina told her. “Come now, there is no use worrying yourself about such things. As I said before, you need only relax and enjoy yourself. Perhaps you would like a glass of punch?” 

Tereza shook her head. The concern cleared and her smile returned. “No, I’m fine. You’re right. I shouldn’t think about such things. I should try to enjoy myself as much as I—oh!” 

Selina watched as Tereza’s jaw went slack, her eyes widening. She looked in the direction her sister was staring in but saw nothing but swaying bodies moving to the music. “What is the matter?” Selina asked. 

“That gentleman…” Tereza murmured, sounding quite dazed. “He’s so handsome! Do you know who he is? Heavens, he’s coming this way! Selina, prepare yourself.” 

“Prepare myself?” Selina echoed in surprise. 

Tereza looked at her as if she couldn’t believe she had to question her. “A gentleman that handsome could not possibly be coming to see me. He will certainly ask you for a dance.” 

Before she could respond to Tereza’s words, Selina saw him. It was the very same gentleman she’d seen watching her from a short distance away. She’d caught his gaze a few times already, but despite his handsomeness, had dismissed him. Selina wouldn’t allow herself to be taken by the attractiveness of any gentleman, not when she had her sights set on something more profound. 

But, as she watched this man carve a path through the ballroom, his long legs eating up the distance with ease, Selina was slowly beginning to forget why she’d decided against him. From a distance, it was easy enough to dismiss him, to put him aside with the other gentlemen who had nothing but their vapid good looks to recommend them, and no substance or character. But as he came closer, his features grew sharper, his eyes trained on her with a head of blond hair cut in Titus fashion. His jaw looked as if it had been chiseled out of stone, full lips were tilted up into in a small, welcoming smile, but it was his smoldering green eyes that made her chest grow tight. Selina clutched her fan, tremors of sparking heat racing up and down her spine. Next to her, Tereza was also quiet, as if she too couldn’t believe that such a handsome gentleman was approaching them. 

It is likely that he is like all the others, Selina told herself, trying to chase away her odd reaction. I am not here to find a handsome gentleman, but a man that I can love. I should take care to remember that. 

It truly bothered her that she had to remind herself of that. Selina recited the words in her mind, all the while trying to catch her breath as the gentleman came to a stop before her.  

It took her a moment to realize that the host of this evening’s ball was by his side the entire time. She closed her fan with a thwap and smiled brightly at Selina and Tereza. “Lady Selina, Lady Tereza, I hope you two are enjoying the ball?” she probed and went on without waiting for a response, looking up at the handsome gentleman. “Please, allow me to introduce to you Baron of Grantley, Lord Michael Caney. Lord Grantley, let me introduce you to Lady Selina King and Lady Tereza King, the youngest daughters of the Earl of Warwick.” 

“My Ladies,” he greeted, bowing just slightly. “It is truly a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

“The pleasure is ours, Lord Grantley,” Tereza said, her voice uncharacteristically breathless. She curtsied, her eyes dazzling when they lifted once again to meet Lord Grantley’s. Selina didn’t blame her in all honesty.  

Lord Grantley smiled and then looked at Selina. She braced herself for his request for a dance, her agreement already on the tip of her tongue. But then, he slid his green eyes away from Selina and when they landed on Tereza, they lit up. 

“I must say, Lady Tereza, that you caught my eye from the moment you entered the ballroom and I have been trying to think of the perfect thing to say to you once I’ve gotten the courage to approach.” A sheepish smile flashed across his face for a moment and Selina’s heart skipped a beat. Every inch of her body felt as if it had been set on fire and he wasn’t even speaking to her. “But now, I think it will only suffice for me to simply ask you to share this next dance with me? I hope you will say yes?” 

Tereza blushed, nodding eagerly. She seemed to catch herself in the act and slowed her nodding to a gentle, graceful motion. “I would love to, Lord Grantley.” 

Selina watched, her throat constricting as Tereza slid her hand into Lord Grantley’s and he led her away without another glance at Selina. She blinked rapidly, trying to bring her thoughts back together. That was… certainly not what she’d expected. 

I could have sworn he had been staring at me the entire time. But…perhaps I was wrong. I should be happy for Tereza, anyhow. I’m certain she is quite overjoyed to be in the arms of such a handsome gentleman right now. 

Even as the thought crossed her mind, Selina felt a twinge of guilt shoot up within her at her slight jealousy. She had no reason to be jealous, she reminded herself. A gentleman’s looks were a no–good means to fall for them. Ever since her first Season, Selina had longed to find her true love and as each year went by, she had seen that physical appearance often masked a horrible nature lurking underneath. She wouldn’t forgive herself if she married someone simply because she had been attracted to him, only to live the rest of her life unhappy and without love.  

She hated rakes most of all. Gentlemen who could not keep their eyes on one lady, who felt the need to sample the company of nearly any woman who would give them the time of the day. Selina had no tolerance for such behavior, having been victim to it once. She’d promised herself that she would never let her heart fall for a man like that, no matter how handsome or charming. 

It was sad to see that far too many gentlemen in England were either rakes, or far too vapid to warrant her attention. 

The love her older sisters experienced, even the cynical Louisa who had once been determined to spend her life as a spinster, it was that same love Selina wanted for herself. At this rate, she wondered if she would ever find it. 

Or if he will ever find me, she thought as she watched her sister waltz around in the arms of Lord Grantley. Two years ago, Selina had smiled just as brightly as Tereza was smiling right now, but now she felt a lump in her throat and the overwhelming urge to rush out of the ballroom. 

Chapter Two 

 The dance seemed to last forever. A gentleman, accompanied by the host of the ball, approached Selina for an introduction and an invitation to dance but Selina claimed her feet were a bit tired and turned him away. As soon as they were gone, she turned her attention back to her Lord Grantley and Tereza, watching the way they smiled at each other. 

Tereza always wore a brilliant smile. As a happy girl, who found pleasure in nearly every aspect of life, Selina had always felt much joy simply watching her smile. That same feeling rose within her now but was tempered by an odd shadow that Selina couldn’t shake. Heat still curled through her body, remnants of her reaction to Lord Grantley sustained as she watched him. She licked her lips, hating the way she was feeling. 

Finally, the dance drew to an end and Selina straightened as Lord Grantley began to lead Tereza back to Selina’s side. She slipped back into the usual role she’d adopted—an unflappable lady. After all, they did not call her the Aloof Princess for no reason. 

“It was an honor, Lady Tereza,” Lord Grantley said the moment they’d returned. “I truly enjoyed our time together, as short though it might have been.” 

Tereza nodded her agreement, every emotion she felt clear as day in her eyes. “I enjoyed it as well, Lord Grantley. It was truly a lovely start to the evening.” 

“Then it appears my job here is done.” Tereza blushed the moment he flashed her a wide smile. Selina’s heart skipped a beat when two deep dimples appeared in either cheek. Lord Grantley tilted his head in a small bow, saying, “I pray you have a good night, Lady Tereza, Lady Selina.” 

Selina didn’t take her eyes off his face, even as she curtsied. She willed him to look at her, for her to see if she’d truly been wrong about her assumption. After two Seasons, she knew how to recognize when a gentleman wanted to show his interest in her and a part of her couldn’t believe that Lord Grantley was different. Not because Tereza was not capable of attracting a man like him, but because Selina was certain she’d caught him staring at her. 

But Lord Grantley’s eyes barely grazed over her before he was turning away. Selina watched him go, feeling a little snubbed.  

“Selina!” Tereza caught Selina’s gloved hand, pulling her out of her thoughts. Selina plastered a smile onto her face to match her sister’s exuberance. “That was simply the most amazing few minutes of my life!” 

“How dramatic you are,” Selina giggled. “Though I cannot blame you. Lord Grantley is truly quite handsome.” 

“And charming, as well.” Tereza’s eyes sparkled with life. “I think I would like for him to court me. I cannot believe he asked me to dance. I was positive he’d approached to ask you! I hope he truly is interested in me!” 

Selina’s chest tightened. She quelled the feeling that was beginning to rise within her, only giving her sister a slight frown. Not wanting to tamper Tereza’s happiness, Selina tried to choose her words carefully. “He is the very first gentleman you’ve danced with and you have not even spoken for long. You should not allow yourself to be wooed by the first man who pays you a bit of attention,” Selina advised, hoping her words were kind and not riddled with the panging jealousy deep within her chest. “There are many gentlemen in attendance tonight and the night is still young. You should keep yourself open.” 

“Oh, yes I’m sure you’re right – it is just so nice that he asked for my first dance,” Tereza said with a sad smile. “I dreamt about enjoying myself as much as you did your first Season, but I share none of your beauty, so I don’t want to expect too much.” Her hand grasped Selina’s arm again. “Perhaps it would be nice to learn a little more about him before I see him again. Right now, he is only a mystery.” 

“Well, you have always been fond of those,” Selina said and Tereza giggled in response. Just then, another gentleman approached them, asking to dance with Tereza. Tereza happily accepted and allowed him to lead her away, leaving Selina with her troublesome thoughts. 

“Learning more about him is not a bad idea,” she murmured to herself. “I should have thought of that before.” Before I let myself grow weak at just the sight of him. Selina resisted the urge to sigh at herself, looking around the room for any friendly face. She spotted one, Miss Angelica, standing with her mother just a short distance away.  

Letting her fan fall open and raising it to her face, Selina began to thread her way through the crowd until she came to Angelica’s side. Angelica was the daughter of the Viscount of Werheim, who was a friend of Selina’s father. Both Angelica and her mother perked up at the sight of her. 

“Selina!” the Viscountess greeted happily. “It is so lovely to see you!” 

“It has been quite a while since we have seen you, has it not, Lady Werheim?” Selina greeted politely.  

“If only Angelica wasn’t always so in demand these days, but perhaps a dinner party could be arranged?” Selina’s smile remained on her face, despite the Viscountess’ subtle jab. Angelica’s mother had always been one to brag and since Angelica’s debut was already off to a marvelous start, the Viscountess clearly could not help herself. 

Before Selina could respond, Lady Werheim called to someone over her shoulder. “Oh!” she gasped. “Her Grace! Pardon me for a moment.” Then she slipped away. 

Selina came to stand next to her friend, who was only a year younger than her. Angelica wore an apologetic look. “Pardon my mother’s bragging,” Angelica said. “She’s quite overexcited and incorrigible, not even I can get her to hold her tongue and relax.” 

“You need not apologize,” Selina told her, smiling gently. “Her only daughter is debuting this Season and she is already a success. She has every reason to be excited.” 

Angelica’s contrite look only deepened. “But…” 

Selina quickly tried to change the topic, not wanting to talk about her own husband-less state despite it being two years on the circuit now. “By the way,” she said. “I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Lord Grantley. I am quite curious to see what sort of man he is. Do you happen to know?” 

Angelica’s eyes went wide. “Baron of Grantley, Lord Michael Caney?” she whispered, as if she didn’t dare to say the words too loudly. 

Selina frowned. “Yes, that is him surely. Is there a problem, something we should know about him?” 

“Oh, Selina, you should not be seen with Lord Grantley. He is known to be the biggest rake in all of England!” 

Shock rocked her body. Selina gaped at her friend, taking in her serious look. “A notorious rake?” she echoed. “Are you certain?” 

“Quite so.” Then, Angelica bent her head closer to Selina. Though she was a very lovely girl, she’d adopted her mother’s love for gossiping. “Have you heard what happened to the Countess of Richford?” 

“I was not aware that something in particular had happened. I thought she simply gave up Town and went to reside at their country estate with her infant daughter?” 

“Well, that is because it was rumored that she’d been unfaithful to the Earl with Lord Grantley. Lord Grantley would not deny the rumors either, though there was hardly any point in attempting that, they were often seen together. In fact, he has publicly been seen with a number of ladies, so who is to say that he has not done even more when no one is around to see?” Angelica straightened and shook her head disapprovingly. “You should stay away from him, Selina.” 

“I see.” Selina didn’t know what she’d expected to hear in all honesty, but to learn that he was a rake felt like a betrayal somehow. She tried to push the feeling aside, focusing on the more pressing issue. Tereza was smitten with a man who would undoubtedly break her heart. 

Selina smiled at Angelica’s worried look. “You need not worry, Angelica. You know how picky I can be. I shan’t make such a mistake, I assure you.” 

“I’d hoped not, Selina.” Angelica scowled as if the very thought made her distressed.  

“Thank you for telling me this nonetheless,” Selina went on. “I should return to Tereza now, but it was truly quite nice seeing you again. I hope your night continues to go well.” 

“Oh, thank you, Selina! And you, as well!”  

Selina smiled and waved her hand in farewell before returning to the spot she’d left. After a searching for a short moment, she spotted Tereza still in the arms of that gentleman, her smile ever present.  

I cannot tell her about Lord Grantley’s reputation. At least, not tonight when she is clearly so happy. 

Unable to stop herself, Selina’s gaze wandered away from her sister to where she knew Lord Grantley stood. Her heart began to race at the sight of him, watching the way his strong-looking hands landed on the shoulder of his friend as he laughed. Those deep dimples stood stark on his cheek, softening his devastating features with a boyish charm that made her toes curl.  

At that moment, Lord Grantley glanced in her direction. Selina quickly looked away, embarrassed beyond words.  

Calm down, Selina, she told herself. He is not the first handsome gentleman you’ve met, and he will most certainly not be the last. And with a reputation like that, you should not be feeling so out of sorts at the sight of him. 

But no matter how many times she tried to tell herself that, Selina found ignoring him the most difficult task of the night. 

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Chapter 1

January 2, 1814
Outside the town of Birdwell, England
“Sally! He’s coming here today, you know. You should go inside and wash up.”

“Jonah, whatever are you talking about? Who’s coming here today?”

“Daniel Bird, of course!”

Sally Henson shook her head at her youngest brother, smoothed back her rough wool skirts and heavy warm shawl, and picked up one of the wooden buckets of chicken mash from the back steps of the small stone house. “I thought you had outgrown telling such outrageous fibs. Aren’t you eight years old now?”

“Of course I am!” said Jonah. His dark brown hair stuck up at the sky in tufts, his eyes wide with his usual excitement. Ever since he could talk, he’d been a bubble of energy that Sally couldn’t keep up with at times. “But this isn’t a fib. It’s true!”

Carrying the heavy bucket, Sally went striding across the small open yard to the enormous chicken coops out back. “Oh, hush, Jonah, and stop teasing me. Your brothers have been teaching you to do that, haven’t they? I’ll have a word with them before the day is over.”

“I’m not teasing,” insisted Jonah, his piercing voice cutting straight through the morning air. “I thought he liked you, but then he left. Why?”

“He went to a different farm to become an apprentice. To learn new things about raising animals,” Sally told him with an exasperated sigh. “Just as I told you before.”

“Are you sure that’s the only reason why he left?”

She nearly sighed again. Daniel’s leaving was the very last thing she wanted to explain to her brother. Especially since she’d only just gotten over it. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Maybe he was tired of having you ignore him all the time.”

“Jonah! That is terribly rude and I should tell Mother about it! Now, stop with your nonsense and hold that gate open so I can get in, and then shut it again – fast.”

Jonah pushed open the solid gate with a shrug, twisting his lips around in thought. The gate was set into a fence that was made of flexible interwoven hazel sticks and looked just like the sides of a very heavy basket. The small gaps in it would let the breezes blow through but keep the chickens inside.

Sally stepped into the first coop’s yard. “Out of the way, girls, out of the way,” she said, as she always did. The dozens of specially bred Dorking hens – most of them white and some black and white, all with long ruffled feathers –scattered this way and that over the bare ground as Sally tossed her mother’s special mash out to them. It was made from a mixture of grains, bread crumbs, leftover vegetables, some ground oyster shell brought in from the seaside, and whatever bugs and earthworms that Isaac, Gideon, and Jonah had been able to collect that morning.

“Eat it all, eat it all,” Sally cooed as the hens gathered round, flapping and squawking. “We want lots of nice tasty eggs to trade, and lots of pretty feathers to sell for ladies’ hats.” Her father was especially keen on the Dorking breed because of their long and beautiful feathers. The shining black ones were prized and the white ones could be dyed any color.

But as she continued to scatter the mash around the yard, making sure that even the timid birds could get their share and not be pushed out by the more aggressive ones, she only had one thought on her mind.

Today is my birthday. I’m eighteen now. Eighteen years old and I’ve never had a proposal. Not one. And Daniel has been gone for so long.

She could not remember a time when Daniel Bird had not been part of her life…until he had suddenly left several months ago, saying only that he had gone to serve an apprenticeship on a distant farm. There had not been so much as a single letter from him since.

Still tossing the mash all around the yard, Sally looked curiously up at her youngest brother. “Jonah, why would you be so mean as to say Daniel is coming here today? He is gone. He may even be gone for good. Why would you say such a thing to me?”

“Because he’s not gone,” Jonah said, searching the ground at the base of the fence on his never-ending quest for bugs to feed to the chickens. “He’s back at Bird Farm. Been there a few days now.”

“How on earth do you know?”

Jonah shrugged, and then looked up at her and grinned. “We three know. Isaac and Gideon and me. We go into town all the time to get things for Mama, or to take feathers to the dress shop or eggs to the inn. Sometimes Papa sends us to Bird Farm or Applewood Farm to trade chicken meat for a piece of ham or a jar of apple jelly. And we–”

“Yes, yes, of course, I know all that,” Sally cut in impatiently. “But who told you Daniel was coming here today?”

“He told us,” said Isaac, walking up to the basket-woven fence.

“We saw him just this morning when we took those stewing hens down to his farm,” added Gideon, right behind him. “Look at these nice pork sausages we got in trade!”

Sally dropped the bucket of mash. “Finish feeding them,” she said frantically. “And get all the eggs. I’ll clean the coops and pick up the feathers later on. I’ve already been working for hours out here and I’m so – I’ve got to – I’ve got to go change!”

* * *

Bird Farm was only a mile down the road to the south of Henson Farm. If Daniel was really coming here today, it would not be long before he arrived. Sally’s heart thudded in her chest, her insides warming up at the thought of Daniel. She hurried into the house, went into her room, tossed her heavy black shawl onto the narrow bed, and closed the door.

Being the only daughter, she had a small sleeping room all to herself. There was just enough space for the bed, a miniscule dressing table and bench, and a little trunk in which to store her clothes.

Most of the time, she did not care too much about her rough skirts and blouses. Nor about her old, worn, thick leather boots with a couple of holes in them. Everyone had to work very hard on the farm and must dress accordingly.

Daniel had hardly ever seen her in any other sort of clothes and would probably not even notice now. But she did take off the heavy, stained apron and tried to brush the pinfeathers and chicken mash from her skirts as best she could.

The clothes were one thing, but Sally had long wished she could do something about her looks. Picking up the little hand mirror on the table, she again saw her round face covered with dark freckles. Her brown eyes and plain dark hair stared back at her. Sally had always fervently wished she were taller and slimmer, more like her friend Merope Robbins who lived in town, but there was nothing she could do about that.

As she unpinned her hair and took the worn boar-bristle brush to it, Sally wondered if Daniel had changed at all in the months since he’d left. He was twenty years old and she had watched him grow up from a very small boy into a strong, capable, and well-to-do young farmer. How much has he changed in the time we’ve been apart?

She well remembered how he stood much taller than she was, with a chest and shoulders so wide it seemed there was no limit to his strength. Tremors of ticklish excitement rushed through her body at the very thought.

Does he wonder if I have changed? Does he think of me at all, now that he is back?

There was a small knock and then the door opened. Mrs. Henson stuck her head in, her gentle brown eyes sweeping the room before landing on her daughter. “The boys said he is on his way here now,” she said. “I’ve brought you a little water for washing up.”

“Oh, thank you,” Sally said fervently, grabbing the rag and the little bowl of water from her mother. She began scrubbing her face and her hands with the wet rag. “Yes, Jonah told me Daniel was coming here today, but I thought he was just teasing. I haven’t seen him in so long and I look such a mess–”

“You will do just fine, Sally,” her mother said. She took the rag and the bowl and placed them on the floor. She then picked up the brush from the table. “Daniel certainly knows that you work very hard, as every young woman does who lives on a farm. He is not expecting to see you in silk dresses and satin slippers.”

Oh, but I wish I could have him see me in such things! I am so tired of–

Her mother took the long, plain wooden pins from the dressing table and began twisting Sally’s hair into a smooth knot at the back of her neck. “Tell me again, Sally,” she said. “Do you know the real reason why he left last summer?”

Sally caught her breath. “He said he was going away to be an apprentice on a farm. He does not want to raise hogs, as his family did. He prefers goats.”

“Goats.”

“Yes, goats! He feels they will be quite important to England and might be of greater help to small farmers, instead of cattle. He loved to talk at length about how much less it takes to keep goats, and how much they give in return.”

With her hair securely pinned, Sally turned to her mother. “I know that Father is indifferent to Daniel, and his father is much the same towards me. That does not make it easy. But even so – do you think he will finally ask me to marry him today?”

Mrs. Henson cocked her head. She’d always been one to take her time when answering Sally’s question, which used to bother Sally to no end. She wanted answers instantly but her mother had to think long and hard before she gave one. “Your father tends to be indifferent towards many,” she said finally, her voice soft.

“Yes, but even more so towards Daniel. And his father will barely glance my way and seems to actively dislike me. Maybe that is why Daniel has never–” she broke off, looking away. “–has never asked me to marry him.”

Her mother merely shrugged. “Men are often just preoccupied. And sometimes, they do not like to be reminded that their youth is long past, as when they see young couples.”

“Oh,” whispered Sally, nodding. It didn’t make sense to her but she wasn’t going to question it any further. Sally only wished things could be much simpler when it came on to her and Daniel – that their father’s were friends, that Daniel hadn’t left for the apprenticeship, that he would finally give her the proposal everyone expected him to give.

“But it is your birthday, after all,” Mrs. Henson continued, cutting into Sally’s thoughts. “If Daniel remembers that, perhaps that is why he is coming here. But it may only be to give you a little bouquet of dandelions and wish you well.”

With her frustration rising, Sally sat down hard on the edge of her bed. “I have been told my entire life that Daniel Bird and I were intended for each other from birth. Everyone says we are an ideal match. We have certainly been playmates and friends since our earliest years. I have been led to believe that he would propose to me as a matter of course, and I never considered that he might not!”

“Now, Sally,” her mother said softly, in her steady voice. “There is still time. You are eighteen just today.”

Sally stood up and paced across the room. “Yes, eighteen,” she said, her teeth clenched. “No longer a child, for certain. And not unaware of what it costs to feed and shelter six people, with three of them being fast-growing boys who can eat their weight in bread and meat each day. And all six living on a small farm that has income from naught but chickens. I should be doing something to help!”

“Oh, my dear, you work as hard as any man to keep us going here. Everyone knows that. You are no burden, if that is what you think.”

“But I should have a husband by now. A husband who could help all of us, if and when it’s needed. The boys will not be earning any serious amount for some years yet. I am the one who should be finding a way to help all of us but I’ve done nothing but clean chicken coops all these years while Daniel–”

“While Daniel seeks his fortune elsewhere,” her mother finished.

Her eyes filling with tears of frustration, Sally could only nod. “There are other girls elsewhere,” she whispered. “He has been gone for months. What else could be keeping him, except that he has found another?”

“It is true that the two of you seem to be the perfect match,” Mrs. Henson mused aloud. “But I have seen the reality of it, as well.”

Sally looked up with a sudden frown. “What do you mean?”

Her mother sighed. “Do you think, Sally, that the two of you get on as well as you should, for two people who say they are considering marriage?”

Sally just stared at her mother. “We get on very well! He is always as calm and as steady as one of Mr. Hawkins’s old work horses. Nothing upsets him. I hardly need worry about him at all.”

Her mother nodded very slowly, looking closely at Sally. “I suppose that is what I mean,” she said. “I have seen you take him very much for granted. I believe you when you say you hardly worry about him at all. But maybe–”

“Of course I don’t worry about him! Isn’t that what love is all about? When you don’t have to work to earn someone’s love and affection and attention? When it is simply there, like air and sunlight?”

“I wonder what Daniel might say about that. Perhaps…”

Sally frowned. Her mother was gazing wistfully at her, her eyes clouding with sentimentality. “Mother?”

Mrs. Henson blinked, shaking her head slightly as a gentle smile came over her face. “It is nothing. I was only thinking about what could have been, is all. But I must confess that I find it hard to see Daniel thinking the same as you do.”

Sally was again stunned into silence, so much so that she instantly forgot her mother’s small lapse. “He works just as little for my attention, Mother. He works so little for it that he has been gone these many months without even a single letter!”

Mrs. Henson sighed again. “I have to ask you, for you are my daughter and I love you: Do you still wish to see him at all? If you do not, I will have your father inform Mr. Bird of that and send him away.”

“Why – I – of course I still want to see him,” Sally stammered. “I have always been certain that our differences will somehow work out. I am still certain of it.”

“Very well, then,” her mother said, nodding. “He is a fine young man and if you wish to be married to him then I want you to be happy. There are many good practical reasons for such a match. But we also wish for you to be content, and you must make certain that you will at least have contentment, if not happiness.”

“Mother, I am quite sure that nothing would make me more content – or happier – than marrying Daniel Bird.”

“Well, then. If that is true, then I would urge you to be a little more mindful of how you treat him. So often, he has seemed like only a toy to you, Sally. Perhaps you simply spent too much time together as children and it is difficult for you to see him as anything other than the young friend and playmate you have always known.”

“A toy?” She was truly baffled. Yes, she and Daniel had always been a part of each other’s lives. He might have been only a simple country boy, but he was quite handsome in his own way…and his steadiness and calmness were things that she always found reassuring. “I would not toy with Daniel, or with any other man.”

Her mother gave her one of those sideways looks again, this time with a wry smile. “I think every woman toys with a man at least once in her life. Just make certain it is not with a man you really want.”

“But I do – I do want him!”

“If you truly do, Sally, then you must learn to work with him and not against him. As I said, the two of you are quite different, you know.”

“Why, yes, of course we are. He is quiet as a dray horse while I am like – like–”

“Like one of those bullying hens out in the yard,” her mother said flatly, and then smiled at Sally’s shocked face. “It is all right for a couple to be different from one another, but think of it this way: You will see in nature that water cannot hold water, but a bank of earth will hold water very nicely. Fire met with fire will only burn and destroy, while fire tempered with water will remain controlled and useful. Can the two of you learn to guide and temper each other in the same way? Can each complement the other, instead of letting your natures clash and become destructive?”

Again, Sally was stunned by what her mother was saying. When put like that, it only bolstered her belief that she and Daniel were meant to be. Perhaps, if she could remember those words verbatim, she could say the very same thing to him? Perhaps that would push him in the right direction and finally let him propose.

Sally shook the idea away as soon as it came. “Mother — as I said – I have never worried about our differences or about our occasional clashes,” she reiterated, and then laughed a little. “I’ve always thought the clashes happened because we are so very passionate about each other! Such passion means he loves me and I love him – doesn’t it?”

Her mother only shook her head. “Only you can answer that. Perhaps you should think on it a while longer.”

“Oh, there is nothing to think about! Daniel will always be here. It’s just a matter of getting him to propose. Nothing more.” It seemed she was trying to convince herself of this as much as her mother.

“I suppose you could be right. But I would point out that he has not been here for some six months. And though I do not want to be cruel, Sally, you are right when you say there are other girls elsewhere. You must be aware that if he does not marry you, he is still going to marry someone. Someone other than you.”

Someone other than you.

Those words were like a knife in Sally’s heart. She had, in the very back of her mind, often wondered if Daniel had left in hopes of finding a girl to marry who had not grown up on a chicken farm…someone from a better family, who lived in a town – someone who had more to offer him than little Sally Henson.

Bitter jealousy rose up in her chest at the mere thought of Daniel with another girl. Sally realized that she would do almost anything to prevent that from happening.

“Of course I am aware that Daniel will marry someone, Mother, even if that someone is not me. But I would like for it to be me.”

Mrs. Henson shrugged one shoulder. “When two people are as different as the two of you, you must find ways to complement each other or else those differences will tear you apart.”

Sally nodded. “I will find a way,” she whispered. She truly did not want to lose him and was well aware that there were many, many other young women out there who would be glad to marry a man like Daniel Bird. “I will do what I can to keep him. I do not want to lose him to another.”

But her mother only frowned. “I am not certain you understand what I mean. You will not lose him to another. You will lose him all on your own if you are not kinder and more attentive to him.”

“Oh, I promise you, Mother, I will change all that. I will find a way.”

“Sally–”

There was a loud knocking at the door to the room. “Sally! Come outside!” called Gideon from the other side. “He’s here!”

Quickly Sally hugged her mother, caught up the old black shawl, and then opened the door. “I do not want to lose him,” Sally said. “I could not bear to see him with another. I could not! And I won’t!” Smoothing her neatly pinned hair with both hands, Sally hurried to the front door and ran outside to greet Daniel.

 

Chapter 2

It was true! Jonah, Gideon and Isaac had not just been teasing her. Daniel really was here, and he was here right now, across the road, stepping down from his small wagon and tying the horse to a tree.

Sally stood on the front steps of the stone house, watching as he approached the house along with her father. She had thought she would need her shawl against the cool January morning, but seeing his ruffled hair and those boyish eyes of his that she so adored, heat flooded her, coloring her cheeks and neck. She quickly shrugged the shawl off her shoulders and let it fall to the porch, for she suddenly felt too warm to wear it.

All she could do was take a deep breath and try to hide the surge of excitement she felt at seeing him again.

He was not quite so tall as many of the men, but he was far taller than she was. His shoulders were so wide, it seemed that there was no burden he could not carry, no innocent he could not protect. She had always felt protected just at the sight of those strong arms that she so craved to wrap around her. She wished they would fold her in his embrace and keep her close. She knew that though he was very kind, he was also quite brave and not afraid to step up and take charge if he felt he must.

He was kind, but he was not weak.

And now he was here, and tonight he would return to his family’s hog farm just one mile south of her own home.

Oh, he is back! He really is back! And why else would he come here but to see me – and propose at last? If he were only making a delivery, he could have given it to my father or to one of the boys – but he has tied the horse and now he is coming to the house. To see me!

Daniel paused in front of the porch and made her a small bow, his eyes quickly averting from her face as if to hide something.

“Miss Henson. I am glad to see you again.”

Sally, in turn, made him a very nice curtsy, just as Merope had taught her to do. “Mr. Bird. I am glad to see you again as well.”

Mr. Henson’s face was as stoic as ever. He’d never been outright rude towards Daniel, but considering the tense relationship between him and the elder Mr. Bird, Sally couldn’t help feeling a little tense.

“Mr. Bird tells me that he has finished with the first part of his apprenticeship on the goat farm up in the north of England,” her father said, coming to stand on the lower step of the porch. “He is back here in Birdwell for a time to help his father with their own farm.”

Sally couldn’t hold back her bright smile, first at her father and then at Daniel. “So, you have come home! I am sure everyone in Birdwell will be very glad to hear that. I know that I–”

“Let me leave you young ones alone,” her father cut in. “I must make sure that your brothers finish collecting the eggs. I will speak with you later.” With a nod to the two of them, he walked past the house towards the chicken coops and was gone.

Sally didn’t watch him leave. For a moment, Sally looked into Daniel’s eyes, and the two of them stood silent in the tension building between them.

“So,” she finally said, her voice not much more than a whisper. “I take it your apprenticeship was a success?”

He smiled faintly. “I believe it was, though it is not finished yet. For two generations, my family has done very well with hogs, but there’s no denying that it’s a rough business. I have thought for a time that I would like to try my hand at goats.”

“Yes, I remember you talking about that. You would not stop going on and on about it, in fact.”

His smile grew larger and there was a flicker of interest in his brown eyes. Her heart always fluttered when faced with that cheeky smile, her stomach upset with butterflies. “Indeed, I couldn’t,” he said. “I am so pleased that you remembered.”

“But of course,” she said with a small frown. “Why wouldn’t I?”

His expression became quiet once again and his glance flew away. “I came by to drop off an order of ham hocks for your mother. They are still in the wagon. I’ll go and get them, and then be on my way.”

A small rush of something like fear surged through her chest. “Oh, no – please don’t go yet.” She cast about for something – anything – that would delay his leaving. “Is that Pipit who is put to your wagon? I should like very much to see Pipit again!”

“It is Pipit, for certain,” Daniel said. “He is getting along in years, but is so dependable and willing that I always prefer him to any other.”

“May I go and see him?!”

Another faint smile. “Of course. He is over there, beneath the trees. I’ll take you to him.”

* * *

Daniel never thought he would think this, but being back with Sally Henson was…unusual. The last six months of his apprenticeship had been filled with hard work, so much so that he hadn’t thought much about the dark-haired girl and everyone back home. Except for the loneliest of nights, when Sally had kept him company behind his closed eyelids, keeping his body warm under the chill of the darkness. Τhen, her presence had eased his exhaustion, but now he’d barely been in her presence for two minutes, and he already felt as if his orderly life would be thrown into chaos.

In a few moments, Sally had walked beside Daniel across the road to his wagon. Exclaiming happily, she hurried over to the horse and began patting him and scratching his neck. Daniel watched her bright smile, the way she eagerly stroked Pipit’s mane. He could admit one thing, at least. He was happy to be back so he could see her beautiful, cheerful self. Even if it was the last time.

Pipit’s old hazel eyes had a look of strength and patience that was quite opposite to the restless girl petting him.

“I think he always did like you,” said Daniel. “I used to think you liked him more than you liked me.”

Sally just laughed, the sound strong and full, dancing in the air around them and making his stomach feel familiarly unsettled. “How silly, Daniel!” she exclaimed, waving her hand dismissively. “He’s just a very sweet pony, that’s all. I had always hoped we could have a pony or two, but they are just so costly to feed and care for. It’s always been the handcart for us, when we must go to market or deliver eggs.”

He was silent for a moment, suppressing the nostalgic feelings that threatened to overwhelm him. It had been such an innocent time, their life growing up. He turned to her and smiled.

“I do remember that handcart,” he said. “It is one of my earliest memories. You would have been perhaps five or six years old, while I was eight or nine. Your father would perch you atop the handcart on the way to the marketplace, since it was still a long walk for such a small girl.”

“Oh, Daniel,” she said, laughing at him. “My father did not do that to save my legs. He did it because I would complain so much if he did not!”

He didn’t doubt that for a second. There weren’t many people who could say no to a girl like Sally, simply because she would not stand by idly if she didn’t get her way – that was one of the things that had always intrigued him about her. He wasn’t surprised to learn that she’d developed that trait at such a young age.

“Now it makes sense,” he said, also laughing. “I should have known that a pretty little girl can get her father to do anything she likes.”

“Well, not just anything,” Sally giggled, color reddening the soft skin of her cheeks. “Now it is my turn to push the handcart to market, and my father says that soon he will be the one riding on it.”

Both of them laughed at that. Whatever awkwardness he’d felt before dissipated instantly. Now he felt foolish for having been anxious at the thought of visiting her. Sally was Sally. She would not change. That steadfastness, as bothersome as it could be sometimes, was what always made him so comfortable with her. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Sally took his hand boldly. Daniel’s anxiousness tripled. His breath caught in his throat and he kept himself as still as he could be.

“I have missed you. Truly, I have,” she told him, smiling up at him with genuine warmth.

Daniel didn’t know what to say for a moment. “I – I also missed you,” he answered finally, his eyes shifting away.

Sally lowered her hand and tightened it into a fist. “Did you miss me?” she asked. In a single second, her warm tone transformed into a brittle one. “If you did, then why didn’t you write to me, even once? I walked the mile into town and back every day to check the post for all these months, even when I had so much work to do here. There was nothing…never one thing from you.”

Daniel took a step back from her. Distance, he’d learned in the past, was a tool best used when facing off against Sally, despite how much he wished things were different. “I did miss you, but I was working so hard all day, every day, to learn all I could. I could hardly find much time to myself.” Then Daniel stood a little taller and looked down at her. “I had hoped you might write to me…but you did not.”

Sally raised her chin. “How could I write to you? I did not know where you were! Only that you were gone somewhere to the north for an apprenticeship.”

“You had only to ask my family where I was,” he challenged, his tone utterly calm. He could tell that only made her angrier. “They would have told you. You have traveled the one mile between here and my home since you were old enough to walk. You surely know how to find it by now.”

“Your father barely tolerates me. You certainly know that.”

“And your father hardly looks at me. But you could have asked my stepmother, for she has always been kind to you. She would have told you how to write me, had you asked.”

Daniel watched as Sally visibly tried to temper her anger. It was a valiant effort, considering she’d never been very good at controlling her emotions. Daniel couldn’t say the same. He knew very well how to hold his tongue in check, how to smile and push on ahead for the sake of peace. Sally, however, knew just what to say and do to get under his usually unruffled skin.

“Perhaps I did not wish to disturb you while you were working hard to learn a new trade,” she said after a moment, her hands still fisted at her side. “Besides, I had no doubt that you would return to Birdwell – to your home – and to me – when you felt ready.”

Disappointment lanced him. He didn’t think he could keep it from showing. “Indeed, you were right. As you can see, I have returned. But ‘having no doubt’ and ‘taking a man for granted’ are two different things, though you do not seem to know that.”

“Taking a man for–” Sally gasped, eyes wide. “Surely you know how I feel about you, Daniel. How I have always felt about you!”

Daniel slowly tilted his head to the side, looking straight into her eyes. He had made up his mind – not with ease or a light heart, but he had indeed. He wouldn’t let her change his decision. This thing between them would never work.

“No. I don’t know how you feel, nor how you have always felt. You say you care for me, but your actions say quite the opposite.”

“Oh, Daniel – truly, I am sorry that I did not write to you. When you left so suddenly, I did not know what to think and I–”

Daniel shook his head and Sally clammed up. A wall was slowly growing between them. He’d been foolish to think this would be easy, but Sally, being herself, worsened the situation. In all the time they’d known each other, they’d lived with the expectation that they would one day be married. Daniel hadn’t allowed himself to indulge too much in the idea, but he could see that Sally had already considered it fact.

He didn’t dare to think what might happen to him if he were to let himself believe such a thing should truly be done.

“I am not talking about only the last six months, Sally,” he told her slowly, calmly. “I have always cared for you as well, and you have been a part of my life for as long as I remember. I very much like and admire your outgoing nature and lively spirit. But you and I are not meant to be.”

Something flashed in her eyes. He couldn’t tell if it was hurt or challenge. “But Daniel – some things are complement – complementary, you know,” she said quickly. “They’re like water – and fire – and a bank of earth–” She broke off, shaking her head frustratingly. “Oh, I don’t know what I’m trying to say except that – that today is my eighteenth birthday and I thought you were coming here to propose to me!”

“You thought what?” Daniel’s heart constricted. “Sally, what are you saying?”

Sally covered her face with her hands, but he didn’t miss the glimpse of red cheeks and blurry eyes. “But – don’t you know that everyone has expected us to marry ever since we were very young?”

“Of course I know.” I have not been able to forget. “And I have even considered it myself. As I said, I find much to admire about you and always have. But if my feelings of admiration are not equally returned, then I can only conclude that we are not truly compatible.”

His father’s words echoed in the back of his head. Daniel realized he’d been repeating them all along. Guilt sliced through him, but it was what had to be done.

Very slowly, Sally peered up at him again. “Not compatible?”

“Or perhaps not complementary, as you said. Surely, you see how different we are, Sally?”

Sally nodded slowly. Though her eyes no longer held tears, they were filled with wariness as she said, “Yes, of course I do.”

“And we do not work together, Sally. I feel that you have taken me for granted for so long that you see no reason to make any effort to keep us together…and indeed, you have not for all these past six months, and even longer before that.”

“B-but isn’t that what love means? When you need not put in hard work, but can simply be comfortable with the other person?”

Daniel could only shake his head at her with a sad smile. She would never understand, it seemed. “I am very sorry. I have no wish to hurt you. But I came here today only to bring your mother the ham hocks she ordered for soup, and I thought to say hello to an old friend while I was here.”

“An old friend?” Within a second, her shocked anger was back. “You are talking about me? I am nothing but ‘an old friend’ to you?”

He turned away and slowly walked a few steps over to Pipit, pretending to check the pony’s bridle. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Perhaps we are better off remaining as friends, nothing more.”

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Chapter 1

 “Mother, what are you doing here?”  

 Simon Burfield, the third Earl of Reading, put down his book and looked up as his butler, Hughes, assisted the Dowager Countess of Reading into the leather–backed chair beside the fire opposite his own.  

 “I am here to see my son, of course,” Lady Reading huffed, removing her fur stole and passing it off to Hughes as she looked distastefully at the small table at Simon’s elbow. “Coffee? In the afternoon? What has the world come to? Hughes, bring tea, please, and scones, as is only appropriate after four.”  

 Simon smiled as his mother bossed and tutted, nodding gently to Hughes to bring what she desired. She was a fussy woman, set in her ways since her husband, the second Earl of Reading, died. She ran her own household like a navy ship. Simon preferred a freer, more relaxed household, which his mother found infinitely irritating.  

 “What can I do for you, Mother?” Simon set a leather bookmark on his page and set down his book.  

 “Goodness, Simon, you are turning into an old man, locked away in here on a lovely afternoon. And reading, of all things!”  

 She eyed the book distastefully. Simon sighed impatiently. His mother did not prize such introverted pastimes. She viewed every hour spent in the company of a good book a wasted hour when a man could have been riding or shooting or socializing with important associates. It had been humourous when he was a child, but now that he was her sole heir with no heir of his own, her distaste had grown.  

 Unlike other ladies of the Ton, the Countess was renowned by all the household servants in the county as a woman with a formidable temper and a free-speaking mind behind closed doors, especially when it came to her family. Simon didn’t find it unusual, and his father had found it charming, secretly disclosing to Simon that, “It is always best to have a wife who will agree with you in public and berate you in private! You always know where you stand!” Simon thought it sounded exhausting.  

 “I don’t know if you noticed, Mother, but it is raining.” He sipped his coffee, watching her roll her eyes. “Seemed the perfect afternoon for expanding the mind.”  

 “Oh tosh!” she grumbled. “You are dragging your feet!”  

 “In what manner, Mother?” Simon tried to keep his voice light, though he had a sense of where this discussion was going. He was not looking forward to it.  

 “Oh, you know what I mean!” she snapped. “Get married!”  

 At that moment, the door opened and Hughes entered, giving Simon the blessed relief of his mother’s silence since she did not believe in ‘airing family laundry’ in front of the help. She sat, tapping her foot furiously, clearly desperate to continue her tirade against him as Hughes slowly served the tea and placed scones on plates. Hughes had finally prepared everything and winked at Simon as he straightened up, letting his master know he had given him as much time as he could to quietly prepare for whatever verbal onslaught his mother had prepared. It was only when Hughes had closed the door behind him that his mother leaned forward, eager to continue. As always, her quick tongue was only reserved for her family.  

 “Jam, Mother?” Simon asked, quickly cutting her off and offering up the jam jar to her infuriated face.  

 “Put that down!” she snapped, stirring a lump of sugar into her tea. “We must discuss this, Simon—”  

 “I have heard everything you want to say,” Simon interrupted and sipped carefully, trying to hold onto his patience. “I have no desire to marry. Again.”  

 “You are being nonsensical!” she tutted, tapping a silver spoon against her teacup and glaring at him over the rim.  

 “I am in my perfect right mind, thank you, Mother.” Simon pushed the sweet scones towards his mother, wishing he could have stuck with the dark, bitter coffee that he much preferred.  

 “You must be out of your wits if you are truly dedicated to this notion of being a bachelor.” She shook her head, her grey curls bobbling under her severe black hat.  

 “Mother, the topic is not open for discussion. I thought you understood this.” Simon’s voice was growing sharper. He was losing his patience with his mother. “I have been perfectly clear.”  

 “And I have been perfectly clear!” His mother’s eyes flashed angrily. “It is not your decision that the Earldom of Reading should perish because of how you feel about remarrying!” 

 “It is not your decision how I live my life!” Simon snapped, his own temper flaring. His mother could always find exactly the right words to inflame his anger.  

 “Oh, yes it is!” His mother sipped primly but her eyes were flickering furiously. “You are the last heir of the Reading estate, and your one duty. Your only duty is to produce another heir. You need a wife!”  

 “I have one.” Simon slammed his teacup down, making the tea tray rattle. “But the only issue there is that my wife is dead. I will not dishonour her memory in the way you suggest! Not for you, for me, or for the future of the Reading estate. Never!”  

 His mother didn’t jump or seem distressed by his outburst. Rather, she set her cup down neatly and folded her hands gently in front of her.  

 “Look at me, Simon.”  

 Simon hesitantly met his mother’s eye, expecting a deluge of comments about propriety and duty. Instead, when his eyes rested on her old grey ones—which were a mirror of his own—he saw they were shiny with emotion.  

 “You miss Stella,” she said softly. “She is sorely missed.”  

 Her words were gentle and kind, and struck him right to the core. Used as he was to his mother’s strident opinions, her tenderness was striking. Simon stiffened, clenching his fists.  

 “I miss her every day.”  

 He blinked, looking around the library his dear wife had loved so much. How often they had sat together on afternoons like this one, reading quietly and sharing the simple pleasure of one another’s company. It would be sacrilegious to allow another woman to enter this intimate space of memories, to push aside Stella’s legacy. He would never allow it.  

 “It is only natural,” she spoke so quietly, unnaturally for a woman of her usual confidence. He recognized that she truly must mean every word she said if she was pushing aside all the fuss and bustle of her usual cadence.  

 “Is it?” Simon sighed heavily, gazing into the fire. “It has been five years and I still feel it as intensely—” Simon broke off, taking a deep breath. He couldn’t go on. He shook his head painfully and watched the flames flicker, his thoughts lost in his memories.  

 “It is natural,” his mother insisted. Simon noticed a tremor of emotion in her voice and looked up. “When you lost Stella you did not only lose a wife, you also lost …”  

 She didn’t need to finish. Simon nodded, unable to speak. It was something never spoken of in the household, and a fact not known beyond the family, but when Stella had been thrown from her horse on that fateful day five years ago, she had been a few months pregnant with their first child. Simon could still recall their shared excitement, their talk about the little heir of Reading that was growing inside her—the one that had then sadly perished along with her. Simon’s grief had been all-consuming and he had sworn never to marry again. He could still taste the depth of that grief now as he sat by the fire and swallowed hard.  

 “Then surely you understand why I would be reluctant to replace her.”  

 “Of course I understand.” The dowager countess leaned closer, instinctively reaching across to grasp her son’s hand. “I understand the pain of losing your love. Do you not think I long for your father every day of my life?”  

 Simon nodded. His mother was as sharp as steel, appearing hard and cold to others, but in the ten years since Simon’s father had died and the title of Earl of Reading had passed to him, his mother had suffered quietly.  

 “But I put that longing aside,” his mother continued, “for duty. Duty to your father’s wishes. He would be distraught if the name that had been passed down through generations of his family died out with his son. All I am trying to do is honour his memory.”  

 “That is all well and good, Mother, but all I am trying to do is honour my wife’s memory,” Simon said, gruffly pulling his hand away from his mother. She sighed, leaning back in her chair and staring at him appraisingly.  

 “What would Stella want?” she demanded. “Have you asked yourself if she would be happy to see you like this? Alone, without a wife to comfort you or a child to bear your name?”  

 “Mother, please.”  

 Simon looked out of the window. The truth was that his mother was right; Stella would almost certainly be disappointed if she could see him now. She had been a lively, family-oriented woman who derided the idea of old bachelors sitting on lonely titles. She would dislike how he had wrapped himself up in his grief, but Simon couldn’t unwrap it. The thought of inviting another woman into his heart was unthinkable. He couldn’t bear it.  

 “Let us talk of it no more, Mother.” He reached for his teacup again, sipping it and tasting nothing.  

 His mother shook her head again but seemed to be accepting defeat. She might be opinionated and free-speaking, but even she could see when her son’s grief was close to overwhelming him.  

 “Well, let us talk of other things,” she said, reaching for a bite of scone. “I hear the Earl of Brixton is having a ball in honour of their expanding family.”  

 “Yes,” Simon smiled, thinking of his best friend Nathan’s happiness. “Dear Eleanor must have her hands full with the twins.”  

 Simon felt a small twinge thinking of how happy and vibrant their household must be now—the hallways and corridors filled with the laughter of happy parents and the merry gurgles of infants. His own house was filled with sadness and quiet.  

 “Well, she kept her friend on, did you hear? The daughter of the governess.” She waved her hand dismissively as she always did when talking about those in serving positions. “I think she has stayed on to help as a nursemaid.”  

 “Miss Laurie,” Simon said automatically. “Her name was Miss Laurie.”  

 Marion. Simon had met Marion Laurie previously, and she had left a firm impression on his mind. She was a tall, incredibly likable woman with an open and friendly disposition that had immediately relaxed him. Not to mention she was a beautiful lady.  

 She and Eleanor could be mistaken for sisters from far away, both dark-haired and beautiful, but Marion had stood out for Simon straight away. Her hair was as dark as a raven’s wings, and unlike Eleanor’s curly mass, hers fell in heavy luscious waves. Her skin was darker than Eleanor’s too, evidence of her French heritage, and her lips broad and dark, sensuous to look at. Simon hadn’t been unable to stop himself from imagining kissing those lips, or making her gasp with pleasure. Even now, in the company of his mother, he felt a twinge of desire at the thought of an aloof woman like Marion laid bare and panting beneath him.  

 He coughed and drank some tea, averting his eyes from his mother as he tried to dispel the vision. You honour no one with your carnality, he chided himself sternly.  

 “Well, I am sure she will be very helpful to them.” His mother raised her eyebrows at her son. “And I think the ball will be very helpful for us too.” 

 “Oh? How is that?” Simon asked, trying to put Marion’s quick, hazel eyes out of his mind.  

 “I believe that Lady Terrell shall be there.”  

 “Oh good Lord, Mother, really?” Simon groaned, rubbing his hand over his forehead.  

 “She is a good match for you, Simon.” His mother licked crumbs from her lips. “She is a widower, she understands the pain of lost love, but she is still young with a good reputation—”  

 “You mean a good title,” Simon interjected. His mother had made no bones about the fact that she would only support Simon making a match with a woman with an equal fortune to his.  

 “Of course, but she is also well connected and has many important friends in the Ton,” she sipped her tea. “Not to mention she is beautiful.”  

 Simon snorted. His mother was right; Lady Henrietta Terrell was indeed beautiful. She was classically lovely in a way that men fawned over, with flaxen–blonde hair and doe–blue eyes, but it was nothing that appealed to Simon. He had always been drawn to more striking women than simpering ones, and Lady Henrietta’s attempts to flirt with him had always seemed girlish and endlessly boring.  

 “Beauty is not everything,” Simon said. “You know she is a hideous gossip.” 

 “Oh, that!” His mother dismissed his words with a flap of her hands. “It is the foible of a younger woman. She will grow out of it when she has her own children to worry over and something important to talk about. Like raising a young earl, for instance.”  

 Simon couldn’t deny his mother’s endless insistence. She was persistent to a fault, and he could see how she truly believed that she was honouring his father’s memory by trying to get him married at whatever cost, but it was unsettling that his mother could not see the faults of Lady Henrietta.  

 His mother didn’t realise that men talked too. Simon had known the Lady Henrietta’s late husband, Lord Terrell, and he had often complained that his wife was uninterested in domestic life, preferring balls and city gatherings over time at home with him, and free-spending with his money. These were not the qualities that Simon would ever want in a wife, but it was hardly prudent to tell his mother this. The best thing to do was to let her think what she wanted, and then quietly let Lady Henrietta down on his own time.  

 “Well, the ball sounds like it will be lovely,” he said, “I am looking forward to it.”  

 Simon was slightly ashamed to see how his mother’s eyes lit up with the possibility that he would consider Lady Henrietta but was grateful for the fact that she settled back in her chair, clearly comforted and pleased with herself. Simon sighed inwardly, knowing deep down that Stella was the only woman for him. It would take a rare lady to divert his affections, and he doubted such a woman would be found at his friend’s ball.  

Chapter 2

“Marion, where is Edward’s stocking?”  

 “It’s here, Ellie!”  

 Marion Laurie held up the infant’s small bluestocking as her best friend, Eleanor Reynolds, Countess of Brixton looked around at her with a harassed expression.  

 “How did it get over there?” Eleanor snatched it up, trying to wrestle the stocking back onto the foot of the next Earl of Brixton whilst his brother, Jason, squalled and wriggled beside him.  

 “God save me, why did I marry a man with twins in the family?” Eleanor muttered, quickly handing baby Edward over to Marion who took him, clucking gently and bouncing the baby softly.  

 “Because you loved him.” Marion laughed, smiling at her friend’s grumpiness. Though Eleanor grumbled about the twins, Marion knew that she was besotted with her boys and already hoping for more.  

 “Still, what possessed me to hold a ball for them?” Eleanor exclaimed. “They shall be asleep!”  

 “Because Nathan desired to do it for you,” Marion reminded her friend gently. “And he loves you and wants to give you a lovely treat.”  

 “But it is so much to organise,” Eleanor groaned. “And you know I’ve never had the head for such things!”  

 “Which is why it is all in hand,” Marion laughed, stepping forward and kissing Eleanor’s cheek. Marion had a list four pages long in her diary concerning the ball tomorrow evening, and she had been working with Nathan on making it special and superb for their Eleanor.  

 “All you have to do is take care of your boys and make a grand entrance,” Marion assured her. Eleanor squeezed her hand tightly.  

 “Yes, well, I couldn’t do even that without you.”  

 Eleanor flashed her best friend a quick smile, and then lowered her freshly dressed son into the bassinet. The truth was that although Eleanor and her husband Nathan could easily have afforded the best nursemaids and governesses, Eleanor would only trust Marion with her children. Marion was proud to be so highly thought of.  

 “You do that so well,” Eleanor sighed, watching as the determined, grumpy baby Edward, named for his imitable grandfather, began to blink sleepily in Marion’s arms.  

 “Well, Maman taught me everything she knew about babies,” Marion winked at Eleanor. “So you’re in luck!”  

 “I wish she were here now!” Eleanor looked wistfully at her sons. “What would she think?”  

 Marion’s mother had been Eleanor’s own governess and as good as a second mother to Eleanor. The two girls had been raised together, even if Eleanor had been raised for a good marriage and high society while Marion had been prepared for a future of companionship and servitude. When her mother had died, Marion had grieved and so had Eleanor, since she had loved Marion’s mother like she was her own.  

 It had been a blessing for Marion to have someone else to share that pain with, and now she could smile bravely, and say to her best friend, mistress and heart-sister, “She would think you were doing a very fine job, Ellie. She would be very proud, and a little jealous.”  

 “Jealous?” Eleanor laughed, shaken out of her wistful thoughts as she smiled at Marion.  

 “Oh yes,” Marion smiled as she rocked Edward. “Maman would have loved to see these raucous little boys! How much fun she would have had!”  

 “Oh, she would have kept them on their toes.” Eleanor laughed. “Do you remember how she used to surprise us in lessons, bringing in grasshoppers and adder snakes to teach us about nature, and we would climb on our chairs and squeal!”  

 “Oh yes!” Marion giggled, remembering her mother’s French lilt as she intimated her voice. “Only foolish girls are scared of little creepy crawlies!”  

 “My, my, how these boys will like lessons like those.” Eleanor pressed a finger to Jason’s sleeping nose. “She shall be missed.”  

 “Yes.” Marion pressed her lips to Edward’s sleeping forehead. “And she will have been sad to miss her only chance at being a grandmère.”  

 Eleanor frowned at Marion as she set Jason down to nestle beside his brother.  

 “I wish you would not speak like that, Mari,” Eleanor said, running her hand over the woven basket edge of the cradle. “You may have children someday.”  

 “Shall I?” Marion tried to keep her tone light but inside her chest was tightening with her own sense of grief.  

 “Of course!” Eleanor’s blue eyes were wide and earnest. “Why on earth not? You are beautiful, eligible –”  

 “What can I offer a gentleman, Ellie?” Marion asked lightly, not wanting to snap at her friend but also wishing she would not speak of it. “I have no dowry, no title—”  

 “None of those things matter in love!” Eleanor insisted.  

 Marion sighed inwardly. Eleanor was such an intelligent, political, insightful woman but she was also blinded by her own good fortune in love. She had shunned unconventional ideas growing up and had always wanted to pursue life outside of the privileged life to which she was entitled. Seeing her father’s drunkenness had made her jaded to the idea that good society was something to aspire to, but she still lived in a world where she had never had to fight for her survival in the way Marion’s mother had. She could sometimes exhibit such naiveté about the real world.  

 “Perhaps not,” Marion conceded patiently, “but they do matter in society. I am the daughter of a French governess and my father is unknown, a man who left when I was just a child. No sensible man would marry a woman of such questionable providence.”  

 “That is not true. Convention dictates one thing, but the truth is that those who serve are often formed of stronger moral character than those who don’t,” Eleanor argued, beginning to sound like the bluestocking women she listened to at debates. “You are of true heart, Marion, what matter is it whether or not you have noble blood?”  

 Marion thought it was probably of very great matter, but moved the conversation along.  

 “Besides that, Ellie, I am nearly thirty–years–old.” Marion began tidying up around the children’s nursery. “Even if I did marry, who’s to say that I even …?”  

 Marion let her words trail off. It was too painful to voice, this idea that she might be the very last of her family. That the name Laurie would die out with her and her mother’s legacy would be lost. She had been imagining what her children might be like all her life; if they would have her and her mother’s black hair and unique eyes, if they would take to the piano as she had done as child. But with every passing year these visions of the future became more and more threadbare, as if the reality of life was wearing them thin.  

 “Oh, Mari.” Eleanor impulsively hugged Marion from behind. “It shall be alright. I really believe that.”  

 She was a head smaller than her, and Marion felt her warm face pressed into the space between her shoulders. Marion was transported back to when they were little girls and their mothers had allowed them to sleep in the same bed. Eleanor would always roll over in her sleep to cuddle Marion from behind. Even as a young, unmarried woman, Eleanor had liked sharing a bed with Marion. Marion had treasured those moments of companionship, where they whispered softly together until they nodded off to sleep. It saddened her to think that now, with the closest woman she had to a sister married, those days of comfort were behind her. Marion took a shaky breath, blinking back tears, and then shook her head, laughing softly.  

 “Oh, let’s not talk of these dreary things when there are revels to be spoken of!” She turned to Eleanor and squeezed her hands. “Tell me who has responded to the invitations for tomorrow.”  

 “Most of society has replied, but Nathan only cares that Simon is coming. He cannot wait to introduce him to the babies.”  

 Eleanor tapped baby Jason’s chest with a soft finger. The baby puffed out his chest and sighed contentedly. 

 “That shall be pleasant.”  

 Marion thought highly of the Earl of Reading. He had already been named a godfather to both of the twins, along with Marion as godmother, and she approved.  

 “Yes. He shall bring his mother, the Dowager Countess, I believe.” Eleanor shook her head, her dark curls bouncing. “It is a shame he has not remarried.” 

 Marion didn’t know if she agreed. Simon Burfield, the Earl of Reading and Nathan’s best friend, was a widower and completely dedicated to his first wife. Eleanor and Nathan often bemoaned his widower status, wishing he would remarry so that they could build their families side by side, but Marion wasn’t completely convinced. She actually found his dedication a little romantic, and certainly honourable.  

 “He misses his wife,” Marion said, shrugging. “It is natural.”  

 “Nothing natural about it,” Eleanor snorted. “That man is too handsome to be unwed!”  

Marion couldn’t deny his attractiveness. He was over six feet tall—quality that she, as a tall woman herself, appreciated—and had a kind, friendly face. She must admit that when she had been briefly in his presence, she had felt a certain blush when he looked in her direction, but it was only natural when a man of such high status looked at a woman like her.  

 “Hmm,” Marion said, non-committal. She didn’t want to give Eleanor any reason to think she harboured affection for the Earl of Reading. She was always so ready to jump at the idea that Marion might have a suitor in mind.  

 “Oh, and Lady Henrietta is coming.” Eleanor pulled a face, not noticing Marion’s lack of comment. “Apparently she’s been on and on about me in Town, how I’ve lost my looks with children.”  

 “How vile.” Marion frowned with displeasure. She couldn’t imagine how unhelpful it must be to be a woman of society and know that there were gossipy ladies like Lady Henrietta out there, discussing and criticizing your every step.  

 “Yes, it is rather,” Eleanor spoke lightly, but Marion could see that there was a little redness in her friend’s face. She had taken the words to heart, and even though she was as beautiful as the day she had met Nathan, Marion knew she was a little self-conscious about this first outing into society after her confinement. Marion racked her brain for something that might help, and then she thought of it.  

 “Say, didn’t you order a new gown for the ball that arrived today?” She took her friend’s hand playfully. “Let us go and try it on and dress you up a little!”  

 “Oh, do you really think so?” Eleanor pulled back, hesitant, looking towards her sleeping children. “Shall they really be alright?”  

 “They will be perfectly fine.” Marion laughed, “We shall hear them if they cry. Come along, you need some time for yourself too, Ellie.”  

 “Alright.” Eleanor smiled suddenly, “I should like to see it.”  

 The two women rushed out of the nursery and down the hall to Eleanor’s dressing room, Marion nodding to one of the maids to keep a watch over the babies. She was always thinking of them, caring for them, just as she did for Eleanor, and just as her mother had done before her. She knew no sweeter joy in this life than seeing her best friend happy and settled in life.  

 “Here it is.” Eleanor shook out a parcel, lifting the gown out of the light tissue paper in a fluff of peach muslin. “Shall I try it on?”  

 “Yes, do!” Marion grinned, quickly undoing the buttons at the back of Eleanor’s simple day dress. “I can’t wait to see it on you.”  

 With Marion’s help, Eleanor quickly slipped out of her day dress and Marion helped slip the perfect new gown over her forehead, smelling sweetly of lavender and paper. The peach muslin settled perfectly on her body as Marion helped her do up the buttons. The colour set off Eleanor’s pale, creamy skin and dark hair. Together, the two women looked at Eleanor’s reflection reverently. The muslin was embroidered with gold leaf patterns, and each flinging thread caught the light flatteringly. Marion smiled, pressing tenderly on her friend’s shoulders.  

 “There you go,” she whispered. “Lady Henrietta shall have to eat her words, I think.”  

 “Are you sure?”  

 Eleanor pulled at the ribbon around her bust critically. Her bosom was delicately shielded by wisps of muslin, as was appropriate for a married lady, but she still looked as eligible as the day she had been introduced to society on her seventeenth birthday.  

 “Absolutely,” Marion assured her. “Would you like to borrow Maman’s pearls to wear with it?”  

 “Actually, I thought you might wear them.”  

 “Oh, I am not sure I shall attend.” Marion sighed. The idea of being the poor spinster at the grand ball, standing plainly in the corner in a governess’s dress, invisible to everyone, was more than she could bear.  

 “I should really like you to,” Eleanor said quietly. “You’ve done so much already for the ball. You should enjoy the fruits of it.”  

 Marion didn’t want to disappoint her friend, but she also hated anticipating how lonely she would feel if she didn’t go. She tried one more excuse.  

 “I – I don’t have the right sort of dress,” she said.  

 Eleanor smiled at her knowingly. “Actually…”  

 She nodded towards the packet that her own dress had come in and Marion reopened it again curiously. She gasped. “What’s this?”  

 “I had it made for you, Marion, as a thank you for everything you have done to prepare for the ball.” Eleanor smiled softly. “Will you at least try it on?”  

 Marion nodded dumbly. She stood in shock as Eleanor unbuttoned her plain grey dress and then slipped the new gown over her head.  

 It won’t look right, it will look foolish, I’m sure, Marion thought to herself. What kind of woman tries on a gown like this when—  

 “Look,” Eleanor said softly, turning Marion’s shoulders towards the mirror. Marion took a sharp intake of breath.  

 “Mon Dieu,” she whispered.  

 The scarlet silk gown fit her perfectly. Whereas other English girls may be washed out by such a vibrant colour, Marion knew that her French blood that gave her such lustrous black hair and olive skin was exactly suited for such a colour. She placed her hand on her stomach, turning at an angle to admire how the neckline of the dress flattered the slope of her breasts, how the scooped neckline made her collarbones alluringly prominent, and how the long sleeves made her arms seem slim and delicate.  

 “Do you think you shall wear it?” Eleanor asked gently.  

 Marion turned back, swallowing heavily and tilting her head a little higher. She didn’t look like a governess in this dress. She looked like a woman ready to dance the night away with the most handsome man in the room.  

 “Yes,” she said. “I think I shall.”  

 

 

 

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Chapter 1

“Forgive me, dear lady, but I could not help observing from across this crowded room that you are not enjoying yourself,” D’Arcy Dancer dared to say to the stunning woman who was already engaged by another. The woman, who he knew to be the Season’s most sought after debutant, Cecily Anderson-Reese, turned towards him and smiled. She looked more interested in him than the man on her arm.

Cecily’s smile lit up the room. This surprised D’Arcy Dancer, the charming and desperately handsome Irish rogue who had been the talk of the London social scene since he arrived several months earlier in the fall of 1819. It was now well into February of 1820, and although he had made an impression, he had not made many friends.

His short, dark hair and crystalline blue eyes darted around the place, making the young ladies at the ball, most of whom had been trussed up tightly in their beautiful gowns, nearly swoon.

“My dear fellow,” said Lord Nunn, the gentleman on whose arm Cecily was leaning. “I daresay that is none of your affair. Now please, sir, for the sake of propriety, leave us in peace.”

To D’Arcy, Lord Nunn appeared as a thin and wiry sort of chap, the sort of Englishmen described as handsome. However, to an Irishman, he seemed like a delicate reed who could be blown over with a feather. He was terribly thin, and standing beside him made D’Arcy feel frightfully strong.

D’Arcy glanced at the thin frame and somewhat blotchy face of this fellow and smiled brilliantly. “‘My dear fellow?’” he said, chuckling. “It seems someone is mired in the muck of social convention. I was under the impression that balls were intended for general merriment. Do you dispute this assertion?”

“I do not know you, my dear fellow, and I am not interested in your opinion.”

“Very well, my dear fellow,” said D’Arcy. “I shall not speak further to you. However, this vision of loveliness on your arm may be permitted to make up her own mind about the desirability of conversing with me, would you not agree?”

“Now see here, old sock,” said Lord Nunn. “This vision of loveliness has been escorted here under my protection and I plan to keep it that way. I have no idea who you are or by what means you secured an invitation, but I shall be forced to take matters a step further if you do not depart forthwith.”

D’Arcy Dancer looked at Cecily, who was smiling coquettishly at him, making sure her wraith-like companion was unable to see. One of her eyebrows raised and she made it clear that he was invited to follow up with her soon.

D’Arcy smiled and turned away. Although he did not know this, ten of the finest ladies in the room had observed this colloquy and all of them were keen to make the acquaintance of the handsome and charming newcomer they had been hearing so much about. For the fact of the matter was that London society had been in the doldrums since the death of King George III and its requisite mourning period. Consequently, things were dreary, and very little had happened since the Prince Regent had been forced to take life more seriously.

The period of mourning was still in force, although these balls, for some reason, seemed to fall outside the purview of the mourning period. Music was drearier, conversation was muted, and voices were rarely raised. Ennui began to creep through the highest ranks of society, and when ennui sets in, there follows gossip.

And D’Arcy was the subject of a great deal of speculation. He had some contacts in society, but mainly he was the object of interest because he was very handsome, very charming, and utterly unknown. A tall, dark stranger in the frightfully in-bred community of London’s elite was as welcome as a slab of steak to a pack of wild dogs.

D’Arcy, who rarely missed subtle signs from ladies, particularly those who are charming and pretty, smiled and made his way to the orchestra. They had just finished playing one of the quadrilles, and so he was able to engage the leader in conversation, something that was frowned upon in good society.

“I say, Little Chip,” said D’Arcy jovially, “this is a rather dull affair. Haven’t you anything livelier to play?”

“My dear D’Arcy,” laughed Cipriani Potter, the distinguished composer and pianist who was referred to by all and sundry as ‘Little Chip.’ “Surely you must know that the period of mourning is still in effect, and none of us can risk attracting the wrath of the older generation, many of whom are ranged around the dance floor. It seems to be their primary aim that none of the young people have any fun at all.”

“I suppose that is so,” said D’Arcy. “But it puts a devil of a pall on the goings on. Now, I know you to be a great student of character, and I know you to be one of the most observant men in the country. What do you know of that lovely creature yonder?”

“Miss Cordelia de Montmorency? Surely you know about her already,” said Little Chip. Cordelia de Montmorency was one of the most beautiful women in London, who also had a reputation for being terribly wicked. Her curling eyelashes surrounded huge blue eyes that seemed to make every man in the place drool, and her figure was the envy of nearly every woman.

“No. The young lady with the chestnut tresses and the pale blue gown. The beauty who is encumbered with that dullard, Lord Nunn.”

“I know very little,” said Little Chip. “I know her name and her station, but nothing of her character. I believe she has just come out this Season.”

“And what is her name and station?” enquired D’Arcy with a charming grin.

“Her name is Cecily Anderson-Reese, the sister of Lord Jonathan Anderson-Reese. The very one who has been seen in public with the charming French singer I have been accompanying in her conquering tour of London society. You must have heard of the Parisian Nightingale.”

“Indeed, I have. I had the pleasure of hearing her sing before the period of mourning set in.”

“Quite,” said Little Chip. “And Lord Anderson-Reese is to be the Earl of Lincolnshire. Has been through some hard financial trouble, I’m afraid, but a charming fellow and quite a good gambler.”

D’Arcy’s eyes lit up. “Indeed?” he said, smiling. “And this fellow is her brother?”

“I believe that is the case,” he said.

“And that dullard she is with called Lord Nunn,” said D’Arcy. “What’s his excuse for living?”

“He is the best friend of Lord Anderson-Reese, although I’m not familiar with his station. He is also very close with Lord Northridge, the heir to the Earl of Hampstead, and from one of the wealthiest and noblest families in England. Those three are best chums. I warrant it is best to be on his good side.”

“I shall make his acquaintance,” said D’Arcy. “But this Lord Anderson-Reese fellow. I could swear to you I encountered him in a gambling den not a week ago. Or perhaps a trifle longer.”

“It is not unlikely. He frequents those sorts of places.”

“Yes. And this is his sister?”

“It is.”

“Intriguing. I hope to make her acquaintance at my earliest opportunity. Thank you for your assistance, Little Chip, and I will enjoy your lovely music.”

 

Chapter 2

D’Arcy was being tracked by every feminine eye in the ballroom. He walked alone, carrying himself like a conquering hero, even if he was almost entirely without friends at this place. At least, he was until he joined up with Jonathan and the beautiful French songstress, who were trying their best to stay out of the limelight. Of course, they were the most talked-about people in London that Season. The very fact that they would appear in public together was a matter of great interest and talk among the members of good society. Nevertheless, very few people were conversing with either of them. D’Arcy took advantage of this opportunity and made his way across the empty dance floor.

“Johnny?” said D’Arcy as he approached them, smiling knowingly.

“Dear God, is that you, D’Arcy Dancer?” said an astonished Jonathan.

“Yes, my friend, it is. I have been trying to fit into this ridiculous society, and I am afraid I have made rather a bad impression.”

“Well, I know what you mean.”

“And you played me for a bit of a fool the other night,” said D’Arcy. “You led me to believe you were of common stock, with that ‘Johnny’ stuff.”

“I confess I was a little embarrassed to let you know my true identity. I am Lord Anderson-Reese, at your service.”

“I surely know that now,” said D’Arcy with a chuckle. “I’m finding it devilishly hard to make a good impression on a certain someone.”

“Considering all the young ladies that are tittering behind their fans upon seeing such a dashing Irish lord, I find that hard to believe,” said Jonathan.

D’Arcy laughed. “Be that as it may, I understand your sister and her beau were less than impressed, despite the kindness of my approach.”

“Well, you must forgive Lord Nunn. Although the two of them may appear very secure in their positions here in society, Lord Nunn is a very sensitive young man. He’s one of my greatest friends, but even I can see that Cecily is far more than he can handle.”

“Is that so?” said D’Arcy with a grin. “I must say, I am very taken with her.”

“Perhaps approaching her at a ball is not the best way to ingratiate yourself with her,” offered Garance.

“Forgive me, madam,” said D’Arcy, turning to the singer. “I must say it is an honor to see you again. When you serenaded me in the gambling den, I had no idea you were the much-talked-about Parisian Nightingale. And even so, I had the privilege of hearing you sing at Covent Garden a few days ago, just before the mourning period began, and I was transported. I have never heard a voice like yours before, and I was honored to be able to witness your performance.”

“Thank you, D’Arcy,” said Garance with a kind smile. “And I must thank you as well for your assistance with the frightful business in that awful gambling den.”

“I daresay, any man would have done the same,” said D’Arcy.

“I beg to differ. You showed true bravery in the face of an armed attack. Jonathan told me in confidence that he was very grateful for your help. There were rather a lot of ruffians that evening, and I shudder to think what might have happened had that man been allowed to take advantage of me. I was fairly abducted.”

“I shouldn’t attribute too much to my intercession,” said D’Arcy to Garance. “Jonathan was the hero in that scenario.”

“Why thank you, D’Arcy,” said Jonathan, feeling emboldened. “I say, you might want to visit us tomorrow at our place on Wimpole Street. Would that be something you might consider? It would be no bad connection to make, for I am well-placed in society, despite my depleted financial situation.”

“I heard someone say something about that. Do you need money?”

“I should say not,” said Jonathan. “I have that well under control.”

“And my finances are more than enough to see us through this period,” added Garance. “For I shall tell you a secret, my friend. We are to be married.”

“Garance,” said Jonathan. “That is not public knowledge yet. I should not like the news to get out before our public declaration and we get my mother’s blessing.”

“Jonathan,” said Garance with a laugh. “You know yourself that D’Arcy has no social connections at all. That has been the substance of our conversation these last few minutes.”

“Why yes, but of course he has more than he claims. I must swear you to secrecy for the time being,” Jonathan said, nodding his head toward D’Arcy.

“Understood,” D’Arcy replied. “And I should be honored to attend your at-home time. Have you a card?”

“As luck would have it, I haven’t, but I shall be sure to get it to you forthwith. Where are you staying?”

“On Rubicon Court, in King’s Cross. I have taken rooms there with my man, O’Malley.”

“Then I shall be sure to pay you a visit as well when convenient,” said Jonathan.

“Certainly,” said D’Arcy. At that very moment, he spied that Cecily was alone by the punch bowl. “Forgive me, but I believe there is an opportunity to dance with your sister, and we both know that the early bird gets the worm.”

Before Jonathan could say a word, D’Arcy was across the room with the hope of engaging Cecily in conversation.

~*~

Cecily noticed that the Irishman who’d so boldly approached her earlier with flattery and flirtation was talking with her brother. She decided it was time to part from Lord Nunn to obtain a glass of punch, since the man wasn’t keen on dancing. And, by allowing herself to be freed from the overbearing nature of her escort for the evening, she put herself in a position to be spoken to by other gentlemen. Seeing that the daring Irishman—who had the physique of an Adonis, she couldn’t help but notice—was acquainted with her brother already, she saw no harm in making his acquaintance as well.

When he approached her from across the room, Cecily made eye contact as she sipped her punch. Her brother had become such a daring man as he chased after his scandalous love, that she herself felt like following the same path.

The idea of marrying for love instead of convenience certainly appealed to her. Seeing that a very attractive Irishman was approaching her, her heart skipped a beat. She was willing to give this man a chance if he could one day capture her heart as well as her interest.

“Good evening, Miss Anderson-Reese. Would ye care to dance with me?” asked the man as he approached, bowing before her. Their eyes never disconnected, sending a thrill of excitement through her.

“I would be delighted, sir. I could see you speaking with my brother already, so I can only assume you asked his permission to approach me?” Cecily said with a smile. The man smirked in response and only nodded in reply. When he offered his arm to her, Cecily took it, placing her hand on his. Compared to Lord Nunn, this man was certainly a pleasure to walk with. He was so strong and handsome that she could actually feel pleased about being seen with him in public.

“I see you have met Miss Cecily Anderson-Reese,” said Lord Northridge to D’Arcy, coming up behind them and trying to get in between the two. Cecily tried hard to ignore the sigh that came out her lips when she noticed the bothering man.

“I beg your pardon sir,” said the astonished gentleman that Cecily remained attached to. “But whom have I pleasure of addressing?”

“I am Lord Northridge, heir to the Earldom of Hampstead.” Cecily knew that the man was exaggerating for the benefit of those around him.

“Well then, Lord Northridge, I am awfully glad to make your acquaintance. I am Lord D’Arcy Dancer of Kilkenny, Baron of Callan. I was just escorting this young lady towards the next dance.”

“I think I can speak for her when I say her dance card is filled,” said Lord Northridge, to which Cecily, who was by nature contrary, balked. He moved to take her to the dance floor, despite his shortness of breath and somewhat moist, sweaty exterior.

“It most certainly is not,” snapped Cecily. “This young man is most welcome, and in fact, I see the quadrille is about to begin. Shall we dance, sir?”

“I would be delighted,” he said gallantly as they walked away from the stunned Lord Northridge, who didn’t look to appreciate being told no.. “As you may have heard me say just now, my name is Lord D’Arcy Dancer.”

“Why yes, I did hear you mention that,” said Cecily as they moved to the dance floor. “And pray tell, how is Kilkenny this time of year?”

“It is most dreary, I’m afraid,” he said. “But enough of these inanities. Now that we are to dance, I wish to come to know you better. I would like to call on you, for your brother has already invited me to join him.”

“Yes, you may, but I must ask you to be discreet. My darling brother has taken it upon himself to marry me off to the highest bidder. At this point, the highest bidder is that dullard Lord Nunn.”

“How interesting, my lady,” said D’Arcy, laughing with delight as they began to dance. “I am looking forward to discussing this further. And may I say that you look radiant in that beautiful gown.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Cecily, curtsying to Lord Dancer and dancing down the line as the music began. Cecily, who was only eighteen years old, was enjoying her first Season and her ability to attend and dance at these balls.

Her deep brown curls cascaded around her oval face, accentuating her large brown eyes and the luscious curling lashes that encircled them. She had a small and shapely nose that crinkled slightly when she laughed, and bow-shaped lips of the deepest natural red color. She was slim, and her beautiful pale blue silk dress clung to her shapely frame like a beautiful work of art, highlighted as it was by tiny pearls sewn into the front in a beautiful floral design. Cecily truly loved to dress up for these balls and to enjoy this time in her life.

As the dance continued, Cecily found that Lord Dancer was indeed as good of a dancer as his name suggested. She felt the strength of his arms and hands as he led her down the line and through the steps of the dance. She couldn’t help smiling at him, seeing the amusement in his eyes. Cecily felt that the dance was much livelier than the others that had been performed earlier in the night.

“You are a joy to dance with, Miss Anderson-Reese. Most of the dances tonight have been so reserved, and perhaps even gloomy, that dancing with you is a breath of fresh air,” Lord Dancer said as he twirled her around and led her back into the reel.

“You are too kind, Lord Dancer. But if we are both being honest with one another, I will say as well that you are a superior dance partner,” Cecily admitted, feeling bold. She was not practiced in the art of flirting, and since this man was acquainted with her brother and would no doubt be calling on her in the future, she wanted to leave this man with a good impression of her.

“English society has done me well, teaching me all sorts of things about pleasure and the enjoyment of taking a break from one’s work. But I find these dances to only be enjoyable if you spend them with the right people,” Lord Dancer replied.

“I’m pleased to hear that you consider me good company,” Cecily quipped.

“You seem to be the only one here worth speaking with,” he admitted. “You are not like other ladies of society.”

“Life has a way of teaching a young lady the reality of what society is all about,” Cecily admitted with a sigh. “I may only be eighteen, but the world has taught me much.”

“Do you refer to the circumstances in which your brother will soon be inheriting his title? That must be hard for someone as young as you,” Lord Dancer admitted, placing his hand on the small of her back to guide her through the dance. Cecily had to admit to herself that she liked his warm touch on her.

“Indeed, sir. My father wastes away, and as soon as my brother marries, he will gain fortune, soon to be followed by his title, once the inevitable end comes for my father. However, little is known about the current state of affairs of that fortune. Therefore, I’m urged to marry for wealth to save my family. What pressure that puts on one so young as I.”

“Why do you tell me such things, pray tell? We’ve only just met,” Lord Dancer asked with a smirk on his lips.

“Because my fate is sealed, Lord Dancer. You and I are just two people who have happened to meet. We might move through the motions of this dance, but it will not change what has been decided for me,” Cecily said. “Yet, I surely enjoy getting to dance with a man like you. I can see that there are others who would wish to do the same.”

Cecily followed Lord Dancer’s eyes as he surveyed the room as they danced together through the line. Cecily was not surprised when his eyes landed on Miss Cordelia de Montmorency, for she knew all about the other woman. She was also a debutant that liked to flaunt her father’s wealth in order to attract all sorts of men. If rumors were true, Miss Cordelia had strong feelings for Lord Northridge. Luckily, that future earl only seemed to have eyes for her as well.

“Regardless of what others wish, we are here together in this moment. We can just be two people who enjoy dancing with good company,” Lord Dancer offered.

“Indeed, sir. I fully agree. I’m so glad we could come to terms in this moment,” Cecily said, smiling. She didn’t know many Irishmen, and certainly no other lords besides those that were English. But getting to dance with Lord Dancer had been splendid. She could certainly see why her brother would befriend such a rogue. He certainly provided good company.

When the dance came to an end, far sooner than Cecily would have liked, she curtsied to Lord Dancer as he bowed. Cecily was just about to invite him to walk with her about the room, that their shared company might be continued. After all, there was still the dinner to enjoy. But Lord Nunn seemed to appear out of thin air by her side, causing her to stiffen.

“Miss Cecily, my dear. You look famished. Let us reconvene with your brother in preparation for dinner,” he said, taking her hand and placing it on his arm. Cecily gave Lord Dancer one last smile as she was led away towards a future she wanted nothing to do with.

 

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