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Chapter 1

“Merope!” cried Mrs. Felicity Robbins, bustling out of the kitchen and drying her hands on her apron. She stood in the hallway of the Robbins Inn and looked towards the staircase that led upstairs. “Merope! Go and fetch the mail! After that, I will need you to go and inspect the rooms and make certain they are clean!”

Merope gently closed the front door of the inn behind her. She was dressed simply, in a plain muslin, with a white apron. Her blonde hair was pinned in a simple bun. Her mother whirled around and looked at her. “Oh! There you are. Go and fetch – ”

“I have it right here, Mother,” she said, holding up several folded, red-sealed letters. “I’ll go upstairs and inspect the rooms in a moment, but you may want to know that there is a note from Worthington among this stack of letters.”

“From Worthington! From the earl and the countess?” Mrs. Robbins snatched away the stack of letters and took them into the kitchen, where two servants worked to clean the dishes before starting the day’s baking for the patrons of the inn.

She sat down at a small table in the corner and Merope took a chair across from her. “It’s still hard to believe that the earl married that little servant girl,” said Merope. “Grace Miller, wasn’t it? She’s come a long way from living in a cottage at the far end of town.”

Mrs. Robbins shot her a quick glance even as she sorted through the letters. “Whatever her name was, it’s Lady Worthington now, and she’ll never be a servant ever again.”

Merope sighed. “If Earl Worthington can marry a coachman’s daughter and maid-of-all-work, I suppose anything can happen. Now, what is in the letter?”

“Here.” Her mother allowed the note to fall to the table. “You may look at it and see, perhaps it is a dinner invitation.”

“I suppose that would be nice,” said Merope, reaching for the note, “but I am not sure there would be any reason for me to go. The earl is no longer in search of a wife.”

“And what does that matter? Does he not have male friends? Cousins? Acquaintances? There could be any number of very respectable and very well-to-do young men attending the events held at Worthington.”

Mrs. Robbins gave her daughter a very stern expression. “There is far more at stake here than you simply getting a husband. This inn – this source of income for you and me both – requires you to have a husband who can put his name on the deed, since neither you nor I can do so.”

“Yes, yes. I will do my best I can to find a husband, but I am not willing to marry just anyone.”

“Of course and since you do wish to marry well, you have every reason to prize an invitation to the home of the earl and the new countess.”

Carefully, Merope broke the dark red wax seal that held the folded letter together and opened it up. “Hmm,” she said, reading silently.

“Well, girl, what is it? An invitation? Or something else entirely? Tell me!”

“It seems to be,” said Merope, “an invitation. To – a picnic.”

“A picnic?” Her mother sounded a bit disappointed, but then could wait no longer and snatched the letter from Merope’s fingers. “It is indeed a picnic,” she murmured as she read. “It will be held on Midsummer, the twenty-first day of June. Won’t that be nice?”

“Oh, yes, just ever so nice.” Merope did not bother to hide the boredom in her voice. “Another of the same old picnics, like so many I have attended before. Are you certain you can spare me from my duties here?”

“Merope! No doubt, there will be many fine young men in attendance!”

Merope just nodded. Felicity Robbins had been running the Robbins Inn herself for many years, ever since the death of her husband when Merope was very young. If anyone knew the details of everyone who lived in the entire county, it was her.

“I see. So I suppose you want me to go to this picnic.”

Mrs. Robbins peered at her daughter over the top of the note. “You suppose I want you to go? Of course you should go! What better place than a gathering at Worthington to find a man who will propose to you!”

Keeping her temper under control, Merope placed her hands flat on the table and closed her eyes. “Mother, I am nineteen years old and I have never received a single proposal.”

“Yes, but – ”

“You will not be able to run the inn forever, especially if you are alone here with only a couple of servants to help you – servants who could leave at any time. You need me here. If I married, I would be expected to live with my husband.”

Mrs. Robbins drew herself up. “I appreciate your kind concern, Merope, but I am quite capable. I have been running this inn since you were barely able to walk. I am sure I can continue to do so for many years to come, if need be.”

“Yes, if need be – but perhaps you should not have to carry such a burden alone. I can help while I am here. Anyway, I cannot marry as long as I stay in this sleepy little town that has virtually no prospects.”

“But – there are fine young men here. Farmers, merchants – ”

She held up one hand. “But if I can do better, shouldn’t I try for better? Though I do not wish to boast, it is simply a fact that I am one of the best catches in Birdwell. Men say they like blonde women with a little height to them. I am well read and capable. You have taught me to manage this inn, and so I could certainly manage a home. I am well worth a proposal. But I do not see how I will ever get one unless I can somehow leave this unchanging little town.”

“Merry, please. I know you are desperate to go to London for a season, in hopes of finding a man more to your liking.”

“A man who enjoys the city. A man who thrives on the variety and sophistication it has to offer. Not to mention, such a man might have an interest in business, and the running of an inn in a small town.”

“Yes. I do understand. But I have explained that the cost is far too dear for you to go to London any time soon and will be for some time. There was the new oaken floor in the dining room, the replacement linens for the beds upstairs – ”

“I know about all that, Mother. I know, but that will not get me married. I must find a way to get to the city, at least for a time. I am not going to find the right man at a little country picnic, even if it is a picnic at Worthington. The sort of man I want, the sort of life I want, is in the city. My kind of man will not want to be out here in the country, or have to do anything with this inn.”

***

Somewhere in London

There was a tremendous pounding inside of James Brookford’s head. Or maybe it was someone beating on the door of his room. Or maybe it was both.

“Innkeeper! Open up!”

Very slowly, groaning to himself, James sat up. He was in a rumpled bed, which sat beneath the one high window of his small room at the inn. Light poured in from the window above and made him close his eyes tightly. The room stank of unwashed bodies, filthy clothes, old food, vomit, and . . . worse.

The pain in his head only got worse with every move he made.

There was a quick rustling from either side of him. Blinking, James watched two women quickly sit up and get out of the bed.

“Thank you, dearie!” one of them called, gathering up her cloak.

“Got the payment last night!” said the other, hastily pulling on her half-boots. “Call us again anytime!”

The two women were only half-dressed in ragged clothes but did not seem to care; they pulled the door open and pushed past whoever was knocking on the other side. James closed his eyes again, partly from the ongoing pain in his temples, and partly from the sight of those two women.

The pounding continued, even with the door open. He must have made a particularly valiant effort at drowning his sorrows the night before. “Just – just a minute,” James muttered, sliding his feet down to the floor and noticing with some relief that he was still dressed. “I’ll be there directly.”

He managed to stand up and then stumble over to the door, to find the tall heavy form and scowling face of the innkeeper.

“Enough’s enough, Brookford,” the man said, shoving a long piece of paper at him. “I want this paid today. Then I want you gone!”

James reached out for the paper. His eyes weren’t focused enough to read it, but he knew it was a list of charges for several weeks’ worth of rooming, food, ale, and wine. “All right,” he said, attempting to fold the paper and slip it inside his linen shirt. “All right. Give me an hour. I will pack up – and then I will be gone.”

“An hour. No more,” growled the innkeeper. “If I come back and you are still here, I’ll sell anything of yours that’s still in this room – and you can take these too!”

A handful of folded papers fell to the floor. Some had bright red wax seals on them. “I’ll pay it,” James said, awkwardly bending down to gather up the sealed papers. “I can have gold, in an hour.”

“Good! Don’t make me – ”

James threw the door shut, though he could not blame the man for wanting to be paid. It was true that he had stayed in this room for far too long and spent far too many weeks trying to forget about the games that women played . . . and the game that one woman in particular had played on him.

After making every effort to forget, all he had done was sink so low, that now, here he was waking up, ape-drunk, with two examples of some of the lowest of Haymarket’s wares to be found in his bed, and now his debts were running up so high, he could hardly guess the amount.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed with a heavy sigh, James tossed aside the list of charges. The sealed and folded papers looked to have been sitting for weeks, for he had never called at the desk for any messages.

There had been no reason why he should. Until some two years before, he had been living north of London at Albany, his family’s small estate. He had been quite comfortable there, enjoying the peace and beauty, and left only to go to Cambridge University to obtain his degree in law. As soon as that was done, he returned home at the age of twenty-six and soon asked Angela, a beautiful girl from the little nearby town of Birdwell, to marry him.

At the thought of Angela, James nearly reached for the bottle of gin that still rested on the small table beside the bed – but then stopped. He had escaped to London with the sole purpose of never thinking of her again. Instead, he reached for the stack of letters that the innkeeper had brought him.

The first was from his cousin, Thomas Worthington, who was also the Earl Worthington. He lived on the grand and beautiful family estate of the same name, just north of the town of Birdwell. It was some eight miles from James’s home of Albany and he fondly remembered visiting Thomas and his family when they were boys.

My dear cousin;

It has been a very long while since I last wrote, but I have much good news. The Teeswater cattle that I told you about when last I wrote has been progressing well. The herd is growing steadily.

My mother is well. She has stepped back from her duties and into the role of Dowager Countess, with her usual grace. She has been enjoying herself.

I must tell you of my joy: I have recently wed Miss Grace Miller. She is an absolute angel, and I have never been so happy in all of my life. We would all be very pleased if you would come and visit Worthington. I want you to meet my wife.
Not to mention, hunting season is just around the corner, and my friend, Simon Clarke, whom you know well is becoming serious about breeding Thoroughbred horses for both racing and the hunt field.

Please write back soon, so that we can make the proper arrangements for your arrival.

All the best,

Thomas, Earl Worthington

It all sounded lovely and perfect, which was always how the Worthingtons had lived their lives. Though it was true that he would not object to seeing Thomas again . . . and his new wife . . . and his mother . . . and enjoy their fine food and good wine and brandy . . .

But all James managed to do was vomit copiously into the sheets this time, before sitting up again and trying to catch his breath.

Sitting in the ruined mess of his room – and his life – James decided that the time had come – to go back to Albany and Birdwell. He knew that his family missed him and he was beginning to miss them, too. There were some painful memories there, but home was home.

A quick glance in the mirror showed James’s disheveled dark hair, his unshaven, pale face. The dark circles underneath his hazel eyes.

It could hardly be worse than this.

Chapter 2

Merope rose to her feet and stood behind the kitchen chair. “Here in Birdwell, it’s always the same thing, with the same men, over and over again. All the games and machinations and scheming and devious planning. No one ever tells the truth.”

Her mother sighed. “Well, dear, I’m afraid that neither woman, nor man, ever tells the whole truth in matters of love. Surely you are not pretending to be shocked by this.”

“No, Mother. I am not shocked by it. But I am very tired of the games men play. I want – ” She paused for a moment, thinking. “I want an honest man. I am tired of men who only tell me what they think I want to hear. I would far prefer brutal honesty to pretty little words that mean nothing and fade away faster than snowflakes.”

She thought her mother might snap back, strong as she was; instead, Mrs. Robbins only sat quietly at the table. “You have grown so cold, Merope,” she said, her voice very soft. “I worry for you. Serenity is a fine thing in a woman, but a cold and uncaring heart is very different. I especially began to see it after the earl married Grace Miller last year.”

“The servant girl.”

“Yes, the servant girl, who is now Lady Worthington, and even before that – ” She looked closely at Merope. “Even before that, there was the matter of your friend Sally Henson and her suitor. What was his name?”

Merope raised her head and for a moment was not going to answer, but she soon relented. “Daniel Bird.”

“Yes. The steady young man from one of the farms out towards the Viscount of Albany’s estate. You made him think you cared for him, when he learned of your game, he took an apprenticeship on a farm some fifty miles away and has never been back since.”

Merope felt her annoyance rising, but there was a small sense of triumph to go along with it. “There is no proof that I ‘stole him away.’ He seemed to like me, and I considered him for a time. That was all. We had no understanding between us at all. Sally Henson and I remain friends, and from what she has said, he intended to leave for his apprenticeship anyway. You may ask her about it when next you see her, if you wish.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed, however. “You knew how devoted Sally was to him. I can only tell you to be careful with such things, Merope. They can burst into flames in an instant and burn you before you know it.”

Merope kept her silence, and then after a moment sat down again at the table and folded her hands.

For just an instant, her mother covered Merope’s hand with her own. “I know that for you, still being young, love and marriage are simply games to play. You have never been in love. No man has broken your heart, though I believe you have broken a few yourself. Do not think it cannot happen to you. It can happen to the strongest of us.”

Merope realized that her mother was looking at the small portrait of her late husband, Ezra Robbins. That little painting was Merope’s only real memory of her father, for he had died when she was very young. She was well aware of how hard her mother worked, and how she had no one to look out for her save her daughter. Merope had made certain that she herself had the strength to get both of them through whatever troubles they might face, what with trying to run their own property in a world run by men.

She smiled and patted her mother’s hand in return. “I understand. There are many ways to lose someone. I am sure it is just as painful, no matter how it happens.”

Abruptly, Mrs. Robbins withdrew her hand and stood up. “Now, then,” she said briskly, with a deep breath. “I have no wish to argue with you. I will just say that there are always new guests at any event, even at a picnic in Birdwell. New friends, new cousins. Will you agree to accept Lord Worthington’s invitation?”

“I suppose I have little choice.” Merope remained at the table, frowning. “If I agree to go, will you at least consider sending me to London?”

Her mother hesitated. “If you go to the picnic,” she finally said, “I will make every effort to get you to London sometime next year.”

She raised her hand to halt her daughter’s protests that that would not be soon enough. “And to help make up for having to wait, I will get you a new dress and bonnet to wear to the earl’s picnic.”

Knowing she would get no better arrangement today, Merope nodded briefly and stood up. “I will go to the picnic and wear my new dress. But I hope to find a man there who will simply tell me the truth, whether he actually loves me or not!”

“All right then, Merry. Tomorrow we will go over to Fabrics, Feathers & Fineries and have you fitted with something new.”

Mrs. Robbins shook her head. “I can arrange to have a set of clothes made with no trouble. But I fear that finding an entirely honest man is not something that is in my power to give you.”

#

It took James several more days to get out of London – days spent at the townhomes of scattered friends, and once or twice, sleeping in the straw at the rear of some small back-alley stable. But he did, finally, escape the city and make his way home to Albany. At the sight of the large, but modest home, he thought that the sight of Heaven itself would never move him so much.

The fresh air and grass and trees seemed to make him whole again. Some six weeks after waking up in the squalor of the inn for the last time, James sat down to breakfast with his father and his mother—the Viscount and Viscountess of Albany. His appetite had returned with a vengeance and James had asked for generous portions of boiled eggs and fried sausages to be added to his plate.

“So,” his father, Matthew Brookford, Lord Albany, began, as he watched James eat. “It is well that all the wheat and oats and rye we grow did not fail this year. I think all of the profit at our little mill has gone to your breakfasts!”

James paused for a moment, before once again lifting another big spoonful of boiled egg to his mouth – but then saw his father smiling. “It’s all right, my son. We are both glad to see you well. You used to eat the same way as a boy.”

“Don’t worry about that, James,” said his mother, Mary Brookford, Lady Albany, pretending to be flustered by his father’s words. “It has been lonely here with just the two of us. We only end up giving leftover food to the Bird family’s hog farm down the road, and we would surely rather give it to you!”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” James said. “I should hate to think I was the cause of my parents’ bankruptcy simply due to overeating at breakfast.”

His mother laughed and then picked up a red-sealed letter from the small silver tray beside her on the table. “This arrived earlier today. It has your name, so I think you should open it.”

James glanced at it while slicing up the hot sausages. “An invitation?” He lifted the large chunk of sausage to his mouth with the fork, chewing and then swallowing before going on. “You should open it, Mother. I don’t care much for socializing. There is plenty to do here, so that I can earn all this food I am devouring. All those acres of corn to plant, not to mention supervising the grinding at the mill – ”

“It’s from Worthington. It is addressed especially to you.”

James sighed, finishing up the bite of sausage, and then cleaned his fingers on a linen napkin before breaking the seal on the note and unfolding it.

“A picnic,” he murmured, as his mother poured him some more tea and place the little bowl of freshly ground sugar beside it. “At Midsummer.”

“A picnic!” said Lady Albany. “How lovely. James, it would be the perfect event for your reintroduction to all the folk of Birdwell.”

He frowned a little, reaching for the hot cup of tea. “I suppose. But I will admit, I have grown accustomed to quiet days and peaceful nights, with only a few other people around. I am not certain that I would enjoy such a gathering.”

“It’s only a picnic,” said his father. “Held out in the open on an enormous estate. How crowded could it possibly be?”

“It does not matter so much where it is held. There will still be many there that I do not know.”

“Or that you do know, but have not seen in a very long time.” Lady Albany poured herself a little more tea. “And who will undoubtedly have many questions for you.”

“I am sure they will. I know they are curious. But I have no desire to inform a group of strangers and distant friends about things that are entirely personal to me.”

His parents just looked at him in silence. James knew very well that they had seen him fall into debauchery and dissipation some two years ago, and also knew, that they had been quite distraught when he had left for London in such a state. His mother, especially, was very relieved and happy simply to have him back. She would probably have let him do almost anything he pleased as long as he did not begin to slide inside a bottle once again.

“I do not see that you are obligated to tell them anything, beyond that which the most basic courtesy requires,” his mother said. “You might simply say that you decided to live in London for a time, following your commencement at Cambridge. Many young gentlemen would do the same.”

“I know that. And I had considered it. But most of them will know that that is not the whole story and I don’t think their curiosity will ever go away. I don’t want to be the subject of gossip all over the county.”

“James, my dear,” his mother said, “I am afraid it is far too late for that. You might as well go and face it, because it will never go away until you do.”

He set down the teacup and folded his hands beneath the table, feeling his temper rise. She was right, of course, but that did not improve his mood any. “I should have known.”

“They are just curious, and they do want to know that you are well now. Many of them have known you all your life. You were missed and they will be glad to see you again.”

James tapped his finger on the table. “All of them?”

“Of course, all – ” Lady Albany paused when her husband touched her arm and turned to look at him.

“I think I see the trouble now,” said Lord Albany. “She is gone. You will not see her at Worthington, or anywhere else in England.”

James looked closely at him, not sure he understood. “You are sure? Angela will not be attending this picnic?”

“She will not,” his mother said. “As your father told you, she is no longer in England.”

“How is that possible?”

“It is possible,” she went on, “because the former Miss Angela Stone moved to France with her husband.”

“With her husband.”

“Yes.” His mother nodded.

“France?”

“And they will not be coming back,” his mother assured him.

“I see.” James closed his eyes, not knowing if the news made him feel better or worse.

Lord Albany spoke up. “Even if Miss Stone did return – and I’m sorry, I don’t know what her married name is, and I care even less – that part of your life is over with, James. Isn’t it?”

He nodded, just slightly at first and then with more conviction. “Yes. It is over. Done.”

“Then you must stop letting it steer your life. You must decide to either live for yourself or die for her – a woman who cared so little for you that she married a wealthier man at the very first chance. Which do you want?”

“I think – I want – ”

His father leaned forward. “Choose! I should have demanded that you do so before you left for London. I didn’t then, but I am demanding it now. Which do you want?”

James had never seen his father so angry and determined over anything. Even his mother was very still, just looking up at him.

“I – no, I do not want to die for her.”

“Good.” His father sat back in his chair.

“But neither do I know how to live for myself,” James went on. “Not any longer.”

“Oh, James – I don’t understand,” said his mother, and he could hear the pain and confusion in her voice. “You are a good and intelligent gentleman. You can have any sort of life you choose. What are you talking about?”

“The life that I planned is no longer possible.” He had wanted to settle down with Angela. Perhaps, breed race horses, like Simon Clarke.

“But surely, you still wish to marry,” said his mother. “There are any number of fine young women right here, who would be honored to – ”

“No. I certainly do not wish to marry any time soon. Perhaps never.”

His parents fell silent. “All right,” said Lord Albany. “You will have to make some sort of decision before long. You don’t want to live in the city, yet you say you do not want the country, either. There is not much in between.”

James closed his eyes. “I do not mean to sound so entirely selfish. I am well aware that Albany has no other heir besides myself. I do not want you to have to find some long-lost cousin to inherit our home and our land . . . someone who may not care for it as we do. I truly do not want that.”

“I know you do not,” said his father.

“That is why I will, indeed, agree to at least try to find a suitable wife.” James could hear his mother’s sigh of relief. “And if either of you can tell me where I might find a woman or some lesser lord’s daughter who will be nothing but honest with me – I will be happy to go and meet her.”

There was a shocked silence. “I am sorry, Mother, Father – but I mean what I say. I have no trust left for females and their games.”

“I suppose not,” Lord Albany finally said. “But you are asking for a guarantee that no one could ever give you.”

“That is very true,” his mother said, nodding. I can only tell you something that I myself learned long ago: It is not so much a matter of trusting others. It is a matter of trusting yourself.”

James just gave her a sideways glance. “I am not marrying myself. Finding a woman who will be entirely honest with me, at all times, is what I do not know how to do.”

“There is no need to make this so difficult.” His father was beginning to lose patience. “The first one did not work out. So try again! Find another. You will find nothing if you cease to search.”

“I suppose so.” James looked away from them, glancing towards the bright windows. “Even though I rather enjoy the countryside myself, I recall what happened the last time when I thought I had found the ideal wife out here. I sometimes think – I sometimes think I should return to the city where there are far more eligible women.”

“But you just spent two years in the best parts of London,” his father complained. “What sort of women did you find there, in all that length of time? Any honest ones, as you say you want?”

He had no answer for that.

“Just so,” his father said. “Then perhaps your easiest course is to make a slow start. Simply go to Worthington in ten days and attend the picnic. It is but a small social occasion among friends and family. I am sure you will find no difficulty there.”

“I think that is a splendid idea,” said Lady Albany. “You have been going there all your life and your aunt and your cousin are quite fond of you. Perhaps remembering them, and the fine times you had there in your youth, would help return you to the proper path.”

“Besides, my son,” his father said, “in the two years that you have been gone, who knows what you will find among new neighbors who may have arrived during that time? And think how interesting it could be to see which young ladies might have grown up considerably.”

“That’s right,” said his mother, in a firm voice. “The Dowager Countess – your own Aunt Maria – knows that you have returned, and wants very much to see you. The very least that you can do is to visit your aunt.”

“There’s no denying that they are your family, after all.” His father’s voice was quite firm as well. “Your cousin Thomas is now married, and you have never met his wife.”

He sighed, knowing that both of them were right, and there was really no way to avoid this. “I suppose you are right. Perhaps I could go, even if I did not stay for long.”

Lord Albany frowned and started to speak, but his mother only brightened. “There, now. That’s the spirit! I’m sure they simply want to see you again and introduce you to the new Lady Worthington. You can stay for as long – or as little – of a time as you like.”

His father seemed about to speak again, but then thought better of it and simply reached for his own cup of tea.

“All right, then,” said James, surrendering for the moment. “Midsummer Day it is. I hope I can recall how to get to Worthington.”

“Just allow Vireo to take you. I’m sure he remembers,” said Lord Albany. “He’s galloped with many a hunt over the earl’s grounds.”

“I’m sure he does remember, Father,” said James, with a tight smile. I’m beginning to wish that he did not.

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Chapter 1

“It was just a dream. It wasn’t real,” he whispered to himself in the dark.

His bare feet moved silently, muffled by the thick carpet of the passageway. He could hear nothing over the pounding of his heart and the echo of the scream ringing in his ears. With a horrible sense of certainty he knew that the scream which had awoken him had been his mother’s, but he told himself it was only a nightmare. That’s what she would say when he reached her chamber – only a nightmare, my sweet, darling boy. He simply couldn’t go back to sleep without the reassurance of her softly laughing voice, her delicate hand stroking his damp hair back from his brow, that was all. She wouldn’t mind, he knew. She would press a kiss to his forehead and sit with him until the terror was all chased away, nothing more than a faint, foolish memory.

 He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering in his thin linen nightshirt, and softly pushed open the door to his mother’s bedchamber. He expected to find her nestled in her ornate bed, but instead she lay crumpled gracefully on the floor, her beautiful porcelain face gleaming in the moonlight, her jet hair streaming in waves around her. He froze, trapped in the blank stare of her dark eyes, too horror-stricken to move or cry out, when a movement by the long window caught his attention. Clearly silhouetted against the moonlight was the black figure of a man who noiselessly opened the window and climbed out of it to merge with the rest of the shadows.

Kenneth Blackmore, Duke of Rutherford, woke with a gasp, drenched in the familiar cold sweat that always accompanied the dream. At two and twenty he did not have the luxury of disbelief that had been his temporary refuge at the age of eight. He knew all too well that those events had been quite real and his mother could never again soothe away his nightmares. He rarely slept without revisiting that night, straining to make out the features of the shadowy man.

That was an exercise in futility, his waking self knew. The identity of his mother’s murderer was no mystery to Kenneth and hadn’t been since that dreadful night. Even if his father’s build and manner of carrying himself had not matched the shadow so perfectly, Kenneth had heard the maids whispering that it was hardly a surprise that the Duke had finally killed his wife in one of his jealous rages. No one had dared to make an accusation, least of all Kenneth, and the story was put out that she had been strangled by a thief.

Kenneth had hoped that the dream would cease tormenting him in the weeks following the death of his father, but if anything it had grown stronger. He had also expected to feel some sense of relief at the death of that monster, yet instead he worried that it had only strengthened the grip that his destructive heritage held on him. He had cut off his affair with his most recent mistress, a stunning blonde actress who was nearly as tall as himself, afraid that even their loveless arrangement might somehow incite him to violence.

Previously he had thought to keep himself from following in his father’s footsteps by avoiding love and marriage, knowing that his father’s obsessive, jealous love for his mother had led him to murder her. Now even that did not seem enough. Suppose desire, temporary companionship, or mild affection were enough to trigger his foul inheritance? Unable to risk it, he had distanced himself from the actress and from the other numerous and lovely blondes he was reputed to enjoy.

Knowing that sleep would not return for him that night, Kenneth left his bed and lit a candle. Pausing before the mirror that hung in his chamber, he searched his reflection as if looking for signs that he was transforming into a monster. It was a foolish fancy, he knew. His father had always appeared on the outside to be a handsome, respectable man. No one could have known from looking at him that he was capable of such an atrocity. Kenneth resembled his father, a fact he had always despised, but the stamp of his mother’s features had given his strong and handsome countenance a look of almost wicked beauty. Pale and heavy-eyed from troubled dreams and lack of sleep, his dark hair falling in a disordered manner, he was nonetheless strikingly attractive. It was a pity, he reflected, turning from the mirror, that his outward appearance drew women flocking to him when they ought to flee.

He ordered himself to read once again the letter that he had received from his Uncle Roger. Long before the death of his father, Kenneth had considered his uncle to be his only family, and the letter requesting a visit was the only thing that had tempted him away from his melancholy brooding in weeks. Roger was right, he ought to return home, particularly now that he had inherited the family estate. He had not been able to steel himself to do so, feeling that taking possession of Rutherford Hall would bring him that much closer to inevitably following in his father’s footsteps, but he knew he could not put it off any longer. Resolving himself to make arrangements at first light to leave his solitary London home, he selected a book and did his best to while away the rest of the night in its pages.

****

“Sister! I have been looking for you all over!” exclaimed Louisa Warwick as she hastened to join her sister Charlotte on the bench beneath a massive elm. It was one of Charlotte’s favored haunts for reading and daydreaming, Louisa’s trouble was that Charlotte had so very many such haunts.

“And you have found me,” Charlotte looked up from her book to smile at her older sister. With her soft brown hair, and deep brown eyes hidden behind spectacles, Charlotte was the perfect foil for Louisa’s vivacious, gilded beauty, yet there was a compelling sweetness in her face that gave Charlotte a loveliness of her own.

“You cannot hope to guess my news, so I shall tell you at once. The new Duke of Rutherford has returned only last night to his estate!”

“Kenneth Blackmore has come home?” Charlotte gasped, letting her book tumble to the ground as both delight and pain flooded her at the news. She was grateful to Louisa for seeking her out and telling her privately, giving her this moment to react without having to guard her expression.

“Yes, darling, come home to preside over his ancestral abode, presumably ready to give up his wicked ways as a rake in London and begin a family.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, his return is to be expected given the death of his father,” murmured Charlotte. She retrieved her book, and with it some of her composure.”

“Very natural indeed,” laughed Louisa. “So now we must begin plotting how you are to win his heart.”

“Oh, Louisa, no. We were only childhood friends, and he has made it perfectly clear in more recent years that he has forgotten our infant affection. I believe I am the very last sort of woman he would find romantically compelling. You are much more the type he admires, you know.”

“Why, I am scandalized that you would listen to the rumors and reports of him that have been whispered around, as they are scarcely fit for delicate ears such as ours!” Louisa teased her sister, adopting a prissy tone for a moment. “Surely you know that most of those stories are simply the result of him avoiding society as much as possible.”

“You are undoubtedly correct, but the fact remains that his Grace has been markedly cold and distant to me any time we have chanced to meet,” Charlotte smiled sadly. “It is only natural that any plotting for his affection would be distasteful to me.”

“That is not natural at all! You ought to be determined to punish him for his poor behavior, make him fall desperately in love with you, and then you could spurn him as coldly as you pleased. Or else marry him, which from what I understand provides an excellent means for one person to torment another.”

“If you think he needs to be punished, you will have to do it yourself, I do not have the heart for it,” Charlotte sighed a little. “Besides, you know, there is-”

“Jerome?” Louisa groaned, dropping to the grass heedless of her white cotton dress, resting her chin imploringly on Charlotte’s knees. “But Jerome is insufferable, darling. You aren’t obligated to care for a man just because he is your suitor!”

“The only suitor I have had, or am likely to have,” Charlotte pointed out reasonably.

“Better to die an old maid like me than spend a lifetime with a bore like him.”

“You’ll never be an old maid, I don’t care what you say. No one as beautiful and dazzling as yourself could have such a fate.”

“Bite your tongue! I enjoy far too much independence as the daughter of the Earl of Warwick to toss it away just for the sake of being someone’s wife. But don’t change the subject on me, you sly thing. Confess – if you do not have the heart to punish your dear old companion it is because that heart belongs to him. Is it not so?”

“Oh, Louisa, don’t. Certainly I feel affection for him, sadness perhaps that he did not cherish our youthful friendship the way I did, but I am hardly pining away for the man.”

Charlotte’s words lacked conviction, and did little to alter her sister’s opinion, but Louisa did not press her further. Louisa loved and admired her sister a great deal and wished she could coax her from her gentle, bookish reserve just enough that others might see her worth. Charlotte had never resented being the only girl in the family that didn’t resemble their exquisitely beautiful blonde mother, taking after their mild, near-sighted father’s instead, but Louisa fiercely resented on her behalf that outsiders considered her “the plain Warwick girl”. There was so much more to Charlotte than that.

Chapter 2

Kenneth sipped his after-dinner port, feeling more relaxed than he had in weeks. This was partly due to weariness, he supposed, from journeying out of London and from riding at length to survey his estate, and partly due to his enjoyment of his uncle’s company. It was every bit as distasteful as he had anticipated to return to the place where his mother had been murdered, but at least his uncle had been present, solicitously riding alongside him, as well as going over accounts and papers with him so that he could take up the mantle of his estate with ease.

The two men now rewarded themselves with glasses of port by the fire in the drawing room, enjoying a companionable silence. This was broken, at length, by Roger, who set his drink aside and shifted towards his nephew with the little grunt peculiar to men of middle-age feeling the affects of a long day on horseback. Roger Blackmore was a fine-looking man, having retained the tall and powerful build that he shared with his brother and nephew. He had never been considered to have nearly so handsome a face as his older brother, but age had brought him a sort of pleasantly distinguished air.

“It’s certainly good to have you back home, Kenneth,” he remarked easily, smiling fondly at his nephew.

“You have made me feel more at ease here than I expected to be,” Kenneth confessed. He had never kept it a secret from his uncle that he loathed spending time in the family home.

“Well, perhaps now that it is all yours you will grow to be more fond of the place, my boy. It’s a fine home, you know.” Roger spoke without any bitterness that the family title and estate did not fall to himself, having long resigned himself to his lot as a second son. He had a comfortable home and lands of his own, and appeared quite contented with his fate.

“Perhaps,” Kenneth agreed noncommittally. He knew he could never be fond of this house, but there was no sense in dragging his uncle through his own private misery.

“The best way to make a home your own, to my way of thinking, is to start a family in it. It’s high time you were married, Kenneth.”

“I have no desire whatsoever to marry now or ever,” Kenneth spoke stiffly, his entire body tensing at the very idea.

“Come, come. That was an understandable enough stance for a young nobleman sowing his wild oats, I am sure. And from what I hear tell, you sowed quite a bountiful crop, while keeping as far away from eligible young ladies and their doting mamas as possible,” Roger shook his head and smiled indulgently.

“I am afraid that the charms of the Season have always been quite wasted on me, Uncle.”

“And London offers many other charms, I am aware. However, I am afraid that your desire – or lack thereof- to marry is no longer a consideration.”

“What do you mean?” frowned Kenneth, reluctant to even ask the question.

“I mean that you are now the Duke of Rutherford and cannot afford to indulge in your distaste for matrimony any longer. It is your responsibility to our family line to marry and produce an heir.”

“Has it occurred to you that it might be better to end our family line than to perpetuate it?” Kenneth burst out before he could stop himself.

“It certainly has not! What a thing to say,” Roger exclaimed, looking quite shocked. “Such a thing is quite out of the question and I confess I am rather appalled to hear you suggest it. No, you must resign yourself to your fate, my boy. The duty and obligation of your position are quite clear and your personal wishes must be laid aside.”

“Very well,” Kenneth ground out, defeated. He knew his uncle’s words to be true enough, but had somehow avoided considering the idea that he would have to take a wife until that very moment.

“I suppose you don’t have a young lady in mind? I mean, someone of the correct standing, of course?” Roger delicately skirted the subject of the actresses and ballet dancers that Kenneth had taken up with in the past, none of which would make a suitable Duchess of Rutherford.

“No, there is no one.” Thank Providence, Kenneth added mentally. He guarded his affections quite fiercely, and deliberately kept company only with unsuitable women that he could not be expected to marry. If his hand was indeed to be forced, at least he might still wed a woman he did not love, thereby keeping her safe.

“That’s fine, that’s no obstacle at all,” Roger sounded distinctly relieved. “In fact, I have an excellent suggestion in place for you. Do you recall how much time you spent as a boy at the Earl of Warwick’s home? I do believe you were there very nearly as much as you were here after – well, after your dear mother passed away.”

Kenneth’s heart gave an involuntary leap at his uncle’s question. The Earl of Warwick’s estate had been his refuge after that horrible night, the only place that he felt safe for years. He had often reflected that if it had not been for that haven he might have been utterly lost.

The Earl and his lovely wife had been kind, welcoming him and encouraging him to visit as often as he liked. Kenneth had been shy around Lady Warwick as her motherly affection, though well-intentioned, had reminded him too painfully of the loss of his own mother. The Earl’s daughters Louisa, Selina, and Tereza, although very sweet, had been so vivacious and energetic that in his grief he felt he had nothing in common with them. It had been gentle little Charlotte Warwick who had drawn Kenneth back to visit time and again. He could picture her now, with perfect clarity, seeing her in his mind’s eye as she had been then – the angel of his tortured childhood. She demanded nothing, content to give him the simple yet vital gift of her uncomplicated presence.

Her dress and hair had always been tidy and simple, as unassuming as she herself was, although she was forever absentmindedly letting her spectacles slip down the slender bridge of her nose as she buried her face in a book. He used to slide them up into place for her, just for the reward of her sudden, brilliant smile.

They would spend hours at a time in the library, reading, perfectly content to be silent together. Other people would try to coax Kenneth to speak of his sorrow, but even at a very young age, Charlotte delicately sensed that it was too great for him to put into words. Instead she had simply offered him her favorite books, first asking him to read aloud to her, then later reading to him in turn, teaching him the life-long lesson that he could always find solace between the covers of a fine story. There had been many times in the intervening years that he really thought he might have gone mad but for that escape. Gradually he had been able to speak to her of more than just the stories they enjoyed together. He had never told her that he was certain his father had killed his mother, but that had been the only thing he held back. It would have made it too real to say the words aloud, and besides, he had not wanted to burden her with that horror. He had been able to tell her, though, how much he loved and missed his mother, how much it pained him to spend time in the company of his father, even of the nightmares that plagued him so consistently. She had been his constant companion, his confidant, the only light he could find in those dark times.

Unbidden, a memory rose before him, unfolding as if for the first time.

“Kenneth! I thought I would certainly be here long before you this morning. How long have you been sitting here?” Charlotte spoke with a slight lisp due to the gaps of several missing teeth. Her nose was sprinkled with tiny freckles, much to her mother’s chagrin, because they had been spending so much of the summer outdoors together. Kenneth’s mother had been dead for two years, and the lively horror he had felt for so long was finally dying down into a cold, permeating numbness.

“I couldn’t sleep in my bed last night,” Kenneth confessed, unashamed to speak to Charlotte of a weakness that he would have vehemently denied to anyone else. “I had my nightmare over and over, almost every time I closed my eyes. I finally just slipped out and came to sit in our spot, and then I fell asleep almost right away.”

Charlotte ducked down to join him in the shade beneath the low-hanging branches of their favorite weeping willow tree.

“It must have been an adventure to sleep out of doors,” she said admiringly. “No wonder your nightmare couldn’t find you, with the willow guarding your dreams and the stars shining down on you.”

“Do you think that my mother can look down on me too?” wondered Kenneth, fixing his eyes on her sweet face as if she held all of the answers in the universe.

“She must be able to,” Charlotte answered slowly and seriously, giving the matter great consideration. “I’ve thought about it, you know, and I don’t think she would let anything stand in the way of being able to see you sometimes, just to make sure you were growing strong. It must hurt her to see that you are so unhappy, though.”

“I’m not so terribly unhappy whenever I’m with you,” Kenneth pointed out. “So she must see that and be thankful that I have you for my friend. She must be looking after you, too, if she’s able to see me. But you know, the vicar told me that Mother is beyond all earthly sorrows and joys now. Maybe she doesn’t even remember that I ever existed.”

“I don’t believe the vicar knows half so much as he pretends to. I heard Father complaining that he just repeats the same three ideas over and over without even thinking what they mean,” Charlotte stated indignantly. “You mustn’t listen to him, Kenneth. He’s just a moldy old…” she trailed off helplessly.

“You’re terrible at calling people names,” Kenneth observed with a quick grin. “I don’t believe you have any unkindness in your whole entire body.”

“That’s what Louisa says, too. I can’t help it, I really do want to call the vicar something dreadful for putting that awful thought into your head, but you know, he must have thought he was comforting you. I don’t believe he meant to make you sad. Louisa would be able to think of deliciously spiteful things to call him, but I just can’t.”

“Well, I like you better than Louisa,” Kenneth said with staunch loyalty. “I like you better than anyone in the whole world.”

 That had been just the problem, Kenneth reflected, blinking back to the present day but still quite lost in thought, even his uncle’s presence forgotten for the moment. He had like Charlotte better than anyone, and as they had grown older he had realized that his fondness for her could easily put her in harm’s way, should his father’s violent and jealous tendencies have indeed been passed on through the blood.

He had cut off all contact with her, abruptly ending the friendship that had sustained him for so long. It was unkind, and he knew that she was deeply grieved and puzzled by his actions, but it was better by far that her feelings be temporarily wounded than her light be extinguished forever. He had loathed the idea that she would one day fall in love with someone and marry, but that was a small price to pay for the assurance of her safety. He had resolved then to never marry, to never open himself up to the possibility of loving any woman. It had been easy to stand firm on that decision, despite the affection that so many women lavished on him, for no woman had ever given him the same sense of comfort and well-being.

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Chapter 1

Elesmere Estate, England, 1813

“What do you mean it’s all gone, Father?”

“I mean, my dear, all of the money, the un-entailed lands, the horses, the carriage, the servants, it is all gone.” Emma watched in horror as her father, the Earl of Elesmere, a man she had always revered as a giant among men, hung his head in shame.

She looked around his study where they now sat, a room that as a child she had always felt was magical. She had spent hours contemplating if the fox escaped the hunters in the painting of the English countryside that hung on the wall behind her father’s desk, or how it was the fire always seemed to be stoked in the hearth when she had never seen a servant in the room.

She had sat under his large mahogany desk and listened as he conducted business with his man of affairs or tenants on their land. When the men left, she would pop out and ask her father what it meant that the wheat crop was weak one year. Or how many bales of hay were needed to keep the horses in the stables fed. The Earl would smile and answer each of her questions no matter how complicated, or how busy he was. Yet, that was a long time ago, Emma thought. That was before mother…

“How could it all be gone father? What happened?” She sank into the oversized leather chair that sat opposite the hearth and faced her father at his desk. Papers that were usually piled high waiting for her father’s review or signature, were scattered along the top, some dropping carelessly to the floor.

“Oh Emma, my sweet girl. I have been so reckless,” he said still unable to look her in the eye. “I’ve made a horrible mess of things, and I’m afraid you will be made to suffer for my mistakes.”

“What do you mean, father?” She asked. “How will I be made to suffer? You are speaking in riddles.”

“I fell into a deep despair, when your mother died,” he said.

“I know, Father,” Emma replied with condolence.

“I made foolish decisions, gave up so much. I gambled with our funds, not for any true love of sport, but rather thinking I would make our little corner of England so grand. I would make your mother proud.”

“But Father, everything in our little corner of England is fine just the way it is.”

“Yes, it was indeed,” he said, rising and walking over to Emma, taking her hands in his own. He looked at her as if she were a ghost, and not the flesh and blood daughter that sat right before him. “And it will be again soon,” he said. “Were your mother alive, she would have not allowed me to do what I have done. I know, however, that she would be pleased with how I have been able to fix it. You too should be very pleased, though knowing you as I do daughter, it will take you some time to see how good this is for you, as well as for our family.”

“Father, please tell me what is going on,” she replied. It was unlike him to be so affectionate with her. It was far more common for her father to treat her with a cool aloof air. Emma thought hard for the last time her father had comforted her. It was certainly not often in the five years since her mother’s death.

“It would have been so much worse were I forced into a debtor’s prison. Our name and status lost with no one to care for you. But I have fixed it. I hope you will see it was my only option.” He was speaking rapidly and in riddles, repeating himself over and over with no true explanation. If Emma did not know it was her father in front of her, she would have thought she was speaking to a crazed man, daft, and perhaps under the influence of some unknown substance.

“Now you truly are terrifying me.” Emma searched her father’s face for some clue as to what he was talking about. It was hard enough to accept that he had gambled away the family money and properties. Although Emma was sure there was a bad investment or two in his ledger as well. Since losing her mother she knew her father’s despair had been great, and Emma had long feared that he kept company with an unsavory gentleman or two from time to time. Yet, until this moment she never thought her father foolish enough to squander their living.

Even though her father was an Earl, they did not have much in way of funds that were not entailed as part of the Earldom. Emma did not know the exact amount. As a lady it never occurred to her to ask. They lived comfortably enough, if simply.

Of course, Emma had new gowns from time to time, in order to stay fashionable, but only for their country entertaining. Since she rarely went to town, and never had a Season, clothing wasn’t her highest priority. She had even forgone spending her pin money on ribbons and other adornments, opting instead to use her time and resources to help those in need in the neighboring farms and villages.

They had lands to keep up and a few tenants, but nothing as grand as her father’s closest friend, the Duke of Drysdale who had more land, tenants, and investment than Emma thought decent for one family.

“Emma, darling, there is no need to be terrified,” he said. “All will be well. We will have the funds we need to keep the creditors at bay, and you will be positioned to be one of the most influential women in all of England. Wasn’t that always your dream, Emma, to enrapture the ton with your charms, marry well, and be a woman of means and substance?”

“Father, I was a child. Certainly, you don’t think I still crave those childish dreams.” Emma knew where the conversation was headed, and dread filled her, realizing her father had done the unthinkable.

“Those dreams are not childish at all. It’s what all women should want for themselves, what all fathers want for their daughters, and the match I have made for you will be the success to rival all other successes.”

“The match?”

“The Duke of Drysdale and I have spoken in great length about the matter. His son is in need of a wife. A wife who is accomplished and able to move in the right political circles.”

No, he could not possibly mean…

“Father, you wouldn’t—”

“Darling, you and Blackmoor were friends in childhood, there is a reasonable expectation that you will make a superb match. The Duke is prepared to pay off all of the debt. Of course, some of the property will not be able to be reclaimed, but the estate can go on. It really is what is best for everyone involved.”

Emma’s head began to spin. She got up and moved to the sideboard where she knew her father kept the good French brandy. She needed some kind of fortification.

She then recalled the last time she had seen him, Lord Blackmoor. So long ago now, and then she remembered that he had annoyed her.

She shuddered as the memory came rushing back to her. No. Not him.

“I won’t do it,” she said pouring herself what she thought might be just enough brandy to make their conversation more palatable. “You can’t mean to sell me off to the highest bidder as if I were chattel. And to Lord Henry Blackmoor of all people. I refuse.”

“I’m afraid you cannot refuse my dear. The paperwork is signed, and the money has changed hands. As we speak the Duke is in London to secure a special license.”

“A special license? Why must this rush if it has to happen at all?”

“The Duke is eager to see his only son secured and married—”

“And you needed the funds,” she finished. Her father moved toward her and took the brandy from her hand finishing the drink in one swallow.

Emma opened her mouth, willing an argument that would sway her father to come out, but there was nothing. He was in dire straits and she was the solution. She would have to marry the one man in England she swore she would never. If she were not so upset, she was sure she would find a divine humor in their situation.

“So that’s it then,” she said. “It has been decided and I have no say?”

“You and Blackmoor will be married at the end of the week. It is your duty, daughter, and I’m sure you will make the best of it.”

Chapter 2

Blackmoor Townhouse, Mayfair, England 1813

 If there was anything that Lord Henry Blackmoor, the Marquess of Dunberry, despised above all else, it was a lack of discipline and order. He kept his life and his home in town in perfect functioning order, with his servants chosen specifically based on their reputation and ability to keep his home in the exact order and position he preferred. His valet, Cecil, while a little more outspoken and jolly than Henry would like, understood that Henry wanted his dress to be impeccable, and for him to execute his position flawlessly. Henry often thought that Cecil Agar may be the single best valet in all of England.

His cook, Mrs. Treacher, understood dinner was always to be served precisely at eight, it was to be five courses, and pudding was only for holiday occasions. His butler, Charleston, understood that guests were only to be admitted during fashionable hours, with the proper card and announcement. Everything in his life was planned, ordered, and that was exactly how he liked it.

Shaking off the rain as he came in from a meeting with his solicitor to go over an investment that his good friend Westfield recommended, Henry pulled off his Beaver hat and his long blue great coat.

“Charleston, how goes the afternoon?” He looked at his watch, as Charleston took the offered items. Three p.m., exactly one hour until tea. Henry was peckish, but not so much that he could not wait until the proper tea time.

“Very good, sir,” Charleston replied. “Except your father is here, My Lord, waiting for you in the study.”

He gave his butler a quizzical look.

In the study? Charleston knew that Henry always received guests in the main parlor.

“Yes, sir, I tried to move him into the parlor, but His Grace insisted he would be more comfortable in your study.”

Henry nodded, as much as it perturbed him, he understood there was no way the butler could argue with the Duke. He made his way toward the study, wondering what in the world could draw his father away from his country estate to Mayfair. Surely, he was not on his way to London already. Parliament was not scheduled to begin for another two weeks, therefore the Season was not yet in full swing. Knowing his father’s desire to see and be seen, he would have expected him at the beginning of April – and not a moment earlier.

“And to what, pray tell, do I owe this honor, Father?” Seeing his father sitting at his desk, going through his ledgers, without any notice of him, was unsettling to say the least.

“Ahh, Blackmoor, I thought you would be back just before tea. Shall we have that man of yours bring us refreshments?” His father made no move to stand, and Henry knew he would be sitting in one of the fine leather chairs that faced his desk rather than behind the mahogany himself. He ran a hand through his jet-black hair in frustration.

“Tea is served at four, father. Charleston will bring it then and not a moment earlier.”

“Always so punctual,” his father replied, shaking his head.

Henry had to bite his tongue to hold back sharp words for the man. Instead, he simply nodded. There was no room for spontaneity in his life, and that was how he preferred it.

His parents were the exact opposite. Growing up at the country manse was a nightmare of never-ending excess for Henry. There were hunting parties, soirees, country balls, with endless guests and talks over drinks. His mother loved sherry, claret, and brandy and was never one to stop at overindulgence. His father enjoyed his port, cigars, and political maneuvering with other peers of the realm. There was never a quiet space or moment for Henry to pursue his own interests or passions. He was frequently paraded out on display, as the heir to the Dukedom.

He had had enough of that life as a child. Now, at nearly thirty, he was in charge of how he lived his life and there was no way he would allow chaos to rule. Except as the heir, and without a legitimate younger brother to act as the spare, his father was still very much in control of Henry. He was able to forget most of time as he stayed in town. But, seeing his father sitting at his desk, confident in his own authority, served as a sobering reminder.

“Why are you here, Father? Parliament does not sit for another two weeks. Surely you don’t have business in town before Season. Most of the ton is still quite ensconced in the country.”

“Actually, I’m not here for Parliament,” Drysdale replied. “I am here for you.” His father smiled in a way that made Henry scowl.

“For me? Whatever for?” There was something in his father’s eyes, an emotion Henry could not name, and he did not trust it, not one bit.

“My boy, it’s high time you married—” He held up a hand to stop Henry before he had an opportunity to object. “Before you say a single word, you need to understand we are in a politically precarious position. Loringham is in position to oppose every bill I put before the House of Lords this session, and with that fresh new young wife of his, he is sure to be the most sought after invitation of Season. And, with your mother gone, God rest her soul, and no one to host, you have a duty to secure a match not only for the success of our family line, but for the success of your future position as the Duke of Drysdale.”

“So, what is it you propose, Your Grace? That I spend the Season sorting through the new, young debutantes to select a proper bride?” Henry let out a long breath. He hated when his father spoke of honor and duty.

“No, no, no, my boy,” his father laughed. “We don’t have time for you to make the rounds among the young beauties and wallflowers. You need to be wed before the Season begins.”

Before the Season? That was less than two weeks. What on earth was his father thinking? He knew he would have to marry eventually. Still he was shocked by the urgency of his father’s pronouncement.

“Father there is no way. Why the devil are you in such a sudden rush?”

“Rush? It is well past time. I have let you dally in town long enough, not that you have used it to your advantage. You spend all of your time with that boring and overly studious Baron Westfield, the two of you playing with your trains. It’s a waste.”

“It’s not a waste father. And we don’t play. If Westfield’s inventor friend from America is right, the development of his new, more efficient steam engine will change travel as we know it throughout England. There can be much money to be made by getting in on the investment early.”

“Yes, yes, but you are rarely at White’s and I have it on good authority that you have not visited the theater, or the actresses of Covent Garden, not once the whole of this year? You are not living for enjoyment at all. So, it is indeed a waste. The ton is not interested in steam engines. There is no influence in that. You need a wife, and a life, one that makes our friends and rivals envious.”

Henry rolled his eyes. Of course, his father’s idea of success would be based in gambling, and pleasure palaces. It wasn’t that Henry didn’t enjoy the finer pleasures, it was just that he saw securing the future of his legacy, as well as the benefits to England as a whole, as a much more important priority. He had no need of his father’s club, or the theater.

“Father, clearly we see things differently. If you don’t want me to meet a potential bride during the season, what is it exactly that you have in mind?”

“I have already secured a match,” his father said, smiling broadly in a manner Henry thought would be best suited on a cat that had caught a mouse – and was thrilled with the idea of toying with it before he made it his dinner. “A completely charming girl, you are lucky you have a father like me who knows what is best for you, at least in a wife. She is lovely, blond and fair, a true English rose. She has not been out in society, and so a marriage would certainly set the ton’s tongues wagging, thus securing an invite to any event. The two of you would be the talk of London.”

“And who is this paragon of a bride, Father?”

Henry searched his brain but could not fathom where his father would have found such a girl. He feared that any woman his father thought of as a perfect match would be the worst kind of match for him.

“Why, who else, but our dear Lady Emma Thornton, the Earl of Elesmere’s beautiful, unwed, and accomplished daughter.”

Henry thought he must have misheard.

“Lady Emma Thornton? Surely you jest—” Henry tried to keep his tone even as he got up and paced the room. It would do no good for him to lose his temper with his father, but surely the old man was daft. “You mean to have me marry someone who I’ve known my whole life to be nothing but a flighty, vapid, girl? How is that anything close to a good match?”. An image of Lady Emma the last time he saw her flashed through his mind. A gangly sort of girl, who did not like to take direction and who had no respect at all for order. They would not suit at all. Clearly his father could see that. Besides he had not even been in the same room as Lady Emma in almost ten years. They had never spoken as adults, not danced, nor taken walks in the gardens. He would be marrying a complete stranger.

“I do not jest! And you will marry the Thornton chit. She is perfect for our purposes, and there is no need to discuss this further!”

Henry flinched. His father’s forceful tone put him on edge. He rarely heard his father issue an edict, but this was different. He had to come up with a way not to marry the Thornton girl. Yet, Henry was not accustomed to shirking his responsibilities.

Perhaps she will refuse me? Yes, surely the girl had not desired to be forced into a marriage, even if it was to a Marquess who was heir to a Dukedom?

“And what if Lady Emma says no?”

“She will not say no,” the Earl said, clasping his hands in front of himself and gently clapping them together, reminding Henry very much of one of the villains in the horribly dramatic gothic novels Cecil was forever reading and laying about. Not that Henry read the dreadful things, much anyway. “It was the Earl who came to me. It seems my good friend had lost a great deal of money, all of it in fact, and needed some assistance. That was when I caught a glimpse of Lady Emma and my plan…er… idea, yes, my idea began to take shape. You are in want of an accomplished wife, and she is an accomplished lady in need of a husband.”

“So, you bought her? Bloody hell, father.” This time Henry did not even try to keep the shock from his tone. His father had bought him a bride, unbelievable.

“Henry, really, such language. I did not buy her. I merely helped a friend out of an untenable situation, and he offered to make an advantageous match by way of thanking me.”

“This is really the edge of reason, father. I cannot be party to…to whatever it is you are planning.”

“I have already secured a special license,” the Duke replied. “Think of Lady Emma, should you refuse to do your duty and marry her, the scandal sheets would find out about the license and she will be ruined. You know our society is much harsher on women, and it will be thought that she did something to earn your disfavor. You will marry her. You must marry her. We will ride to the manse first thing in the morning.”

As if on cue, the clock in the corner of Henry’s study chimed the four o’clock hour and Charleston entered the room carrying a tray laden with afternoon tea. Henry could not move, nor could he muster the strength to say another word.

His father was right, it was too late. If he refused to marry Lady Emma he did not doubt the Duke would release the information about the special license to the scandal sheets himself, as a means of punishment for Henry’s defiance. He could not allow the girl to be ruined. He would do his duty and ride out for the country after tea as his father commanded.

He looked over at his loyal butler and nodded his thanks for the tea.

“Charleston, please tell Cecil to prepare a valise. We are leaving for the country at first light.”

Henry could have sworn he saw the old butler’s eyebrows raise in question, but as quick as the look arrived it was gone, and Charleston was once again the very face of propriety.

“Yes, My Lord,” he said as he nodded and left the room. Henry turned to his father. Wishing there were any way he could avoid the trap the old man had set.

“I will marry the girl, but mark my words, it will be under duress,” he said.

“My boy, by the end of the Season you will be thanking me for making such a fortuitous match,” his father replied. “Now, I’m famished, let’s eat.”

Henry found that despite the hour, his appetite had left him completely.

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Chapter 1

Jane could see the church spire out of the window. The public house was on the same road as the quaint little church in Swadlincote, and the church bells were practically ringing in Jane’s ears. It was such a beautiful day, but the sounds of the bells through the open window made Jane furious.

This shouldn’t be happening. Three months after the proposal, and she had hoped that Ian would see sense and break things off with Anna Day. Jane had been hoping for her brother-in-law to realize what he was doing was ridiculous. He couldn’t marry her, surely?

But he was. In just a couple of hours, Ian would be marrying the twice-widowed, mother-in-law of the Earl of Derby. Jane felt nauseous at the thought.

She growled at the sound of the bells and spun away, resuming her pacing across her bedroom. Seated on the bed, Rachel groaned and put her hands to her head.

“For goodness sake, Jane, would you stop pacing around? This room is small enough and you’re making me queasy.”

“Then don’t look at me, Rachel,” Jane snapped.

“How can I not when you’re right in front of me?”

“Then turn and look at the wall or leave the room.”

Jane carried on pacing. She couldn’t bring herself to sit down. Every time she tried, her body just kept trembling, so Jane had to keep moving. Her night had been sleepless, as she tossed and turned. It had driven Rachel mad and she had ended up prodding Jane very hard in the side before she managed to settle down. Now, being confined in her room so she didn’t run into any of the Harrison family didn’t help matters. Jane wanted to confront Ian and Anna at the wedding. She did not want to be steered away beforehand.

Selfish? Yes. But Jane felt justified. This anger had been building for a while.

Rachel sighed and lowered her hands. “Come on, Jane, please? You need to stop, take a deep breath and calm down.”

Jane swung around and glared at her friend. Rachel had insisted on coming with her, and Jane had reluctantly agreed. She couldn’t go gallivanting around the country without a chaperone, and Jane would prefer her closest friend than her elderly mother or one of the servants. Her mother would certainly not let her go, and the servants would follow so close to the point of stepping on her dress. At least Rachel would be able to go along with her.

Then again, from the way Rachel had been talking during their journey to Derbyshire and through most of the previous evening, and again this morning, she was certainly not going along with Jane’s plan. If anything, she was in staunch opposition to it.

“You’re fussing over something really silly,” Rachel protested. “Besides, the wedding has nothing to do with you.”

Jane stared at her. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Nothing to do with me?” she repeated. “Did you really just say that?”

“Well, it doesn’t.”

“My brother-in-law is getting married this afternoon to a woman who has had two husbands die on her already! How can I let that go on good conscience? How do we know Ian’s not going to become dead husband number three?”

Even as she said it, Jane could feel herself cringing inwardly. The more she complained to Rachel, the more Jane was beginning to think that Rachel might be right. She was being a stupid little fool over something that really had nothing to do with her.

Maybe that’s what Rachel was trying to do, turn her around and make her realize what she was doing. Well, it wasn’t going to work. Jane had to stiffen her spine. She had to save Ian.

Rachel sighed and rose to her feet. “Jane, we’ve been over this several times. Anna Day divorced her first husband, which I consider a miracle nowadays…”

“There’s nothing miraculous about her!”

Rachel held up a hand. “That first husband, an odious man, was murdered by her second husband, who was hanged for the murders he committed on the Earl of Derby’s estate. They didn’t die because of her, and she certainly didn’t have a hand in it.”

Jane knew that. She had gone into Society to find out whatever she could about Anna Day. There were quite a few rumors going around, but the general consensus was that Anna Day was simply unfortunate with choosing the right man. Several of the older generation wanted to find a bit more drama, make it more than it was, but the more level-headed people believed that Anna was finally finding love. Ian Harrison was a well-respected gentleman considering his title of Viscount, and a widower who was finally remarrying. Not even his son’s previous discretions could change that.

It felt like no matter what Anna Day did, she always landed on her feet. And now she had captured a Viscount. Well, Jane was not about to let that happen.

“It doesn’t matter if they died because of her. It doesn’t set a good tone for anyone.” Jane kicked at the bed, the hard wood jarring her foot, and then stormed back to the window. “She’s bad luck. I don’t know what Ian sees in her.”

“Perhaps she’s a decent person who makes him smile every day, something to look forward to in the day?” Rachel snorted. “You’re only sore about this because he’s marrying someone who isn’t you.”

Jane gritted her teeth. Rachel had to hit far too close to the mark. She was good at that. Rubbing her arms, Jane stared out of the window at the church on the other side of the trees.

“I love him, Rachel,” she said. “And yet he proposes to that woman?”

“Jane, you’re younger than his own children. How can he marry someone who’s been family since they were born?”

“I bet she put a spell on him.”

Rachel let out a frustrated growl that made Jane jump. Rachel placed her hands on her hips, and scowled at her friend.

“Why don’t you just grow up, Jane? Have you ever heard yourself? You’re the most level-headed person I know, but when it comes to Viscount Harrison, you’re all over the place. It’s like you’ve been put under a spell yourself.”

“Rachel…”

“What would you say to someone in your position?” Rachel demanded. “If someone was obsessed with a gentleman and were planning to disrupt his wedding in an attempt to make him see her for the first time and that he’d had love in front of him all this time, what would you say to her?”

“I would tell her that she can’t change a person’s mind like that and it’s best to let it go.” Jane shook her head. “This is different, Rachel.”

“It’s not different at all!” Rachel shouted. She stopped, took a deep breath and let it out slowly, lowering her voice to a more level tone. “You are not stopping this wedding to make yourself feel better, Jane. If anything, you’re going to make yourself look a complete fool.”

“I can make my objections about the wedding. What’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong with it is that people in Society are going to be there, and word will get around that you’re an unstable lady who needs to be locked away for your own good.” Rachel gestured at Jane. “What do you think your parents are going to think about this? Your mother is going to be distraught over your actions. You know that. She isn’t a strong woman.”

That did give Jane pause. Her mother was not in the best of health, being of old age, and Jane did worry that she was going to wake up one day and hear her mother had died in the night. Which was why she had never said a thing about her feelings after the initial frustrations over Ian’s engagement. Her mother had simply told her to stop being so silly over something she couldn’t control and move on.

Jane couldn’t move on. At least, she couldn’t yet.

Rachel folded her arms and snorted. “So, you’d happily embarrass your brother-in-law and his family by barging into a wedding you haven’t been invited to and declare that Viscount Harrison shouldn’t marry a twice-widowed woman because of what? You don’t like the fact that you’re not the bride?”

Jane bared her teeth at her friend. “You’re not helping, Rachel.”

“I didn’t come here to help you embarrass a big crowd of people, including yourself.”

“Then why did you come at all?”

Rachel’s jaw tightened. “Because I didn’t want to see my closest friend become a laughing stock. You needed someone to tell you what you’re doing is wrong, and you often talk to me. At least, you talk, and I listen. How about listening to me for once?”

Jane didn’t know what to say to that. The other lady was right. She needed to take a step back and take a look at the bigger picture. From the bigger picture Rachel had created, the general opinion was that it was a happy occasion for two people who needed some good luck into their lives. But Jane didn’t like that picture. She wanted to see something different.

“I’m going to see if we can have something to eat. I’m hungry.” Rachel headed towards the door. “Don’t you dare go anywhere.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Rachel snorted and left the room, closing the door sharply behind her.

#

Alexander headed down the aisle of the church and behind the altar into the private area where the vicar had his private office and the vestry. His uncle had arrived at the church earlier to get ready, along with his sons David and Geoffrey. Alexander had seen both of his cousins in the churchyard with their wives, their various children running around playing. The vicar stood with Geoffrey’s wife Sarah talking and didn’t appear to be concerned about the scene.

Alexander smiled at the sight. He liked children. He was the fun uncle who would do silly things with them and be a bit of a fool. They liked someone who didn’t stick to the restricted rules of Society and Alexander couldn’t remember the last time he followed the rules without slipping within the hour.

His parents had asked him about when he was going to finally settle down and have children, but Alexander always dodged the questions. He would like children at some point, but he wasn’t about to slip up and get a woman pregnant. No woman should have to be married to him with his reputation, and he wasn’t about to make his parents happy.

It was just easier to stay a bachelor and have fun, even if it meant being the bane of his family’s lives.

Waving to his cousins, Alexander headed into the church and towards the vestry. When he was getting ready that morning, he hadn’t expected to receive a note from his uncle asking him to meet him before the wedding as he had something important to discuss. It could have meant anything, and Alexander had no idea what Ian could be talking about. As far as he was aware, he and Ian had a good relationship. Ian was more tolerant of his rakish lifestyle, and kept his opinions to himself.

Still, Alexander wondered what he had done.

The vestry door was closed, so Alexander knocked.

“Come in.”

Alexander entered and found his uncle standing in front of a huge mirror that was on the inside of a wardrobe door. Ian Harrison had gone more silver-haired over the last few months, and it looked good. Alexander had always admired how Ian managed to look more dapper the older he got. Apart from a few lines around his mouth and eyes, his uncle could easily have been much younger. The jacket that his valet was adjusting fitted him well, and Ian seemed to look several inches taller. Alexander stood for a moment in the doorway to observe him.

He never thought Ian would marry again and yet here he was, the happiest Alexander had seen in a while.

Ian caught sight of him in the mirror and turned, smiling at his nephew. “Alexander. Come on in. Close the door behind you.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

Alexander did as he was told and approached the older man. Ian turned back to the mirror and the valet brushed his shoulders down.

“Think this will do?”

Alexander chuckled. “Very fetching. You’ll certainly make the ladies envious of Anna.”

“There’s only one lady I want to impress today, and that is the future Viscountess Harrison.”

“I’m sure,” Alexander drawled.

Ian elbowed him in the stomach, which caught Alexander off-guard. Ian chuckled and went to a dresser under the window leaving Alexander rubbing his stomach.

“I wish you would stop doing that. I’m not a child anymore.”

“Then behave yourself.” Ian glanced over his shoulder. “Nice to see you’ve brushed up as well.”

“Hey!” Alexander looked down at his dark jacket and cream-colored breeches. “I always make sure I scrub up for weddings.”

“I know you do, seeing as you’ve been to several in the last three years.” Ian paused. “If only you could do that with your life in Society.”

Alexander sighed. He was not doing this now.

“If you brought me in here to chastise me about how I conduct myself…”

“I didn’t. Not on my wedding day. And I’m not your father.” Ian turned and leaned against the dresser. “I’ve actually got a task for you. It might mean you miss the wedding, but I feel this is something I can entrust to you.”

Now Alexander was confused and intrigued. He was being entrusted with something? His own parents never did that, saying that he was irresponsible with his lifestyle, so he had to be irresponsible with everything else. He was curious.

“Go on, Uncle.”

“You know about my sister-in-law, Jane Malcolm? I think you might have met her in the past at my home in Ireland.”

Alexander did remember Jane. A petite, blonde little thing with eyes that could entrance a gentleman if he looked long enough. Alexander had felt like that for a moment, until he realized what he was doing and backed away quickly. Jane Malcolm had been far too dangerous to get involved with, as far as he was concerned. Besides, she had been more interested in fawning over Ian. She certainly did seem to adore her brother-in-law.

“She’s the sister-in-law who’s about my age, isn’t she?”

“She is. The surprise baby.” Ian sighed running his hand through his hair. “She would visit us regularly in Ireland until a little after Elizabeth died. At that point, I realized that she was showing me adoration that was a little more than comfortable. She was fifteen. A child. I was old enough to be her father, and she looked at me like I was her knight.”

“I remember that part. I thought it was a little odd.” Alexander spread his hands. “I thought it was simply because she had lost her sister and you had lost your wife. The three of you were close and she wanted someone to hang onto.”

“She had her parents for that, not me. So, I told her it was best she didn’t visit for a while.”

“I bet that went well.”

Ian snorted. “It certainly didn’t. I allowed her to come to our place in London over Christmas as my sons liked her company and they were the same age, but I kept myself at arm’s length.”

“Now you’re getting married and Jane’s objecting to it.”

“From what my family has been telling me and what I’ve gleaned from people of the ton, she’s been going around asking questions and trying to get someone to speak badly of me. She gets what she wants from the old bats, but that’s about it.” Ian sighed and folded his arms. “I don’t know where she thought our relationship was going to go, but I could never see her as a wife. She’s a little sister to me. That isn’t going to change because she wants it to. I’ve received several letters from her over the last few months since I proposed to Anna, and they’re not exactly kind letters.”

“Sounds like she’s lost her mind.” Alexander murmured, but he could see where this was going. “And you want me to steer her away if I see her anywhere around.”

Ian nodded. “I know it’s not exactly something you do, but my sons are in my wedding party, and I can’t have them distracted. Not when my daughters-in-laws are both expecting.”

“So instead, you make your nephew the sacrificial lamb.” Alexander grunted. “Charming.”

“Alexander.”

Alexander looked up. Ian was looking at him intently. It made Alexander want to step back. His uncle was an easygoing man, but he was hard when he wanted to be. After having to accept that one of his sons was a killer who was thus shipped off to the other side of the world last year, it was a wonder he could smile again.

“Your father is constantly telling me that you don’t accept responsibility, that you think everything’s a game.” Ian’s eyes never left Alexander’s face. “I want to prove him wrong. I want you to show him, and me, that you can be responsible. Prove to him that you can do what we ask of you.”

“By steering your former sister-in-law away from disrupting your wedding.”

“I know you don’t really like weddings. So, you can be my personal bodyguard.” Ian pointed at him. “I’m entrusting you with this.”

Chapter 2

That did make Alexander feel a little better. He loved most of his family, and he liked to see them as much as he could, but his grandparents and his parents were driving him mad. They would constantly pester him about settling down like everyone else, and that frustrated Alexander. Weddings were the worst because Alexander felt cornered, especially when the younger children made a beeline for him.

At least this got out of him standing beside his mother with her and his grandmother poking him in the sides and telling him it should be him next. This was the sixth wedding in three years, and it was getting worse.

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything.” Ian pushed off the dresser and approached him. “I’ll allow your lack of attendance to slide because I need you to do this. I want you to promise me that you won’t let Jane Malcolm into the church. I’ll make sure you get rewarded handsomely for this.”

“I don’t want a money for this, Uncle.” Alexander grinned. “How about a summer at your home instead? You know I love it there.”

Ian chuckled. “I know you do. Still, I do have a reward that has nothing to do with money. I have an empty cottage on my estate, close to the beach. Needs a bit of fixing up, but it’s a good enough dwelling. You do this for me, and that can be your wedding present.”

Not him as well. Alexander scoffed. “As if I’m going to get married.”

“Well, the only lady who’s crossing the threshold will be your wife. It won’t be turned into a love nest for you. You do that, and I take it from you.”

“So, it comes with a stipulation as well.”

Ian sighed, then he reached out and hugged Alexander.

“Show that you can be a man and not a little boy for once in your life, Alexander. I know you can easily do that. There are rewards at the end.” Leaning back, he asked, “Will you do this for me or not?”

Alexander was tempted to tell his uncle to shove it. After he heard the stipulations to the cottage, he should have said no and that he wouldn’t be forced into marriage. But Ian was giving him a chance to show that he could be relied upon, something his parents lamented about. They thought he amounted to nothing and were trying to force him into the right direction, and it wasn’t working. He didn’t want his uncle to do the same thing.

Still, this was a favor for Ian Harrison, a gentleman who had more faith in him than anyone else. Alexander was willing to do anything for his favorite uncle, no matter what he asked. Even making sure a jilted woman didn’t come bursting in while the bride and groom were making their vows.

#

Jane stood under the overhanging branches of a tree and watched the church doors. She had been watching the guests go inside, chattering away happily. Children were running around screaming with laughter. Jane even saw Ian’s sons, David and Geoffrey, greeting the guests. Everyone was smiling and looked so happy.

The more she watched, the more Jane realized that she was being a fool. This was getting ridiculous. As Jane played everything over in her mind, everything she had heard over the last few months, Jane was beginning to notice how obsessed she had become and how pathetic she was being. Over a gentleman she had known practically all her life.

As a young girl, Jane had imagined what it would be like to be Elizabeth. To marry a man like Ian Harrison. But that had all blown up in her face. She was longing for something that would never happen, and Jane had refused to see it.

Now she stood watching the guests go into the church, and she saw Anna Day coming up the path with her daughter and David Harrison’s wife as her attendants. They all looked gorgeous in their beautiful dresses. Anna looked absolutely radiant with such a beaming smile. She really was a handsome lady.

She didn’t deserve any of this. Anna had lost two husbands through no fault of her own. Jane had thought it would be enough for Ian to run away, but he knew everything, and he was still there. The gentleman was loyal. Jane couldn’t fault him for that.

She was a stupid little girl who couldn’t let go of the past and now here she was, about to make a complete fool of herself. Was that really what she wanted?

No. It wasn’t. She shouldn’t have come here.

“I figured you might be out here.”

Jane gasped and spun around. A tall, slim gentleman with dark hair was standing by the church wall. Or rather, he was leaning against the wall with his hands behind him, watching her with a slightly lazy smile. He was wearing the wedding colors of the groom, his coloring was very similar to Ian’s. He even had flecks of silver at his temples despite his young age. This wasn’t one of Ian’s sons.

Then Jane remembered.

“You’re Ian’s nephew, aren’t you? Alexander?”

“That’s my name.” Alexander Harrison pushed off the wall and stepped towards her, ducking his head beneath the boughs. “Ready to disrupt the celebration, are we?”

Jane was about to give him a sharp retort when she saw his eyes. They were sapphire blue, piercing. They had Jane rooted to the spot and she couldn’t look away.

A slight tremble went through her body, her heart skipping a beat. Jane pushed it aside. She knew of Alexander’s reputation. He was a rake, a man not to be trusted and certainly not a man she should find attractive.

Attractive? She really had gone mad.

“I must warn you, Miss Malcom,” Alexander said as he looked down from his great height, “I’ve been advised to stop you from going inside, and I don’t want to have to manhandle you away from the church. That wouldn’t look good for either of us.”

“It’s Lady Jane, Mr. Harrison,” Jane said stiffly. “I am the daughter of an Earl.”

“My apologies.” Alexander gave her a slight bow. “My Lady.”

Jane glanced over her shoulder. The sound of the organ was coming out through the open doors, filling the churchyard with gay music. It left her with a slightly heavy heart as she turned back to Alexander.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to do anything. I…” She licked her lips and looked at the ground. “I was just standing here, watching everyone going in. It’s made me think a little more about things.”

Alexander was silent. Jane glanced up and found him watching her closely. She swallowed and resisted the urge to shuffle from foot to foot. Then Alexander said something that completely threw her.

“Would you like to talk?”

Talk? From what Jane remembered of Alexander Harrison, he wasn’t one to talk. He had fun with the children, who seemed to adore him, and he flirted a lot, but he wasn’t a person who talked. Nevertheless, he was holding a hand out to her with a slight smile. Even that smile made Jane go weak at the knees.

She shouldn’t touch him. If she did, Jane was going to make a fool of herself. Again. Even just being alone with him, like this could ruin her reputation. She looked around.

She finally reached for his hand. “Somewhere that’s not the churchyard? I don’t fancy being here when they come out.”

If they saw her, Jane knew there was going to be a scene. She had already made enough of a fuss; she didn’t want to do anything further.

“Of course.” Alexander grasped her hand. “Come on. I know a place where we can talk in private.”

Jane wasn’t sure about being alone with him. Someone could come along and find her alone with a rake. Then again, she had managed to sneak out of the public house’s back door without Rachel noticing, so proprieties had already gone out the window.

Jane followed Alexander out of a side gate and across a path. They headed through the trees and into a field. Jane didn’t even know this place was here. Just on the other side of the field was a stone bridge with the river running through. She could hear the sounds of the water from where she stood. With the blue sky and a deer prancing around on the other bank, it looked idyllic. Perfect even for the end of September.

Alexander went to where there were two large stones sticking out of the ground. One was low enough for Jane to sit on, which she did once Alexander settled against the other. Hands twisting in her lap, Jane looked around. Anywhere but at the gentleman in front of her.

“I love Ian.” She felt embarrassed saying that now. “I still do. But I think I’ve been fooling myself. I believed what I felt was a romantic kind of love, one that is between us. I thought if I kept coming back and showing how I felt to Ian that he would see me as the one he needed, someone who could mend his broken heart after my sister died.”

“And it didn’t happen,” Alexander said. “Because my uncle didn’t see you the same way.”

It was a mere statement, but his tone was not judgmental at all. But it still made Jane cringe.

“No, he didn’t. I’m only just beginning to realize that.” She ran her hands over her face. She wanted to cry over her own stupidity. “I’m such a fool. If I had gone in there and made a show of myself, I would have looked like I was completely insane. Word would have gotten around, and then I would have been a laughing stock. Mother and Father would have fits over it.”

Alexander stayed silent for a moment. When Jane looked up, he was watching her pensively. There was nothing in his expression that said he thought she was unstable. It made Jane want to cry even more. He was the first person in her life who had listened to her and not made any judgements.

“What made you change your mind?” Alexander asked.

“I…” Jane stood and began to pace. She couldn’t bring herself to sit still for long. “I’ve watched Ian with Anna Day over the last couple of months. He proposed to her just moments before I found him. And I’ve seen the way the two of them are together. It’s genuine affection, love for each other that you couldn’t hide. And I…” She swallowed. “I began to think that maybe I was wrong about her.”

“And yet, you still turned up.”

Jane flinched. “I was trying to keep myself angry. At Anna. At Ian. At anyone. Keep on with what I planned to do. And yet, I just couldn’t.” She briefly closed her eyes. “I couldn’t.”

“Maybe it’s for the best.” Alexander said quietly. “You wouldn’t have been able to recover from it had you gone in there.”

He was right, and Jane was just beginning to realize that herself. She opened her eyes and looked at him. His expression hadn’t changed.

“Have you ever made yourself a fool over a woman?”

“Never. I don’t believe in love.”

“You don’t?”

Alexander snorted. “Never have, never will. It may exist with some people, but I don’t believe it for myself.”

Jane was surprised when she heard his declaration. She had heard many things about those who were jaded by love, didn’t think it was something magical to keep hold of or even go looking for, but she had never heard about someone who didn’t believe in it for themselves.

Then again, she shouldn’t have been surprised. Alexander’s reputation preceded him. Jane didn’t need to meet him to know exactly what he was like.

“I’ve heard of your reputation,” she murmured. “You’re quite well-known with the ladies of the ton. Most of the whispers I’ve heard about you certainly made me sit up.”

Alexander’s mouth twitched in a wry smile. “A lot of talk about me would make anyone sit up. I’m not exactly discreet.”

“I’m sure you’re not.”

They stared at each other. Behind them, Jane heard the church bells chiming. The ceremony must have finished, and they would be coming out soon. Jane was glad Alexander had taken her away now. She didn’t want anyone to see her.

Such a stupid little fool she was.

“Look, Lady Jane Malcolm,” Alexander sighed and pushed off the stone, towering over her, but with no animosity. “A part of my uncle still cares for you. He still considers you family. But he’s not about to let you ruin things for him. Give him some time and let him get used to his new life with Anna. Then ask if you can talk to him.”

“If he wants to talk to me at all,” Jane grunted.

Alexander smiled. His expression softened. “I’m sure he will. Ian is a very forgiving person.”

The way he said it had Jane smiling.

“You sound like that’s a curse.”

“It can be with a lot of people. With me, forgiveness doesn’t happen often. My parents have seen to that. No matter what I do, they don’t give anything away.”

There was a bit of pain in his voice when he said that. Jane peered up at him, but then the pain disappeared. Alexander cleared his throat and stepped away, looking anywhere but at her.

“But we’re not here to talk about me, Lady Jane. We’re here to make sure the wedding happens for my uncle.” He paused and glanced at her. “And to get you home.”

Home. Jane couldn’t think of any place better to be right now.

Then they heard voices. Familiar voices. The bride and groom had come out of the church. They were laughing, sounded so happy.

And Jane just froze.

---

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Chapter 1

Raymonde stared into the grass-pale eyes of the gentleman who stood opposite her. She felt her heart thump, but schooled her face swiftly to neutral, ignoring her body’s instant reaction to him.

Stop it, Raymonde! Why would he even remember who you are?

She bit her lip. Osburne, her brother the Duke of Maverly, would have told her she was just being stupid. Why would a gentleman remember her after a whole year’s passing? She was nobody. Not beautiful like Cousin Vee or accomplished like Stella. She was just herself.

She recalled Osburne’s words with something like a physical pain in her heart. You’re just plain and drab. No wonder you’re a wallflower.

That, she thought sadly as she glanced down at her white muslin day-gown, was one of the reasons she never usually attended society events. She had nothing to contribute, and no desire to have that pointed out by everybody there. Osburne had always said that nobody liked her.

She drew a breath. “Good afternoon, sir,” she said, dropping a low curtsey. She watched his reaction through half-lowered lids. She expected him to look bored, or drunk. Why else was he here, with her, when there was a whole roomful of people to talk to? He did neither of those things. His strong-jawed face registered surprise, and then he bowed, too.

“Enchanted, My Lady,” he said gently.

Her eyes drifted from broad shoulders to a narrow waist. He was a fine fellow, she thought. She felt her face flush. She seemed to recall he’d been in the army at some point of his life. She vaguely remembered him from Luke’s last year. He wasn’t the sort of gentleman who’d be interested in her, she was sure.

I’d be lucky if anyone was.

Again, Osburne’s words seemed to speak inside her mind. She shut her eyes a moment, wishing she could keep them out. She had wished it so many times in her life.

She was a little girl, standing at the bottom of the steps at her father’s house. The smell of dust was around her, mixed with the beeswax lineament used to clean the banisters. She was standing on a step below her brother. His tall form loomed over her. His face was stern.

“Beanpole!” he teased. “Who’d want to teach you to dance, anyway? You won’t need to.”

“How so?” she’d asked. She was thirteen, and he was sixteen. She still thought he knew something more than she did. He was already attending parties, and she was still a child and she waited for him to pass on whatever truth he had to tell.

“Nobody would ever want to dance with anyone like you.”

She’d burst into tears and ran to her room, but she hadn’t the silence and privacy to herself for long. Her maid, Mrs. Partlow, came in to clean. She told her to grow up and forget it.

“You’re a young lady, Lady Raymonde. You’ll hear worse from people, and you must learn to steel yourself.”

“Yes, Mrs. Partlow,” she’d agreed softly. She tried to shut the words out.

She would have, she thought sadly, if she could. But Osburne never apologized and never stopped. He’d teased her horribly about her pale skin, her gangly height, her clumsiness, and she’d wished both then and now that she could find some way to drown out the words Osburne had planted in her mind. Somehow, they seemed to stick there and grow, until now, even though he wasn’t here anymore. She was still afraid to come out into public.

They’ll see what he sees: a graceless, wheaten-faced wallflower.

“My Lady… Might I interest you in some cordial?” the officer in front of her said politely.

She frowned, surprised he was staying on to chat with her. Most people tended to exchange a few sentences out of politeness. Osburne said it was only the Ton’s manners that made anybody bother.

She looked at him suspiciously. “Are you going to fetch more for yourself?” she asked frankly. “I had thought there was enough to drink at the card-table.”

It was a challenge, of sorts. If he was just one of the drunken louts who tended to flock to Luke’s house for food and cards, then he could leave her alone.

He smiled, and she felt her heart leap. He had a plain face – squarish, with a high forehead and a slim, elegant nose – but when he smiled, he transformed. His green eyes sparkled, and his grin was like a flash of brightness. It struck all of the way to her heart and she found herself looking at him with fresh interest.

“What?” she asked. “Did I say something that amused you, good sir?”

“I don’t play cards. Not unless persuaded.”

“Oh?” She felt a smile twist her lips, too. She had either not noticed that or forgotten. “Why is that?”

A strange look came over his face and she wondered what it was. She turned away, feeling embarrassed. He clearly didn’t want to answer. That was it, then. Just like Osburne always said, people would tire of her quickly. She had nothing to offer, not even sparkling conversation like Claudine.

“Did you ride this morning?” he asked politely, changing the subject.

She turned around and fixed him with a look.  “I don’t go riding,” she said smoothly. “Not unless persuaded.”

He laughed.

She felt a bubble of joy rise in her, hearing his infectious chuckle. She felt her lips lift in a grin. She had hoped to quash his polite interest and found instead that he was a companion able to do more than just exchange pleasantries or talk about the weather.

“Well said.” he chuckled.

“Thank you, sir.”

He bowed again, and Raymonde felt a flicker of brightness in her heart. He really was a handsome man, and charming, too, in his own way. “I don’t know if you remember me. I am Lieutenant Cutler Wingate. Lieutenant in the Norfolk Regiment of Foot,” he introduced himself to her again.

“I see.” Raymonde curtseyed. She noticed, along with his name, an absence of any form of title. It was obvious in a room where earls, marquesses and other titles were commonplace. She found it refreshing. Life with the Ton, even with Luke and Emilia, could be extremely stifling. “I am happy to make your acquaintance, sir.”

“Well, it isn’t making, so much as renewing,” he said, and she thought she saw a hopeful look in his eyes.

She tensed. What was he up to? Osburne had said gentlemen were either polite or lustful, and they had no other reason for talking to her. “Well, that’s nice, sir…”

He cleared his throat. “I was here last summer, if you recall?” he interrupted effectively blocking her attempt to extract herself. She turned back to him, listening to him.

She nodded slowly. “I do, yes.”

He had been a guest of Luke’s a year ago, like she had. And she did remember, rather well. She remembered his fall off a horse, and what he’d said when he woke.

He looked glad. “I’m pleased you remember, because…” he paused, looking down. “I wanted to give you something.”

“What do you have to give me?” Raymonde frowned, feeling concerned as he reached into his pocket, hunting around for something. What was he looking for in there? She scanned the room, looking to see if Emilia was near, but her friend was on the chaise-lounge, laughing at something Hestony had said. She knew she couldn’t rely on rescue from that quarter. She focused bravely on the gentleman in front of her, waiting nervously for whatever he produced from his pocket.

“This,” he said. He passed her a square of linen, edged with soft lace. She stared, and recognition slowly filtered into her mind. Suddenly, she remembered. The scene flashed into her mind, as bright as if it were happening in front of her all over again.

It was a summer’s day, the sun slanting down through the branches of a tall conifer. The air smelled of grass and hay, newly-harvested. She was dressed in a red riding-habit, the stays tight against her waist, a bonnet over her hair. She was kneeling on warm earth, her eyes squinting against the sunshine as she watched over a wounded gentleman.

He sat up awkwardly and blinked at her.  “Auntie?”

“Are you alright?” she asked, biting her lip to stop a smile at his confused face. “I’m Lady Raymonde. Can I help you?”

He smiled back, a grin that reached out and touched her heart. “I hope so,” he said.

He had blood on his chin and it ran down his face, staining his necktie. She reached into her reticule and drew out a handkerchief.

“Here,” she said. Without even thinking, she dabbed at the blood on his chin. “You poor thing.”

She handed the bloodstained cloth to him as he lifted his arm. His fingers brushed hers. She tensed, as the feeling shivered down her arm and into her belly like fire down a fuse.

“Thank you,” he said. His voice was resonant and made fires burn inside her.

“It’s nothing.”

His green eyes, flecked with brown and sunlight, looked into hers.

“My Lady,” a voice said, interrupting her daydreaming. Raymonde blushed.

“Yes?” She looked at Lieutenant Wingate, hoping he hadn’t noticed her inattentiveness and marked her as odd. People already thought she was mad. She should know that. “I was elsewhere. My apologies.”

“Not at all,” the lieutenant said, his grin broader this time. “If I had a coin for every hour I whiled away in my head, I would be much richer than I am now.”

She laughed. She thought he was probably joking, but when she glanced down at his velvet suit, which was a little worn at the knee, she had a feeling he was serious. That, in itself, was refreshingly-honest.

“I would have thought you spent very little time in your head,” she said gently.

“Even if I did – every penny helps.” He grinned.

She giggled again. There was something so straightforward about him, so honest, that she couldn’t help letting her own guard fall just a little. She never thought to meet anybody who wasn’t stuffed with etiquette and manners, just like the rest of the Ton. Just like Osburne.

“Well, then,” she said gently. “If I bet you a coin that you still can’t outrace me, I might help your cause a little.”

“How so?” He grinned at her, eyes sparkling.

“By giving you a coin when you win, of course.”

He smiled wider, and she felt her tummy tingle as his green eyes met and held hers. “I’ll take the wager, but the coin is already yours, My Lady. I warrant you’re as fine a rider now as you were last year.”

Raymonde smiled. “I hope we’ve both improved after a whole season’s practice.”

He raised a brow. “We’ll find out,” he said.

She grinned, feeling restless. “When?”

“How about now,” he offered. “Why not?”

Raymonde stared at him in surprise. It was a shocking idea, after all. Not only were they here for the recital, but there was also the fact that she was a society lady, who shouldn’t be going anywhere unchaperoned.

What would people think of her?

She winced, recalling something else. Nobody could think anything worse. She was ruined in society because her brother’s flight from London —following allegations of embezzlement and other criminal activities. It had broken her reputation beyond repair. She looked at Lieutenant Wingate. Then she looked wistfully around the room.

The drawing room was lively, a place of groans and mirth from the card-table, and crystal tinkling and laughter from the chaise-lounge. The firelight bathed the scene, making up for the darkness creeping in as the sun set over the lawns outside. They, Lieutenant Wingate and she, were alone in one corner. Emilia, Hestony, and some of the other ladies were sitting on the chaise-lounge by the fire, giggling and sipping cordials. Luke, Lord Canmure, and two other men she did not remember, had taken drinks to another corner and were sitting, heads nodding or frowning, involved at the card-table.

She and Lieutenant Wingate were two souls adrift on an island of silence. Neither of them fit here.

I have had far too much of the Ton, and I think he was never included.

When she looked back at the officer, he was also staring out across the drawing-room, a faraway look on his face. She frowned, and he cleared his throat.

“I don’t think they’ll notice, if we go,” he said. His voice was a little sad.

Raymonde nodded. “I suppose not.”

He looked into her eyes and in that moment, it felt as if, just for a second, something in him, his soul, perhaps, touched hers. She swallowed hard.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go riding.”

Chapter 2

Raymonde felt the wind tug at the strings of her bonnet as she rode at a brisk trot. She felt alive up here, riding through the wild Yorkshire countryside.

She risked a twist in the saddle, looking back over her right shoulder to see Lieutenant Wingate, making halting progress. His top-hat cast odd shadows as he raced through the sunlight, trotting swiftly on the back of a bay, thoroughbred horse.  She held her breath as she watched him.

Tall and straight he sat, his posture perfect for riding. She felt a sweet tingle inside her and she turned her attention to something else, a deliberate distraction. Tall, muscled and with a perpetually wary expression, the horse he chose was quite frightening. Raymonde gave it a healthy berth whenever she had to visit the stables. She recalled the same horse being Lieutenant Wingate’s last year. She wondered if he’d brought him from Spain with him.

Don’t be silly. He was a foot-soldier.

That, in itself, was odd. A gentleman – and he must at least be from a reasonable family for Luke to know of him – would usually never serve in infantry-regiments. Gentlemen rode. They never marched with the infantry. She tucked the thought away, wanting to ask him about it.

“Wait a moment!” he called out as he rode up behind her. “Whew! You’re fast.”

She grinned and stopped her horse. He leaned on the saddle, his breath heaving. She hid her amusement as he looked up at her. He drew up alongside her and stopped. His cheeks were pale, and she could see he was straining to breathe.

“Having a good day?” she asked innocently.

He scowled at her. “I arrived yesterday in the rain. I spent most of last night restless and tossing. Then we spent the morning letting Canmure tell us about his holiday on the Continent. What do you think?” His gaze was challenging.

Raymonde chuckled. Most ladies, she thought, would be shocked at such frank talk. Herself, she found it refreshing. A life lived with Osburne’s reinterpreting the tiniest nuance of what anyone said to her, made frank talk a blessing. “I suppose not.”

He chuckled. “You suppose correctly.”

He glanced at her and she felt a flush of color in her cheeks. His look was assessing, and she felt a mix of affront and pride. What was he staring at?

He looked away again. “You rode fast.”

She nodded. “I love riding.” She looked out over the countryside surrounding them. The Yorkshire dales were, she thought personally, the most beautiful scenery in the whole country. They sat atop a hill, surrounded by oak-trees. She could just glimpse through the branches the scene in the valley below, where golden grass stretched out over the moors, as far as the eye could see. In the distance, rugged hills broke the skyline. The clouds were a fluffy line on the cerulean horizon.

“You’re happy here.” It was a statement. Not a question.

“Um, yes,” Raymonde said, surprised again by his frankness. “I love the Yorkshire landscape.”

“And I hate Town,” he commented.

Raymonde laughed. “Oh, sir! That’s a fine reason to love it up here. Town is hateful, for certain; but don’t you think this place has something else to distinguish it?”

He looked out over the valley, as if he was considering what she’d said. She looked into his green eyes and thought he was making a show of indifference, but he had a softness about his gaze that told her he loved it.

“It has its charms,” he said. He looked back at her.

Again, Raymonde felt that strange mixture of being pleased and annoyed. What was he playing at, levelling that comment at her like that?

If he likes me, he might use some of that legendary straightforwardness of his. And if he’s being polite, he isn’t exactly skilled in it.

She turned back towards him, face stiff. “You call our trip up here a race? Or should we bet the coin on the downhill ride?”

He laughed, a little disbelievingly. “My Lady! You really want to race?”

“It’s why I came out,” she said levelly. “You challenged me to a race. I will race.”

He laughed. “My Lady, I surrender! You beat me on the uphill ride, which is more skilled. I have no yearning to see myself beaten hollow on the downhill charge.”

She thought his smile was easily the loveliest thing she’d seen. She felt her heart melt a little and smiled too. “Well, then. I think our debt is settled.”

“I owe you a coin, My Lady.” His eyes held hers and she felt herself a little breathless.

“No,” she said, when it looked as if he might actually give her the money. “Or at least wait until we’re back at the house.” She truly couldn’t accept money from somebody who was hard on their luck.

He shook his head. “No, I insist. Let me give it to you now. I have my reasons.”

“Why is that?” she asked, feeling her heart beat a little faster. In spite of herself, she found him interesting.

Beaming, he reached into his coat-pocket. “Because we never agreed as to the denomination. And a half penny is all that I have with me.”

She felt a laugh escape her throat and stifled it with a gloved hand. He was also laughing, bent over on the saddle, shoulders lifting with chuckling. She looked down at him, feeling a wild happiness fill her to see such unguarded joy. He looked up and his eyes held hers.

They were fell silent. In that moment, the world disappeared. All that existed – all that she saw – was pale green eyes, flecked with copper highlights. He stared at her and she felt her heart start to thud.

He coughed and she felt something shift as he looked away. She broke eye-contact, staring at her gloves.

“My Lady,” he said softly. “We should go back.”

“Yes,” she murmured. She didn’t want to risk looking at him, feeling her cheeks flare with blushing. He would notice and wonder what was wrong with her.

“I suppose we’re going to miss the recital,” he said.

Raymonde risked a glance at him, to gauge his mood. He was grinning.

“Yes,” she said, in between gales of giggles. “Quite so. How will we live without it?”

“It’s going to be very difficult, but maybe we can manage.”

They were both still laughing as they rode side-by-side downhill.

The day was cooler here, the side of the hill already shadowed as the sun set. The wind ruffled the grass, which was vivid orange in the intense sunset. Trees stretched their gray shadows all the way into a dark horizon. Raymonde shivered.

“I suppose we really will be late. I hope it doesn’t take too long to get back.” The thought of being stuck out here on the moor when the sun went down was not appealing. She started to feel afraid. Even on Luke’s own estate, nothing was assured of being safe.

“We can race on the way back?” Lieutenant Wingate said with a grin “And then when we arrive, I’ll give you the coin. A more-valuable one. From my wallet.”

She laughed. “I have a shilling in my purse,” she said, feeling the light weight of her velvet draw-string reticule, looped still around one wrist as she rode. “It’ll be yours when you beat me.”

“Wager accepted.”

He set his weight forward and he shot off. Raymonde, surprised and breathless, shot off after him. She felt her own horse, Whisper, gallup under her, muscles flowing smoothly. She patted her neck to encourage her onward.

“Yes, girl,” she breathed excitedly. “We can catch that silly fellow, what say you?”

Her horse snorted and set off at a canter. Raymonde, riding side-saddle, gripped the reins and felt the breeze tug her hair. She wished she could take her bonnet off and ride with her hair flowing in the breeze, like she did on the estate as a little girl, before Osburne saw her do it.

“Go! Go!” Lieutenant Wingate was yelling encouragement to his mount as she caught up. She laughed and slowed down beside him, giving him a fond smile.

“Having a good day?” she asked politely. It was a reminder of their earlier conversation.

He laughed. “Not much better than it was, strangely enough.” He gestured to the manor. “I’d give a lot to be in there, with Lord Canmure cataloguing the contents of the manor where he stayed in Geneva.”

She started laughing and he grinned and again, she felt that sensation, as if he was touching her soul.

She tipped her head to one side. “Ready to continue?” she asked recklessly. “It is a race to the house, after all.”

“I think Theodosius here has had a good rest,” he said, indicating his horse. “So, we can proceed, though I warn you, I only have a farthing.”

“I think you’ll be getting my shilling at the end of it,” Raymonde replied, laughing.

“Don’t be too sure,” he warned, and, grinning, held up a hand to indicate when they should continue.

“And… Go!” Raymonde shouted it gleefully as they set off. “Are you going to gallop?” she called back, feeling a little concerned as the day had darkened and she couldn’t see the path. It was a foolish-enough time to be racing, she thought worriedly, without risking death.

“No!” he called back. “I promise I won’t cheat.”

“I trust you!” she shouted back, as he cantered on ahead. She meant it.

As she rode, taking care to keep an eye out for branches in the pathway, she realized that it was true, what she had said. She trusted him, more than she had ever trusted anyone before.

It was a remarkable feeling.

The sound of horse’s hooves rang out, catching Raymonde’s ear. She tensed, alert to the sound. They weren’t the sound of Lieutenant Wingate approaching, since he was riding behind her. Whoever this was, rode up from ahead, and there was more than one of them.

“A hunting party, out at this time?” Raymonde asked aloud. At this time of day, it seemed very odd.

She leaned back in the saddle, slowed her horse to a trot, and continued. At that moment, she caught sight of the group: maybe six horses, moving swiftly up the path towards her.

“Raymonde! Move!”

Before she could gather her thoughts, she felt somebody cannon into her from behind. A hand, outstretched, grabbed her bridle and hauled her horse to the right, sharply, off the path. Her horse neighed and reared and she screamed as she was thrown back.

The riding-party shot past, the six horses almost on top of her.

“Girl, no!” Raymonde screamed, as her horse reared again, throwing herself back in a buck that made her sick. If her horse decided to bolt, she might be thrown and killed. If she rolled, she’d be crushed.

Another horse neighed nearby as Raymonde’s mount came down from the spine-jarring buck.

Her horse reared, then shuddered and stood still. She dismounted, sliding down from the saddle. She stared up at her assailant. Tears of fright ran down her cheeks. Whoever had pulled her off the path like that, they could have killed her.

“Lieutenant?” she whispered, not believing who she faced. “What did you do that for?”

She stared up at Lieutenant Wingate.

He didn’t seem to be aware of her presence. He was leaning with his hands on the horn of the saddle, his eyes wide and vacant. He was white as paper, she noticed, and a fine tremor ran through his fingers.

“Lieutenant?” she said loudly. What was wrong with the man? She felt her stomach twist in alarm, his manner frightening her. Was he taking leave of his senses? His action was certainly that of somebody not in possession of his sense. “Lieutenant?”

His head snapped up. He looked around.

“Lady Raymonde?” His eyes focused on her face. She saw recognition dawn there, and his expression changed from shock to horror. He slid down off the saddle and came to stand beside her. He rested a hand on her shoulder which she shook it off.

“Lady Raymonde?” he said again. “Please. I’m sorry. When the riders came along, I thought… I… I don’t know what I thought. Forgive me,” he added softly. He hung his head.

“If my horse had bolted, you could have killed me,” Raymonde said. Her jaw was tight, and the words came out tonelessly. She felt beyond anger, beyond reproach. He – by dint of insanity, or wanton cruelty – had almost ended her life.

And to think I trusted him.

She felt her stomach clench and wanted, suddenly, to be sick. Holding her hand to her lips, she ran into the brush. Her stomach heaved, and she retched. She’d eaten nothing since luncheon, so there was very little to expel. She dabbed at her lips with her handkerchief, feeling exhausted. She heard a twig crack behind her as she stood up again.

“I’m so sorry,” Lieutenant Wingate whispered. “I am so, so sorry.”

Raymonde just looked at him. He, too, looked as if he might like to be sick. He was deathly-pale, his eyes wide. She looked at his hands to see if they shook, still, but he’d clasped the fingers together and was holding them rigidly still.

Wonderful, she thought with a wry smile. The only man I ever meet whom I can trust, and he turns out to be wandering in the wits.

She looked down. She had no idea what to say. She was beyond anger, even. All she wanted was to get back to the house.

“We should go back. It’s getting dark.” She tried to infuse her voice with a brisk tone, but it came out sounding flat and emotionless. She was too tired to think. All she wanted to do was get on her horse and ride back and never see anybody again.

“Yes,” he whispered. “You’re right. I’m so sorry, Lady Raymonde. I didn’t mean it. I don’t know what I was thinking!”

“No,” she said, with a touch of asperity in her voice as she took her horse’s reins in her hand and led her around to a tree-stump, so that she could mount up. “I don’t suppose you did. No harm done,” she added, turning to face him. She had one foot in the stirrups, her hand holding the reins. Her horse looked around at her warily, as if aware that she’d shocked her.

“It could have been so much worse,” he whispered. “Please. Let me help you,” he added, walking forward, reaching for the reins of her horse.

“I think you’ve done quite enough for one day, Lieutenant,” Raymonde said lightly, swinging her foot up and settling herself in the saddle. She had control of her voice now, and she tried to keep it neutral, though inside she was shaking with fury. “Let’s go back to the house.”

She turned away and carried on down the path, her back straight. Her horse’s mood was rather subdued, and she patted her neck gently, trying to encourage her. It wasn’t her fault, after all.

She heard Lieutenant Wingate mount up and start to ride down the path behind her, but she didn’t turn around.

“My Lady, I’m so sorry,” he murmured.

“That’s all very well,” she said lightly.

He could say sorry until the day ended, she thought sadly. It wasn’t going to undo what he’d done, or rebuild her trust in him.

Her head held high, Raymonde rode down the path towards the house through the darkening woods. It was time to get back to the house and put Lieutenant Wingate and whatever malaise or cruelty affected him, far out of her mind. She wasn’t about to meet another Osburne – not when she’d only just seen the departure of the first one.

---

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If you liked the preview, you can get the whole book here

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