Brides of London: Regency Romance Collection
Author: Alec, Joyce
Date: 2019-08-28

Brides of London

Regency Romance Collection

Joyce Alec

Contents

Love Light Faith

The Aristocrat’s Charade

An Earl’s Redemption

A Viscount to Remember

Bewildered Earl

More Stories You’ll Love

Thank You!

Brides of London

Text Copyright © 2019 by Joyce Alec

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

First printing, 2019

Publisher

Love Light Faith, LLC

400 NW 7th Avenue, Unit 825

Fort Lauderdale, FL 33311

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The Aristocrat’s Charade

Brides of London

Prologue

Nineteenth Century London

Miss Ophelia Grey tried her utmost to shed even a single tear as Viscount Marchmont walked away from her, but found that all she felt was relief. Relief that Viscount Marchmont had chosen not to propose and, therefore, had freed her from any thought of marriage to such a man.

Sighing quietly to herself, Ophelia turned around and began to walk back towards her waiting carriage. Whilst she was glad of her freedom, she was quite sure her aunt, Lady Sharrow, would not be at all glad to hear of this news. Most likely, she would go into a deep depression of sorts, as she had so often done before. The first time her aunt had done such a thing, some eight years ago when Ophelia had first arrived in the house, Ophelia had been beside herself with both fear and anxiety. She had struggled with her seeming inability to aid her aunt and had worried almost constantly that she did not seem to respond to anything that had been offered her.

However, given that Lady Sharrow had recovered from that episode, only to almost immediately decline into yet another one over something as small as a lost china cup, Ophelia had begun to question her aunt’s condition. Lord Sharrow had not been at all concerned, and Ophelia had soon learned that it was rather common for Lady Sharrow to find herself in these pits of despair. Therefore, it had become something of a habit for Ophelia to do as she always did when such a despondency occurred—ensuring Lady Sharrow was cared for and was brought whatever she wished but, aside from that, leaving her aunt alone until she decided herself to return to her life in all its fullness.

“It cannot be helped,” Ophelia muttered to herself, climbing into the carriage and glancing at her maid who sat on the opposite side of the carriage, looking steadfastly out of the window. Sighing to herself, Ophelia settled her hands in her lap and waited for the carriage to take her back to her aunt and uncle’s townhouse.

Gazing out at the London streets, Ophelia found herself wondering if this would be her last Season or if her uncle would spare her another. He was not in London at present, having left Ophelia and Lady Sharrow to make their own way through the first few weeks of the Season, but Ophelia knew his intention was to join them at a later date. It was early enough in this Season for her to be considered by another gentleman, but most likely, after Lord Marchmont’s rejection of her, not many gentlemen would be willing to so much as look at her for a second time. There was something about her, they would say, that had turned Viscount Marchmont away from her and therefore, she would be considered unworthy of their attentions. Not that Ophelia considered that to be something of great loss, for her standards had always been particularly high when it had come to accepting the court of gentlemen.

Viscount Marchmont had, on the surface, appeared charming, affable, and kind, but once she had come to know him a little better, she had found him to be entirely dull. Their conversations had been thin and staid, leaving Ophelia struggling to find questions to ask or things to say that would fill the awkward silences between them. She had expected that the viscount would bring their courtship to an end, and when he had told her that he would not be able to consider her any longer, she had felt nothing but relief. Attempting to feel some sort of sadness or loneliness as she had watched him walk away had failed completely, for she had simply been glad to be on her own again.

Yet Lady Sharrow will mourn for him, Ophelia thought to herself wryly. She will call you a spinster and despair of you all over again.

“Then mayhap a spinster is what I shall be,” she murmured to herself as the carriage drew up to Lord Sharrow’s townhouse. “And I shall not consider it to be something worth grieving over, despite what my aunt might say.” Ophelia knew all too well that she was not particularly beautiful, did not have an overly large dowry to make up for her plainness of face, and had a penchant for speaking her mind. She would never be given the accolade of being called a ‘diamond of the first water’ nor would gentlemen consider her quick wit and sharp mind to be wonderful characteristics. Most gentlemen of her acquaintance sought a dull mind and nothing more than a genteel cordiality, delicate manners, and a beautiful outward appearance so that they might add something more to their own status by having such a creature by their side. Such gentlemen were not particularly worthy gentlemen, as far as Ophelia was concerned, and she did not want to even consider coupling herself to any of them, despite what her aunt wished. No, she would rather remain a spinster than be married to a gentleman who cared nothing for her.

Lifting her chin, Ophelia walked into the townhouse and handed her bonnet and gloves to the waiting butler. On hearing that her aunt was waiting expectantly for her in the drawing room, Ophelia drew in a long breath, settled her shoulders, and walked towards the drawing room for what she knew would be a rather long and painful conversation.

1

Viscount Peter Marchmont tried to open his eyes.

They were too heavy. He could not do it.

His mouth opened a crack, a long breath making the sound of a groan as he tried to speak. He had no memory of where he was or what he had been doing. Surely he could not have drunk so much liquor last evening that he had wound up in a heap on someone’s floor? That was not at all like him and he certainly could not imagine that he had behaved with such a lack of decorum. It was only the start of the Season, was it not?

The groaning became a little louder and Peter began to realize just how sore and painful his head felt. He was lying on something hard, which he thought could only be the floor. A feeling of revulsion rose in his chest, a sense of shame that he had allowed himself to behave in such a way.

Trying to open his eyes again, Peter finally managed to do so, although it took a great deal of energy and effort to manage it. His vision was blurred, seeing nothing more than indistinguishable shapes. The room was dark with only touches of light here and there. Managing to push himself up slowly, his hands flat on the floor, Peter heard himself groaning again, louder this time. The sound seemed to fill the room, filling his head as it buzzed around him. Where was he? What was it he had done? And just why had he allowed himself to drink so much that he could no longer remember precisely where he was?

Making to run his hands through his hair, Peter let out a shout of pain as his fingers touched something sticky—and very, very painful. Closing his eyes tightly against the waves of agony that ran through his head, Peter tentatively brushed against the left side of his scalp just above his ear. Pain lanced through him again, making his stomach roll with nausea. Had he been in a fight? No, surely, he could not have done something as foolish as all that! He was not that sort of gentleman. He was quiet, unobtrusive, and entirely without enemies. There was no reason for him to fight anyone.

A slow sense of panic began to rise up within Peter’s chest as he blinked rapidly, trying to bring some sort of sense to where he was and what he had been doing. He could not recall anything other than earlier last evening, when he had been preparing for the evening’s social activities. It had been Lord Winton’s ball, which he had been rather looking forward to. Closing his eyes tightly, Peter searched his memory, trying desperately to recall what he had seen and where he had been. Yes, he remembered that he had attended last evening, for he had greeted Lord Winters and then stepped into the ballroom itself. Having removed himself from Miss Ophelia Grey completely earlier that day, he had been looking forward to availing himself of the company presented to him by the younger debutantes, although Peter always found himself drawn to the quieter young ladies who were so often overlooked.

What had he done once he had enjoyed a few dances at the ball? Where had he gone? Yes, he had partaken of a few glasses of ratafia, but nothing more than that. Had he gone to the card room? Or the gardens?

“Yes.”

The word was hissed through clenched teeth as pain sliced through his head all over again. Yes, he remembered, he had gone out to the gardens with a few of his friends, but thereafter, he could not recall a single thing. It was very odd and most unsettling. Peter had only done such a thing once before, some years ago when he had been a young man in London—and he had vowed never to do so again. Now, some years later, he had a sense of pride that he had never once allowed himself to become so incapacitated by liquor and was utterly astonished—and rather disappointed—that he had done such a thing again and without any memory of doing so.

Blinking rapidly, Peter finally made out the small sources of light which lit up the room. One was a small candle that looked near to sputtering out, whilst the other was a long, heavy curtain with a couple of small chinks of light peeking through. Surely, then, Peter realized, it must be daytime or, at the very least, early dawn? Was he in his own house? He could not be, he realized, attempting to drag himself towards the curtain, else they would have attended him by now. Which therefore meant that he must still be in Lord Winter’s home, unless he had foolishly gone somewhere else in the midst of his drinking.

The pain in his head redoubled as he reached the curtain and attempted to throw it back. Light poured into the room, forcing his eyes to squeeze shut as the brilliance hit them. He had not expected the day to be so bright.

“Get up,” he told himself firmly, gritting his teeth and opening his eyes again. Squinting feebly, he wished that he could just lie back down and disappear into oblivion until the pain in his head had gone away. His limbs shook with weakness as he pushed himself upwards, grasping onto the curtain and then onto the window sill for support. His fingers squeezed hard as they held him there, helping him to find his balance. His eyes were fixed on the floor, his breathing coming in uneven gasps as he remained standing, his fingers finally loosening on the window sill.

Reaching up with careful fingers, Peter pushed back the other side of the curtain and allowed the light to flood the room behind him. The sun was warm and he leaned into the light, letting it wash over him and finding some relief from it. Drawing in three long breaths, Peter turned around to look at the room where he had clearly fallen asleep at some point last evening.

He frowned. There was nothing within the room save for a thin mattress in the corner with a musty blanket on top, two large chairs which were sitting next to each other by the empty grate, and, in front of them, a small box. A closed wooden door was to his left and Peter felt himself flush with the shame of having to stumble from this room and into whoever’s home this might be. How he was going to explain himself, Peter had very little idea. Clearly, he was somewhere within someone’s townhouse and, most likely, in rooms near the attic. Why had he come here? And why had he come alone? It was most unusual and certainly not in the least bit like him to behave so.

“Foolish,” he muttered aloud, turning his head cautiously to look across the rest of the room. There was nothing there. It was all rather odd, truth be told, and Peter had the unsettling feeling that he needed to leave this place just as soon as he could. The sooner he did, the less chance he would have of being discovered.

Muttering under his breath, Peter took in a long breath, set his shoulders, and then made his way carefully towards the door. Relieved that he managed to walk in a straight line, he set his shoulders and reached for the handle—only to find it locked tight.

Panic set his heart hammering furiously in his chest. He had no idea where he was or what he was doing here and now, it seemed, someone had left him locked up in this room. He could not even imagine what would bring someone to do such a thing, wondering if he had done something so truly awful that he had been thrown in here until he sobered up and could be reckoned with. Shame burned within him, sending heat crashing down over him. Trying the door again, he pushed at it, hard, but found that it remained entirely unwilling to move.

Closing his eyes, Peter forced himself to breathe steadily and not allow fright to overwhelm him. It was rather unsettling to wake up without any knowledge of what he had done or why he was here, but surely, very soon, someone would come and open the door to him to explain precisely why they had kept him within.

Shaking his head—and then immediately regretting doing so what with the explosion of agony that came with such an action—Peter wandered back towards the two chairs and carefully lowered himself down into one. His fingers twined together as he looked out towards the window, trying to think of what he should do next.

Nothing came to him. He was, for the moment, quite stuck. The door would not open to him and, from the view out the window, he appeared to be quite high up, which meant he could not open the window and climb out. A small groan escaped from him as he ran one hand across his forehead, wondering just how much of his current predicament was his own fault. He had not behaved well, mayhap, and therefore was reaping the consequences of such discourteous behavior. Sighing, Peter let his gaze travel about the rest of the room. There was nothing for him to do but wait for whoever had put him in here to open the door and allow him his freedom. Frowning, Peter swallowed hard, feeling the dryness of his mouth and wishing that they had thought to leave him something to drink. His throat felt like sand; his mouth filled with dust. Just how much liquor had he taken in last night?

His eyes fell to the small wooden box on the floor by his feet. He frowned. It was rather an odd item for someone to leave within the room, directly in front of where he would be sitting. What did it contain?

For some minutes, Peter fought the urge to reach down and open the box, telling himself that he had done more than enough already. To open the box and look inside would simply be yet one more thing that would count against him, for surely this was a private item and did not belong to him. He had no right to look inside, but as the minutes passed, Peter felt the desire to open the box growing steadily.

With a groan of frustration, he reached down and grasped the box, closing his eyes for a moment against the wave of dizziness that swept over him as he sat back up. The wooden box was plain, with no ornate carvings or anything jeweled pressed into it. It sat quietly on his lap, the plainness of it shouting at him and stoking his curiosity all the more.

Lifting the lid slowly, Peter felt his anticipation grow suddenly until the lid was thrust back completely, revealing—much to his disappointment—nothing more than a single piece of paper.

He frowned, looking at it and finding himself rather frustrated that there was nothing more interesting within. Most likely, someone had left a note here regarding what to do with the box itself. He did not need to read it. He should close the lid, set the box down, and wait patiently for whoever was holding him here to allow him his freedom.

Unfortunately, Peter’s curiosity was not that easily satisfied. He found himself reaching for the paper and opening it quickly even though he was berating himself for doing so. The paper was thin and rather cheaply made, although the writing itself was clear.

Peter read it and felt his entire world begin to crumble around him. Hair stood up on the back of his neck, a shiver running over every inch of his skin as he looked at what was held within.

Resume your court with Miss Ophelia Grey, Marchmont. Propose. Marry her. Else your brother shall bear the consequences of your failure. No one else is to know of this note and what it contains. Consider this fair warning.

His brother? Peter’s dulled mind tried to make sense of what he had read, his heart beating furiously within him. His brother? Edward had not been seen in two years, having left for the continent in order to inspect and protect his interests there that had been left to him by their late father. From his letters, Peter knew that his brother was doing quite well and had no particular intention of returning to England in the near future—so why would he be used in such a manner now? This threat could not mean anything, surely? Edward was not even in England, which meant that Peter did not have to worry about either him or this strange threat.

His heart still pounding furiously, Peter folded up the note again, determined not to allow it to penetrate his heart and mind. This was nothing more than a foolish prank. Surely someone had thought it would be a jolly good laugh to see him so upset and frustrated. Most likely, the door would soon be opened to reveal one or two of Peter’s companions, either laughing or irritated that Peter had not given in to their pretense in any way whatsoever. It could not be real.

As he was about to put the letter down, Peter’s breath suddenly caught as his eyes found something small that had been resting at the bottom of the box. Peter had not seen it before when he had taken out the letter, but he saw the truth of it now, feeling his heart hammering furiously as he lifted it from the box. It was a small ring with a gold band and a small, square-cut emerald that rested on top. This was the ring that his brother wore on the last finger of his left hand. Edward had always done so, ever since he had been given it by their father. It was something of a family heirloom, although Peter had never once felt any jealousy over the fact that Edward had been given it instead of himself. His hand trembled as he lifted it high, looking to see if the ring was real, but something within him told him that it was so. This was Edward’s ring—which meant that this note had to be given more weight than Peter had first thought.

His hand trembled as he grasped the note again, unfolding it with one hand and letting his gaze run down the page. Miss Grey? What did she have to do with all of this? They had courted in the first few weeks of the Season, for he had found her fairly pleasant with sharp, green eyes that had caught his attention whenever they lingered on him, but there had been nothing more substantial than that. He had found her a little too loudly spoken, with a harshness and bluntness about her conversation that he had disliked. She was also very intelligent and seemed to care a great deal about extending her knowledge in almost every subject instead of improving her painting or her needlework. Having not expected this from a young lady such as Miss Grey, Peter had chosen to step back from her and had felt relief in doing so. Why were they being pushed together now? Why did this unknown stranger wish for them to be not only courting but wed? If he married Miss Grey, then would his brother be safe? Would he be able to see him again? And just what would he do if Miss Grey refused to accept his court again?

Panic was rising up within him and Peter dropped his head down low between his knees, the box clattering to the floor as he held the note and the ring in one hand. Closing his eyes tightly, he forced another breath as he tried to find a way to calm himself. To lose his composure now would not do, for it would only make his situation a good deal worse.

Letting out another long, slow breath, Peter opened his eyes and lifted his head, ready to try and find a way forward.

And then, he saw it.

The door.

It was now wide open, having been unlocked by someone he had not seen, someone he had not heard. All he had to do now was leave the room and his freedom would be returned to him.

On unsteady feet, Peter began to make his way to the door, feeling sweat trickle down his spine. His stomach was twisting this way and that, his nerves stretched taut. Who was behind all this? And what, exactly, did they want?

2

“Really, Ophelia, must you behave with such a lack of decorum?”

Ophelia closed her eyes tightly and let out a slow breath in an attempt to keep her composure. “I said nothing offensive, Aunt.”

Lady Sharrow made a small, unbelieving noise in the back of her throat, her stiff back an indication that she was not at all pleased with what Ophelia had chosen to say in front of Lord Rutledge. Ophelia said nothing more, choosing instead to reach for and eat a small honey cake that remained on the table in front of her. She had no regard for Lord Rutledge and when he had stated, quite clearly, that all young ladies were, in his opinion, to be considered in much the same way as he might consider a good breeding mare, Ophelia had been unable to prevent herself from speaking her mind in a most indelicate manner. Of course, Lady Sharrow, who had been sitting to Ophelia’s right, had stiffened at once as Ophelia had begun to speak, her sharp, brown eyes flashing in Ophelia’s direction in an attempt to prevent her from continuing, but it had done no good. Ophelia had told Lord Rutledge that, as far as she was concerned, gentlemen who believed such things should be pushed as far outside of society as possible, for to consider and to treat young ladies in such a manner showed a lack of intelligence—and that, of course, was not at all a desirable trait. She had seen the way Lord Rutledge’s expression had grown dark, his jaw set firm as he realized what she was implying and, of course, he had quickly taken his leave thereafter.

Ophelia had been glad to see him go, thinking that his manner and his speech were both entirely unlikeable. Lady Sharrow, however, was still despairing over Ophelia entirely, which came as very little surprise.

“You shall have no other gentlemen in London willing to so much as look at you again, Ophelia!” Lady Sharrow exclaimed, turning from the window to regard her niece again. “I am doing my very best for you, child, can you not see that?”

Ophelia, who knew very well that her aunt was, in her own way, doing all she could to ensure that Ophelia was settled and married soon, tried to show some sort of appreciation. “I know you are, Aunt, but surely you cannot think that I would care for anyone so prestigiously boring and so entirely loathsome?” She held her aunt’s gaze and saw, with relief, the slight loosening of her aunt’s shoulders and the way she sighed heavily as she came to sit by Ophelia again.

“I suppose that even I must admit that Lord Rutledge was both loathsome and lacking in intelligence,” Lady Sharrow said slowly, not looking at Ophelia but rather allowing her gaze to travel around the room. “It is just that I am seeking to do what your own mother would have wished me to do, Ophelia.”

Ophelia’s heart lurched at the mention of her late mother, who had passed some six years ago when Ophelia had been only a child. Her father, Viscount Harrington, had gone to the continent two years later in an attempt to escape from his lingering sorrow and grief but had left Ophelia in the care of Lady Sharrow, his sister. She had not seen her father since, even though he wrote faithfully each and every month.

“I know my father is grateful for your care and consideration,” Ophelia said quietly, seeing Lady Sharrow sigh heavily. “And I know that he will not hold it against either yourself or Lord Sharrow if my uncle chooses not to return to London next Season.”

Lady Sharrow sat up straight, her eyes widening. “Good gracious, Ophelia! Do not say that you have given up all hope already? We have the remainder of this Season to find you another gentleman to court you and, thereafter, the little Season.”

Ophelia’s heart began to sink to her toes. “I do not mind if I remain a spinster, Aunt. I am quite certain my father would not care particularly also.”

“In that, you are quite mistaken,” Lady Sharrow replied with alacrity. “Your father writes to Lord Sharrow very frequently, reminding him that your only aim in life should be to marry—and to marry well.”

Ophelia swallowed hard, aware that her father had never mentioned such a thing to her in his letters but realizing that it was, clearly, her father’s intention for her to marry. It was somewhat frustrating, being told that she ought to do this or that by the gentleman she had not laid eyes on in years, but Ophelia knew that it was what she ought to be considering with almost every day that passed. Despite this, the thought of marrying someone such as Lord Rutledge—for there were a good many like him within the beau monde—made her heart sore. She could not tie herself to a fool such as that. No, it was quite impossible.

“I think I shall take a short walk, Aunt,” Ophelia said, getting to her feet and hoping that this would bring an end to their conversation. “If you will permit me?”

Lady Sharrow waved a hand and shook her head. “If you have no other expected calls?”

Ophelia hid a smile and kept her expression entirely blank. “No, I do not believe that I have, Aunt.” She heard her aunt sigh heavily, her displeasure evident, but Ophelia did not allow it to rile her. She was not like every other young lady of the ton was and therefore, she knew, did not make things particularly easy for her aunt. It could not be helped, however, for Ophelia was not about to tie herself to an idiotic and lackluster gentleman simply because it would bring her aunt some sort of relief and gladness.

“Then ensure that you take Mary with you,” Lady Sharrow stated, referring to one of the maids. “Unless you wish to take the carriage?”

Ophelia shook her head. “No, I do not think I will require it. It is a fine day and I think I may stroll to the bookshop before I return home.”

“Mayhap you will meet someone within who might finally capture your attention,” her aunt murmured, sounding somewhat despondent. “For surely it must be intelligent gentlemen who visit bookshops, must it not?”

Ophelia did not reply, hearing the trace of irony in her aunt’s voice and choosing not to respond to it. Slipping out of the room, she hurried to prepare herself so that she might escape the confines of the house for a time.

The bookshop was quiet, just as Ophelia had expected. The hustle and bustle of the London street faded, the quietness of the shop bringing a peace to Ophelia’s heart. This place had been her refuge, from the very first time she had come to London some three years ago. Back then, she had been as equally determined not to allow her heart and mind to be captured by some charming gentleman who held no true regard for her as she was now, much to her aunt’s chagrin. As she had made her way through the London Season, as she had returned to it again and again, Ophelia had found her determination fixed. She could not marry someone such as Lord Rutledge, who clearly cared very little and thought even less of the fair sex. Nor could she consider someone as dull and as staid as Lord Marchmont.

Ophelia did wonder if she would ever be able to find a gentleman suitable for her, silently thinking that mayhap her hopes and expectations were a trifle too high, but then again, she did not think that she could bear anything else. To have Lord Rutledge as a husband would be to live a life of being constantly pushed aside, pushed down. Her thoughts and considerations would never be given anything more than a fleeting thought, for she would be considered nothing more than a decoration on his arm. A shudder ran through her. No, indeed. She would be a spinster—and a content one at that—before she married someone such as that.

“Miss Grey.”

She jumped violently, one hand pressed to her heart as she turned around to look into the face of Lord Marchmont. He was gazing at her steadily, something flickering in his dark brown eyes that she could not quite make out.

“Lord Marchmont,” she gasped, trying to regain her sense of balance again. “Good gracious, you quite startled me.”

He did not smile, his square jaw set and his lips in a thin line. Ophelia grew uncomfortable under his strong gaze, feeling herself fill with concern over his sudden, awkward appearance. A glance over her shoulder told her that her maid was standing close by, although not close enough to overhear Ophelia’s conversation. At least, in that, she was ensuring her reputation remained unstained.

“Lord Marchmont,” she said again, looking up at him and seeing how he raked one hand through his thick, dark curls that twined together into one thick mass that poured over his forehead. “Were you looking for something in particular?” She gestured to the books that lay on either side of them and made to turn back, only to see him take a step closer.

“Miss Grey, I have made a dreadful mistake.”

Her mouth fell open and, with an effort, Ophelia closed it tightly again, feeling waves of shock run over her.

“I should never have brought our courtship to an end.”

“It was… not of a particularly long duration,” Ophelia replied carefully, knowing that she was not at all inclined towards the gentleman. “We courted for a fortnight, Lord Marchmont, and in that time, I am certain that we both realized that our courtship was to come to an end. I am not the sort of young lady you wished to marry; I am certain of it.” She frowned, seeing the way he instantly shook his head and feeling herself grow deeply unsettled within her heart. Lord Marchmont did not want to marry her and she had seen the relief in his gaze as he had told her that their courtship was to end—so why now was he telling her quite the opposite?

“Miss Grey, I must know if you will consider me again.” Lord Marchmont took a step closer to her, sending a twinge of fear into Ophelia’s heart. “Truly, I was mistaken in letting you go from my side. I must have you rejoin me.”

“I do not think it can be, Lord Marchmont,” Ophelia replied slowly, trying to understand the gentleman’s motivations. “We are not at all suited and I do not think that I—”

“That is where you are quite mistaken, Miss Grey,” Lord Marchmont interrupted, his loud voice gaining him a dark look from the shopkeeper. “I did not make the effort I should have done the first time we courted. It will be vastly different this time, I assure you.”

Ophelia stared up into Lord Marchmont’s face, seeing nothing but desperation in his gaze and wondering at it. Why was he so urgently seeking her courtship again? Had something occurred?

“You are shocked by my urgency, I can tell,” Lord Marchmont continued when she said nothing. “I do apologize, Miss Grey, but when a gentleman realizes that he has made a mistake, what else can he do other than attempt to rectify it just as soon as possible?”

The eagerness in his voice and the gentle widening of his eyes gave Ophelia pause. He did seem to be genuine in all that he said, although why he had suddenly had such a change of heart, she could not understand. There had not been any flare of interest between them, nothing that would give Lord Marchmont cause to regret separating from her. What had occurred to make him so desperate to have her by his side?

“Have you found some sort of edict?” she asked, her eyes narrowing as she studied him carefully in order to watch for his response. “Have you discovered that you must marry by a certain time in order to prevent the rest of your fortune being given to some poor relative or some such thing?”

Lord Marchmont’s eyes flared wide and, for a moment, he hesitated. Ophelia’s suspicions rose, suddenly believing that Lord Marchmont was not being entirely truthful with her.

“I am saddened that you would consider such a thing,” he said glumly, turning his head away from her as though he were deeply sorrowful. “The truth is as I have stated, Miss Grey. I have come to realize that I was much too hasty in bringing our courtship to an end.”

“It was only some days ago, Lord Marchmont,” Ophelia stated before he could say anything further. “It seems a remarkably short time for you to have considered such a thing and thereafter convinced yourself that you have made a mistake.”

Lord Marchmont looked back at her steadily, his gaze fixed entirely upon hers. “That may be so, Miss Grey, but mayhap you have not considered that matters of the heart can often prick one’s conscience so deeply and so quickly that it is utterly impossible to ignore them.”

This made Ophelia pause, seeing the look in Lord Marchmont’s eyes and finding herself almost eager to believe him. To trust that he truly did feel something genuine for her, something that she had not been able to discover with any other gentleman of her acquaintance in these last few years. Her thoughts of remaining a spinster began to die away, the truth of her desires and hopes coming to the fore with such a forcefulness that Ophelia was forced to catch her breath.

“I can see that I have not been able to convince you, Miss Grey,” Lord Marchmont murmured, as the door to the bookshop opened and voices began to drift towards them, breaking the quiet that had surrounded the two of them for some moments. “But I shall do all I can to prove myself to you. Do not be under any illusions that I have given up, Miss Grey.” He bowed his head, taking a moment before looking back into her face as though afraid of what he would see there. “I shall pursue you until you know the truth with such a certainty that it cannot be denied.”

Ophelia tried to say something clever, tried to tell him that she would not accept such a thing from him for she did not believe that he was telling her the truth in all its entirety, but found that neither her mind nor her mouth would work in the way she expected. The shock and surprise of seeing Lord Marchmont again, of hearing such strong words from him and the future that he had suddenly rolled out for her to regard, brought her such astonishment that, for some minutes, she was robbed of sense and speech. All Ophelia could do was watch him walk away, seeing his strong back and broad shoulders as he marched towards the front of the shop. The door was pulled open and, in a few moments, Lord Marchmont was gone from her presence, leaving her in a state of disarray as she attempted to gather her fragmented thoughts together.

“Oh, Miss Grey!”

Unfortunately, it seemed Ophelia was not to be granted the time she needed to draw her composure back completely, to set aside Lord Marchmont’s words and regain her strength all over again. Instead, she was forced to bury her own feelings and give her attention to one Miss Louisa Smallwood.

“Miss Smallwood,” Ophelia said, her voice cracking with emotion which she covered by coughing and then apologizing profusely. Thankfully, Miss Smallwood did not seem to mind in the least, her expression almost joyful as she smiled back at Ophelia.

“It is very good to see you again, Miss Grey,” Miss Smallwood said, her eyes bright as she smiled at Ophelia. “It has been some time since we last talked, has it not?”

“I believe it was the last Season,” Ophelia replied, her mind beginning to settle as she pushed Lord Marchmont from her mind. “It has been a while, you are quite correct, but it is good to be back in London, is it not?”

Thankfully, Miss Smallwood chattered quietly for some moments, allowing Ophelia to take her mind from Lord Marchmont entirely and draw herself back to other matters. Miss Smallwood was slight, being half a head shorter than Ophelia, and had sparkling blue eyes and dark hair, although the freckles that graced her nose and cheeks were something the lady often complained about. Ophelia remembered her as having a rather sweet character, with a kind spirit and a ready smile for everyone—and why she was not yet engaged or even married, Ophelia could not understand.

A sudden idea came to her.

“Miss Smallwood,” she began, her expression suddenly alight as she smiled at her acquaintance. “Might I make the suggestion that you and I become a good deal better acquainted this Season? I can see that we are both in the same situation, where we lack for suitors and are required to find a suitable gentleman by the end of the Season, and it may do us both a great deal of good if we assist each other in this.”

Miss Smallwood, who appeared somewhat surprised by Ophelia’s sudden outburst, slowly began to smile, her astonished expression leaving her face quickly. “I should like that very much, Miss Grey,” she said, now appearing quite delighted. “I am somewhat shy, as you know, and often find it difficult to speak with the same ease as you appear to have.”

Ophelia laughed and felt herself warm towards Miss Smallwood all the more. Surely once Lord Marchmont was introduced to Miss Smallwood, he would realize that there were a good many other young ladies whom he might come to care for in time, if only he would permit himself. Ophelia was not at all convinced by his supposed sudden change of heart, wondering if in ensuring that he and Miss Smallwood became acquainted, she might discover the truth behind his renewed interest in her. She was beginning to think that her initial idea that he was seeking her out again so that he might fulfil some clause in his late father’s will had been correct, for it would be much easier to convince a lady that he had previously been courting to wed him than to start all over again with another young lady with whom he had no acquaintance whatsoever.

“What event are you to attend next, Miss Grey?” Miss Smallwood asked, sounding greatly excited about the fact that she would have a friend by her side. “I am to go to Lord Blackridge’s soiree this evening.”

“As am I,” Ophelia replied with a broad smile. “I shall look forward to seeing you there, Miss Smallwood.”

“Please, do call me Louisa,” came the reply. “For if we are to be friends, then I must hope you would be glad to share such an intimacy.”

Ophelia nodded, a feeling of growing satisfaction in her heart. “Of course,” she agreed. “Then, until this evening, Louisa.” Making her farewells, Ophelia quickly hurried from the bookshop, feeling a good deal brighter about her next meeting with Lord Marchmont now that she had Miss Smallwood by her side. Surely, within a few days, Lord Marchmont will have forgotten all about her and will have, instead, turned his attention to Louisa, who Ophelia was certain would be much better suited to him. She would be free of him in a short time and would not have to worry any longer about his peculiar insistence that she accept his courtship again.

3

“You look as though you do not even want to be here!”

Peter looked at his friend with a somewhat guilty expression. “It is not that I do not wish to attend, Blackridge, but rather that I have something weighty resting upon my mind. I apologize if that gives rise to the impression that I am not truly glad to have been invited.”

Viscount Solomon Blackridge, one of Peter’s closest acquaintances, let out a snort of disbelief. “What is it that troubles you so, Marchmont? Has another young lady refused to bat her eyes at you, when you have already lost your heart? Have you lost your mistress to another?”

“No, indeed not!” Peter exclaimed, bristling. “I have no mistress, as well you know, and I am not at all seeking out the flirtations of any…” He trailed off, his anger deflating as he saw the glint of humor in Lord Blackridge’s green eyes. “You are jesting with me.”

Lord Blackridge shrugged, then turned to grasp two glasses of champagne from one of his footmen, handing a glass to Peter. “I know very well that you are not that sort of gentleman, Marchmont. Therefore, I must wonder what it is that troubles you so.” He arched an eyebrow, looking a trifle more serious. “What is it that makes you appear so distraught, then?”

Peter let out a long breath and shook his head. He recalled the note that he had discovered in the wooden box, reminding him that no one else should know of what had been written there and felt the heavy weight fall back on him all over again.

“Come now, you must tell me,” Lord Blackridge stated, now appearing a good deal more concerned. “I have never seen you with such a heaviness about you.”

“I cannot,” Peter said, looking about him at the other guests. “This is your soiree and I should not be taking up so much of your time.”

Lord Blackridge let out a harsh laugh, jolting Peter somewhat. “You need not concern yourself in that regard, Marchmont. In fact, I believe you would be saving me from the fate of being dragged towards Lady Elgin and her most unfortunate daughter, whom she is determined to force into my acquaintance.” He suppressed a shudder and looked over Peter’s shoulder tentatively, as though expecting the lady to appear at any moment. “She is always nearby, no matter what occasion I am attending.”

“Then why did you invite them here to your own soiree?” Peter asked, confused, only for Lord Blackridge to sigh heavily.

“Because I must, as you well know,” he stated, as though Peter ought to understand. “It would appear as a slight if I did not, given that my mother and Lady Elgin are very dear friends.”

Peter frowned. “And you have not yet met Lady Elgin’s daughter?”

“I have, on one occasion,” Lord Blackridge admitted wearily. “Quietest young lady I have ever had occasion to meet and certainly not a diamond of the first water. However, her mother is insistent that we would make an excellent match and has not stopped attempting to further our acquaintance whenever she can.” He turned sharp eyes back onto Peter. “Which means that I am more than able to listen to whatever it is that is troubling you.”

Having thought that he might have escaped such questions from his friend, given how distracted Lord Blackridge had become over Lady Elgin and her ‘unfortunate daughter’, Peter let out a long breath. “I am not certain that I can truly explain and certainly could not do so here,” he said slowly. “But I must, it seems, resume my acquaintance with Miss Ophelia Grey.”

Lord Blackridge’s eyes widened, his expression one of deep concern. “I see,” he murmured quietly. “That is…unexpected.”

“And I should like to give you an explanation, truly,” Peter added hastily, “but now is not the time to do so.”

Lord Blackridge frowned hard, lines drawing down in between his brows. “But you only just drew your acquaintance with Miss Grey to an end, did you not? Why are you now so eager to pursue her?”

Peter shook his head, then winced at the pain that jolted through his skull, reminding him of his injury. He had not yet healed completely from it, but the injury itself was hidden by his thick, dark, twisted curls that grew like heather all over his head. “I shall have to explain to you all at a later time,” he said, looking about him and becoming increasingly aware of just how many guests were nearby, some of whom were glancing towards Lord Blackridge with an ever-increasing frequency. “Besides which, I believe that your guests will require your company soon.”

Clearing his throat, Lord Blackridge slapped one hand down on Peter’s shoulder. “Call here tomorrow, Marchmont. We will speak then.”

Peter could only nod, ice running down his spine as he remembered the note he had read and how he had been warned not to speak of it to anyone. He had to hope that telling Blackridge about it would not put his brother in danger. “Tomorrow.”

“Oh, and Miss Grey should be present here this evening,” Lord Blackridge stated, as he began to move away from Peter. “She and her aunt, Lady Sharrow, were both invited and, from what I recall, they did accept.”

Peter swallowed hard, his hands tightening into fists for a moment as he battled against the fierce anxiety that ran through him. His first meeting with Miss Grey had not gone particularly well, for she had clearly been confused by what he had said and certainly had not seemed very inclined to accept his offer to renew their courtship. Her eyes had held so much confusion that any thought he had considered about Miss Grey herself being involved in all that was going on went from his mind almost at once. In fact, she had been so disinclined to accept his offer that he could not even begin to believe that she knew what had occurred with him.

Which made things all the more confusing. Peter still could not imagine who had not only struck him and dragged him to a small room, but left him the note with such demands inside. When he had seen the open door and stumbled towards it, he had discovered that he was in the attic rooms of a boarding house and the proprietor had been none too pleased to discover him attempting to leave without paying for his stay. Peter had been so confused and upset that he had promised to return and pay whatever he owed before making his way outside. He had not done so as yet, but he would have to go back and speak to the man again, to see if he could shed any more light on how Peter had gotten there in the first place.

However, his main consideration at the moment was to attempt to court Miss Grey all over again. The note had been very specific as to what he was to do and, given that he had very little idea as to who had written the letter, he had to ensure that his pursuit of her was quite obvious for fear that the letter-writer would be watching him carefully.

His breath hitched as he saw the very lady in question step into view. She was clad in a gown of light green, which he was certain brought attention to her vivid green eyes. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face, with only one or two tendrils brushing at her temples, and her lips were curved into a broad smile as she talked with another young lady he did not know. This young lady was shorter than Miss Grey, with very dark hair, and clad in a contrasting cream gown. She was laughing at something Miss Grey had said, her eyes roving across the crowd as she spoke. Peter watched her for a moment before returning his attention to Miss Grey, filling with nervousness as he forced his feet in their direction.

“Miss Grey.”

The words were rushed, harsh, and brash as he looked into her face. Miss Grey came to a dead stop, her mouth a little open as though she had been in the middle of saying something to her friend but had been interrupted by his sudden, unexpected greeting. A flush rose in his face as he realized that he had come across as a little rude in his interruption.

“Good evening, Lord Marchmont,” Miss Grey murmured, giving him nothing more than a cursory glance which gave him no hope of encouragement in his pursuit of her. “I did not expect to see you here this evening.”

His flush deepened. “Lord Blackridge is a close friend,” he said, by way of explanation. “Although why you should think that I would not wish to attend something such as this, I cannot imagine.” He saw her glance back at him, a wry smile touching her lips, and felt his embarrassment mount all the more. They had managed a few conversations together when he had first courted her and knew full well that he had told her on more than one occasion that he did not derive pleasure from filling his life with nothing more than one social occasion after another. She, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy every moment of them.

“I see,” Miss Grey murmured, sounding entirely unconvinced. “Might I then introduce you to my dear friend?” She gestured to the young lady beside her. “This is Viscount Marchmont,” she began, talking to her friend before returning her attention to him. “And this is Miss Louisa Smallwood, daughter to Baron Churston.”

Peter bowed at once. “Miss Smallwood.”

Miss Louisa Smallwood was smiling at him with a brightness in her eyes that would have given him pause had it not been that his attention was being drawn, once again, to Miss Grey. It was she that was his quarry, not her friend, not any other young lady in this room. He had to find a way to speak to her alone.

“Are you enjoying this evening, Lord Marchmont?”

Miss Smallwood’s cheeks had turned pink as she spoke to him, her eyes holding a little anxiety as she waited for his answer. Was it because she had seen just how caught up he was with Miss Grey?

Clearing his throat, he managed to give Miss Smallwood a small smile, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. “It has been most enjoyable, yes,” he lied, having found no joy in his time thus far, given his worry. “And you?”

Miss Smallwood made to speak, only for someone to strike up at the pianoforte.

“Oh, they are to dance!” Miss Grey exclaimed, clapping her hands together in apparent delight. “How wonderful. I know you greatly enjoy stepping out onto the floor, Miss Smallwood.”

Miss Smallwood blushed furiously and Peter found himself wincing inwardly, suddenly fully aware of what Miss Grey was attempting to do. She was trying to encourage him towards Miss Smallwood instead of towards herself, as though that would make all the difference to his intentions.

He groaned quietly, lowering his head for a moment as the delighted exclamations from the other guests surrounded them. Couples began to make their way to the space now prepared for them, leaving Peter to look into the faces of both Miss Smallwood and Miss Grey, seeing the hope in both their eyes. Miss Grey was hopeful that he would take Miss Smallwood to the floor and, thereby, remove all thought of pursuing her from his mind, whilst Miss Smallwood, it seemed, wanted desperately to be noticed.

“Miss Smallwood,” he said, all too aware of Miss Grey’s immediate sigh of relief. “Might you be willing to take to the floor with me?”

“Oh, I should be delighted,” Miss Smallwood stammered, going pink with evident pleasure. “I thank you, Lord Marchmont.”

“And you thereafter, Miss Grey,” he stated, not looking towards Miss Smallwood but fixing his gaze intently upon Miss Grey. “I shall not accept a refusal, Miss Grey, I should warn you.” Looking at her steadily, he saw how she frowned, her expression slightly wary and her eyes now holding some frustration. There was no easy way for her to refuse him given his apparent steadfastness. Some moments passed and still Peter waited, determined to have what he wished.

“Very well, Lord Marchmont,” Miss Grey muttered, clearly exasperated that she had been forced to accept him. “I shall wait for you here.”

He smiled and nodded, thinking that she was one of the most infuriating creatures he had ever had the chance to lay eyes on. Why, when he was not at all attracted to her, did he find himself forced to pursue her? What was it about Miss Grey that was, for whatever reason, forcing him towards her? It was almost galling that he should have to consider her as his future bride, given that they were so unequally matched in both character and temperament.

“Lord Marchmont?”

He was pulled from his thoughts by the quiet, anxious voice of Miss Smallwood, who was looking up at him rather cautiously.

“I do apologize,” he murmured, clearing his throat and refusing to let his own embarrassment mount all the more. “Come, Miss Smallwood. I see the dance is about to begin.”

Offering her his arm, he walked towards the other dancers, quite prepared to dance with her so that he might then have a few minutes to dance and speak with Miss Grey again. However, as he glanced over his shoulder, he saw that Miss Grey had already stepped away from where they had been standing, seemingly melting into the shadows. His irritation rose, his frustration burning all through him.

Miss Grey was gone.

4

“There is a gentleman who wishes to see you, Miss Grey.”

Ophelia looked up in surprise, her book now lying forgotten on her lap. “He wishes to see me?” she asked, seeing her aunt rise to her feet at once in apparent delight. “But I have no one expected this afternoon.”

Her aunt clapped her hands together, an excited smile spreading across her face. “It seems that you have someone entirely unexpected,” she stated, hurrying around to ring the bell for tea. “Do you have his card?” She held her hand out to the footman who handed it to her at once. Lady Sharrow peered at it with small, narrowed eyes, as though she could not quite make sense of it.

“It is Lord Marchmont, Ophelia,” she said eventually, dropping her hand and looking at her niece with confusion. “But I thought that you told me he brought your acquaintance to a rather swift end.”

Ophelia managed a tight smile, her stomach twisting uncomfortably. “It is as you say, Aunt,” she replied honestly. “He did state that our courtship was at an end. However…” She trailed off, feeling all the more uncomfortable in telling her aunt the truth. “However, he has since stated that he feels as though he has made a mistake in doing so and now wishes to renew our acquaintance once more.”

Her aunt stared at her, her mouth falling open just a little, her eyes widening.

“I am not at all eager for such a thing, which is why I did not tell you at once what had occurred,” Ophelia continued hastily, not wanting her aunt to have the wrong impression. “I found it quite unacceptable for a gentleman to behave in such a manner.”

Lady Sharrow blinked rapidly, then came towards Ophelia with a desperate expression on her face. “But you cannot be so flighty about such things, Ophelia. It is not as though you have a great many gentleman callers who are all eager to further their acquaintance with you.”

Ophelia winced, feeling as though her aunt had slapped her hard with her words, but Lady Sharrow either did not notice or did not particularly care.

“Lord Marchmont may simply have made a mistake!” her aunt continued, waving her hands about. “And he has attempted to rectify that mistake by coming to you to seek your forgiveness and to bestow on you the renewal of his affections.”

“But what if I do not wish to accept them?” Ophelia asked, wishing that Lord Marchmont had simply done as she had hoped and begun to pursue Miss Smallwood instead. After all, last evening, she had stepped away and hidden herself so that Lord Marchmont would not be able to find her, and had seen him dance again with Miss Smallwood instead. It had been something of a triumph, she had considered, never once imagining that he would come to chase after her here.

Lady Sharrow blew out an exasperated breath. “Then you are being quite ridiculous, my dear girl,” she stated firmly. “You have a gentleman who is affable, genteel, and quite able to give you a respectable life for the rest of your days. Might I ask why you would turn away from such a man?” And, so saying, Lady Sharrow turned to the footman and instructed him to send Lord Marchmont to them at once, without so much as consulting Ophelia as to what she wished to do.

“Aunt, I do not desire to—”

“You shall do as you are told, Ophelia,” Lady Sharrow stated, with a good deal more authority in her voice than Ophelia had ever heard before. “You may have convinced yourself that being a spinster is precisely what you wish for yourself, but I will not have it!” She drew herself up tall, her head lifting slightly as she gazed upon Ophelia. “Or do you wish me to fall into despair all over again?”

Ophelia held back a groan and looked at her aunt, aware of what she was meant to say. “No, of course I do not wish that, Aunt,” she murmured, her tension rising with every moment as she waited for Lord Marchmont to arrive. “I shall do as you ask, of course.”

Lady Sharrow appeared to be appeased by Ophelia’s response, for she gave Ophelia a curt nod and then turned away, walking swiftly to her chair before gesturing for Ophelia to rise to her feet in preparation. Ophelia did so at once, leaving her book to one side and smoothing her gown with anxious fingers. She did not want to speak with Lord Marchmont and had thought she had made that more than clear, but apparently Lord Marchmont was quite determined.

The door opened and Ophelia felt anxiety surge through her, making her catch her breath. Just why was Lord Marchmont so insistent?

“Lady Sharrow.” Lord Marchmont walked in and immediately bowed to Ophelia’s aunt, whom he had been introduced to some weeks ago at the beginning of the Season. “Thank you for allowing me to call upon you both without prior notice.” He turned towards Ophelia and bowed again, his eyes not lingering on her for more than a moment. “Miss Grey.”

“Lord Marchmont,” Ophelia murmured, seeing out of the corner of her eye just how delighted her aunt appeared to be by the presence of the gentleman in the house. “I am very glad to see you again. It has been too long.”

Ophelia resisted the urge to roll her eyes, for it had been less than a week since Lord Marchmont had last called upon them both. “Please,” she murmured, gesturing to a seat. “Be seated, Lord Marchmont. I am surprised that you called.”

“Ophelia!” Lady Sharrow hissed, but Ophelia ignored her completely, knowing that her aunt would berate her later for her blunt way of speaking, as she had always done before.

“I thought that I had made myself more than clear, Lord Marchmont,” she continued, not so much as glancing at her aunt. “Are you here to attempt to encourage me back towards our courtship?”

There was a long moment of silence and Ophelia could feel the tension rising within the room. Lady Sharrow was blinking rapidly, her lips moving but with nothing coming out from her mouth. Lord Marchmont was staring back at Ophelia with a rather blank expression, his color rising a little. Ophelia arched one eyebrow, her question hanging in the air between them. She was not about to change her character despite what her aunt wished and certainly not even if it brought Lord Marchmont a deep sense of embarrassment. She wanted to know the truth.

“You are within my heart, Miss Grey.”

She blinked. This was not at all what she had expected to hear.

“I confess that I am a man unused to sharing matters of the heart and certainly even more unused to experiencing the emotions that your very presence has flung into my soul. I will admit that I was a little afraid of what I was feeling and so decided to step away from you. That was a grievous wrong, Miss Grey.”

Beside her, Ophelia’s aunt gasped softly at this declaration, but Ophelia was not at all convinced. Lord Marchmont was looking back at her steadily, yes, but there had been no passion within his speech. His expression had appeared somewhat stoic, his eyes holding no emotion whatsoever. The tone of his voice had remained unchanged, as though he were merely describing something of little value in the hope that she might find it interesting. This was why she had been relieved when he had brought their courtship to an end, for she considered him to be rather dull and certainly without any sort of passion for, apparently, anything in this world. He kept his opinions to himself without often feeling the need to share them, whilst she was more than willing to express almost anything and everything she felt. They were entirely mismatched and Ophelia was quite certain that Lord Marchmont had not only felt but also understood that when he had first spoken to her some days ago. Could he truly have had such a change of heart in only a few days?

“I am truly touched by such a declaration,” she replied carefully, seeing something flicker in his eyes. “But yet, I must confess that my own heart has not changed as regards the relief and the… the gladness that I felt when you spoke to me some days ago, Lord Marchmont.”

“That is enough, Ophelia.”

Much to Ophelia’s astonishment, her aunt rose to her feet, her skirts sweeping about her.

“Lord Marchmont, you must forgive my niece. She was, in fact, rather sorrowful over the ending of your courtship and has now allowed that sadness to affect her opinion of you. I shall not have it, Ophelia.” She turned her sharp gaze onto Ophelia, whose mouth had fallen open in astonishment. “No, I shall not have it. You will accept Lord Marchmont’s courtship, Ophelia, without question. You shall not hold his previous behavior against him, for that would be greatly unfair. I know that you were sorrowful over the ending of this courtship once before but you need not worry that it shall happen again.”

“Indeed, Miss Grey, I have no intention of bringing any such thing to a close again,” Lord Marchmont said, with a firmness that had been absent from his words before this moment. “I will state henceforth that my intentions are singular and will not easily be deterred.”

Ophelia could barely breathe, feeling her world begin to spin around her as she looked to her aunt and saw the pinched look on her face. Lord Marchmont was saying things that Ophelia could not quite understand, and she was beginning to realize that the man meant to propose to her should their courtship go well. It was, of course, something that most young ladies expected when they first began courting a gentleman, but to hear it spoken so from his lips rendered it almost impossible for her to reply succinctly. She had no wish to be courted by Lord Marchmont and certainly did not want to marry him, but for whatever reason, her aunt had shown a firmness of character that Ophelia had not seen before and had overruled any decision Ophelia might have made.

“Why do you not call tomorrow afternoon, Lord Marchmont?” Lady Sharrow said kindly, as Ophelia struggled to find something to say. “I know that my niece would be glad of your company. As you can see, she is a little overcome at the present moment.”

“I am quite all right,” Ophelia managed to say, pushing herself out of her chair and trying to stand tall, glaring at her aunt who did not so much as blink in response. “I think, Lord Marchmont, that I—”

“Tomorrow afternoon.” Lord Marchmont rose suddenly, cutting off Ophelia’s speech and bowing low in front of them both. “A walk in the park, perhaps? I recall just how much you enjoy a summer afternoon.” He smiled but it appeared to be somewhat strained and there was no sense of gladness or joy in his eyes. “Good afternoon, Miss Grey. I look forward to seeing you again tomorrow.” He turned to her aunt. “And thank you, Lady Sharrow.”

Lady Sharrow practically fell into a curtsy, her limbs soft and flowing as though she had achieved something of greatness and was now almost weak with relief over her victory. “Thank you for calling, Lord Marchmont.”

It took Ophelia some minutes to regain herself once Lord Marchmont had quit the room. She was staring at the closed door, trying to work out what had occurred whilst her aunt smiled softly to herself as she sat down in her chair and waited for the late tea tray to arrive.

Ophelia blinked furiously, trying to decide what to say and what to do. She had somehow managed to find herself in a situation where she did not have any sort of control, for her aunt had wrested that from her and stated that she would accept Lord Marchmont’s courtship all over again, even though she did not wish to.

“Aunt,” she began, turning around slowly to face her aunt. “You know that I do not wish to be courted by Lord Marchmont. Why, then, did you accept him with such force that I had no other choice but to agree?”

Her aunt arched a thin brow. “Because you are stubborn, Ophelia.”

“But I am permitted to make my own path!” Ophelia exclaimed, as the first dart of anger lanced through her. “I do not care for Lord Marchmont.”

“And yet, he cares for you, as ridiculous as that might seem,” her aunt replied swiftly. “You should not turn from that, Ophelia. It is very rare to find a gentleman who truly has an affection for you.”

Ophelia shook her head, refusing to believe that what Lord Marchmont had said was true. “I doubt that he believes a single word he said.”

“Then why say it?” Lady Sharrow asked, as the door opened to reveal the maid and the tea tray. The maid looked with wide eyes at Lady Sharrow as she set the tray down, obviously fearing that she would be blamed for being late, but Lady Sharrow said nothing, her attention still fixed on Ophelia. The maid escaped without notice, leaving Ophelia to try and come up with a response to her aunt’s question.

“I do not know,” she was forced to admit, hating the triumphant smile that spread across Lady Sharrow’s face. “But I cannot believe that a gentleman’s heart can change so very quickly.”

Lady Sharrow shrugged and then indicated that Ophelia should pour the tea. “You shall allow him to court you regardless, Ophelia.”

“I do not care for—”

“I do not want to hear another word about what you feel, Ophelia,” Lady Sharrow interrupted sharply. “You may have convinced yourself that being a spinster is quite a wonderful life with a good deal to merit it. But I can tell you that it is not so.” Her lips tightened and she shook her head sharply. “One of my dearest friends ended up so and she has struggled every day of her life. She has no home to call her own, very little money, and so must rely on the goodness and kindness of her family. It does not matter how independent she wishes to be nor how honest her speech, for if she has no independent means, then she must scrape by in any way she can. Consider that, Ophelia. Consider whether you truly believe that life to be one that you seek out for yourself, when you could have marriage to a decent, upstanding gentleman who seems to care enough for you to beg for a second chance.”

For the first time in a good long while, Ophelia found herself unable to say even a single word in response. Her aunt had forced her to reconsider matters in a new light, for whilst she had never chased after spinsterhood, Ophelia had always thought that it could not be as poor a life as she had heard. Now, however, she slowly began to realize that even if she had a sharp wit and a determination to live as she chose, if she had no money or fortune to claim as her own—or if she only had very little to live on—then she would have to do as her aunt had said and beg for others’ kindness. She had no sisters or brothers who might open up their homes to her and whilst her father was kind enough, neither he nor her aunt and uncle would be present in this world forever. What would she do then?

“You will consider Lord Marchmont, Ophelia.”

The words were gentler now, as though her aunt had realized just how difficult it was for Ophelia to not only hear but to accept this from her.

“It is the wisest thing you can do.”

Giving herself a slight shake, Ophelia lifted her gaze from where it had been resting on the floor and settled it back on her aunt. Reaching to pour the tea, she felt a deep uncertainty rise up within her but pushed it back from her heart. She would remain strong and unbending and would not accept Lord Marchmont simply because both he and her aunt thought it best.

“I will accept his court but that does not mean I will then go on to accept any proposal he might make thereafter,” she stated firmly, seeing her aunt’s smile begin to fade. “I must decide for myself, Aunt. I understand the warnings that you have laid on my shoulders and for that, I am grateful, but that does not mean that I will simply then decide to become Lady Marchmont.” Finishing pouring the tea, she added a dash of milk to both cups before looking up at her aunt again. “As I have said, I will accept his courtship, but I certainly will not make up my mind on my future. I am still thoroughly convinced that Lord Marchmont and I do not suit and certainly would not rub along well, which would make for a rather strained existence.”

Besides which, Ophelia said to herself, I am not at all certain that Lord Marchmont truly does care for me in the manner which he has stated. I am inclined to think that there is something more to his urgent desire to begin our courtship again, although I cannot imagine what it might be.

Lady Sharrow sighed heavily and, with a slight shake of her head, reached for her teacup. “It is better than refusing him completely, I suppose. Very well, Ophelia. But do consider what I have said.”

“I shall, Aunt,” Ophelia agreed, sitting back in her chair with her cup of tea and wondering whether she would ever be able to discern the real reason that Lord Marchmont was eager for their courtship to continue, or if she would find that he continued to speak untruths to her. Unsettled, she closed her eyes tightly and drew in a long breath, letting it out slowly in order to calm herself a little further. Nothing was determined. It was not as though, in walking with Lord Marchmont tomorrow, she would be giving the entirety of her life to him.

Why then, did it feel as though she were about to deliberately step into a vast, yawning chasm, which would never let her go?

5

Peter bit his lip hard as he sealed what was now the third letter to his brother, knowing that he was behaving in an almost frantic manner but finding that he could do nothing about it. The first letter to Edward had been sent to the continent, where Peter had thought him to be. The second had been sent to Peter’s own estate, in the hope that Edward might have returned there should he have come back to England, and the third was now being sent to the docks, just in case Edward’s ship had only just returned or was due to come in.

Peter did not know what else to do. He had to discover the whereabouts of his brother. The note had stated quite clearly that Edward would bear the consequences of Peter’s inaction as regarded Miss Grey, which meant that surely the letter-writer would know where Edward was. The presence of Edward’s ring confirmed it, did it not? Peter did not think that he could still be on the continent if the threat was to mean something, but given that letters took a good deal of time to reach there and even longer for Peter to receive a response, Peter knew that he could not take any chances. He had to do what the note stated and, thus far at least, it seemed to be going rather well.

That was all thanks to Lady Sharrow, of course, who had been most insistent that her reluctant niece accept his offer of courtship earlier that day. The lies that he had told Miss Grey had come easily enough to his lips, although he had not been at all convinced that Miss Grey had believed him. The look in her eyes had told him that she was not certain that he spoke genuinely to her, even though Lady Sharrow believed every word. Why Lady Sharrow had been so insistent that Miss Grey accept him, he was not sure, but he was truly grateful that she had done so. Mayhap it was simply because Miss Grey was not the sort of young lady who had a good many gentlemen seeking to court her—which was, most likely, due to her sharp tongue and blunt way of speaking. It was not something that he found he appreciated either, for her brusque honesty had a habit of bringing such a color to his cheeks and a shame to his heart that he disliked it intensely. It was as though she wanted to see into the depths of his heart, wanted to know the truth in all of its entirety—but, of course now, he could not give her even a modicum of that. He had to keep the truth a secret from her.

Sighing heavily, he rang the bell, rose from his seat, and prepared to depart the house. He had not been in White’s in some time and mayhap it was a wise idea to make his way there so that he could, at least for a few moments, forget about his struggles. It was not as though he cared for another, not as if he had to bring an axe down on the connection between himself and another young lady whom he had fallen in love with. There was no one else who had captured his heart. It remained solely his, not entwined with another and certainly not with even a flicker of a feeling towards another.

“Take this letter,” he murmured as his butler came into the room. “I shall be out for the remainder of the evening.”

The butler lifted one eyebrow. “I did not know you had an invitation to an event, my lord. If you wish me to prepare the carriage or send for your valet, I—”

“No, no,” Peter muttered, waving the butler away. “I have no engagements. You need not call for the carriage. I shall either walk or hail a hackney.”

The butler, satisfied that the staff had not failed their master in any way, retreated from the room and left Peter to his own thoughts.

It did not take long for Peter to remove himself from the house, hurrying along the street as though the growing darkness were chasing after him, snapping at his heels. He felt his heart beat furiously, his mind clouded with dark thoughts and anxieties that would not escape him. He did not want to court Miss Grey. She was loud and brash, with a sharp tongue and a quick wit that, to his mind, did not behoove her in any way. A young lady ought not to concern herself with matters of the state, and yet Miss Grey had a great interest in such things. A young lady ought to talk quietly, listen carefully, and give her opinions only when asked. Miss Grey did none of those things.

Sighing, Peter wondered whether he ought to continue to walk towards White’s or hail a hackney. The streets were fairly quiet and no doubt a good number of pickpockets and the like would be hiding in the shadows. Muttering darkly under his breath about the dangers of walking the London streets, Peter made to hail a hackney—only to hear someone calling his name.

“Marchmont? Is that you?”

He turned swiftly, frowning. A figure emerged into the dim pool of light that came from the eerie glow of the street lanterns. His frown lifted as he recognized not only Lord Blackridge but also another gentleman whom Peter had not seen in some time and, much to his frustration, whose title he could not recall. “However did you recognize me from that distance and in this gloom?” Peter asked, as Lord Blackridge approached. “Where are you headed?”

Lord Blackridge chuckled. “I would have known that slump of the shoulders and heavy-footed steps anywhere, Marchmont. You are still in the depths of despair, then?”

Peter threw a glance towards the second gentleman and then gave Lord Blackridge a tiny shake of the head. He did not wish anyone to know of his troubles, particularly not an acquaintance Peter had not seen in some time.

“In answer to your question,” Lord Blackridge continued, after only a moment’s pause, “we are to go to White’s, I think.” He glanced at the gentleman beside him. “Is that not so, Whitfield?”

Earl of Whitfield.

With a sigh of relief, Peter turned towards the man. “Good evening, Lord Whitfield. How very good to see you again and how fortune that I, too, am set in that direction.”

Lord Whitfield was short, a little plump, and had one of the longest noses Peter had ever seen. It was why the gentleman had immediately been recognizable, even if Peter had forgotten his title.

“Very fortunate indeed,” Lord Whitfield replied easily. “And it is good to see you also, Marchmont. Back to attempt to find yourself a wife this year, mayhap?” He chuckled and his hazel eyes filled with mirth as though he had made some sort of joke.

“As it happens, yes,” Peter replied, a little stiffly. “I will admit that I spent the last Season doing very little other than admiring from afar, but this Season, I have set my heart upon finding a suitable young lady.” He did not mention Miss Grey and prayed that Lord Blackridge knew better than to say her name aloud.

“Capital!” Lord Whitfield exclaimed, holding out his hand to an approaching hackney. “Then it is not to White’s that we must go, but to some ball or other, so that you might have ample opportunity to seek out this young lady, must we not?” He chuckled loudly as the hackney driver pulled the hackney to a halt just in front of them. “And as it stands, I know the very place we might go.”

Peter shook his head. “I confess that I am not eager to dance this evening, Whitfield. White’s was my intention and I—”

“Come now, do not be afraid!” Lord Whitfield exclaimed, reaching to pull himself inside. “Lord Staines is throwing a ball this evening and whilst it is not as grand as some may be, it will be good enough. You will have plenty of young debutantes to lay your eyes on, Marchmont. Trust me.” He did not wait for Peter to agree but gave the address to the hackney driver, who nodded and then proceeded to wait patiently for both Peter and Lord Blackridge to climb inside.

“I am not adequately dressed,” Peter complained, wanting to find some reason why he simply could not go to any ball. “Nor have I received or even accepted an invitation.”

Lord Whitfield snorted and shook his head, rapping loudly on the roof for the hackney driver to move forward. “Nonsense, old boy. You are dressed perfectly adequately and Lord Staines will not care in the least whether you were invited or not. It is late enough in the evening for the ball to be in full swing, which means that no one will even notice if we step in. Come now, do not be so low-spirited.”

Peter grimaced but sat back in his chair, knowing that he could not find anything in particular to argue with. There was no reason for him not to attend, other than the fact that he did not wish to. The joy of White’s, with its quiet confines, books, and fine brandy was not to be his this evening, it seemed. Instead, he would have to endure conversing and even dancing with any young lady that seemed eager to make his acquaintance, in order to prove to Lord Whitfield that he was doing precisely as he had stated. How frustrating it was! All he had wanted to do was drink a good deal in order to forget the confusion and the frustration that dogged him almost every minute.

“You need not look so forlorn, Marchmont,” Lord Blackridge murmured, as Lord Whitfield continued to look out of the window with a broad grin still plastered on his face. “Lord Staines has a good deal of fine whisky, which you will find in his library,” he said, clearly aware of what Peter’s intentions had been in attending White’s. “And I am sure that once we are in the midst of things, no one will be paying particular attention to you.”

Peter let out a long sigh and rolled his eyes at Lord Blackridge. “Indeed,” he muttered darkly, his voice barely audible above the noise of the horses’ hooves and the wheels turning on the cobbled streets. “For I have already managed to seek out the company of Miss Grey tomorrow afternoon and I have no need to introduce myself to any other.”

Lord Blackridge chuckled softly. “Then I must ensure that you have a decent supply of whisky or brandy this evening, in order to fortify you for tomorrow,” he replied, making Peter smile ruefully. “Although I am glad to hear that you have had some success with Miss Grey. You have not, as yet, told me all that has occurred, however.”

“Then I shall do so tonight,” Peter replied with alacrity. “Just as soon as I am free of any other… company.” He shot a look towards Lord Whitfield, who was now looking eagerly out of the window as though by seeing Lord Staines’ home, the hackney might reach there much sooner.

“Very good,” Lord Blackridge murmured, looking carefully at Peter. “I look forward to understanding your sudden desire to seek out Miss Grey again, particularly when you were not at all enamored with her of late.”

Peter sighed heavily. “But I must be enamored with her now,” he stated as the hackney began to slow. “For I have no other choice.”

It was not until at least an hour later that Peter was able to speak directly to Lord Blackridge about what had occurred. Lord Whitfield had, for whatever reason, chosen to stay close to them both and had insisted on introducing Peter to a good many young ladies, some of whom had been very pretty indeed. Peter had done his best to appear decently affable and had even danced with one or two of them, although his heart had not been in it. He would not, of course, pursue any of them, given that he would, from tomorrow, be courting Miss Grey.

“So,” Lord Blackridge began as they strolled slowly through the dark gardens that led from Lord Staines’ ballroom. “What is it about Miss Grey that intrigues you so?”

Scoffing at this, Peter shook his head in frustration. “I care nothing for Miss Grey. In fact, if I had my way, I would stay away from her entirely. I meant every word when I told her that the end of our courtship was for the best. Yet, I can make no other decision than to return to her. In fact,” he added, looking across at his friend and seeing, in the gloom, the way that he frowned, “I must do more than simply court her. I must marry her.”

“Marry her?” Lord Blackridge nearly shouted, sounding horrified at this suggestion. “Why should you have to wed someone you care nothing for?”

With another heavy sigh, Peter explained briefly what had occurred. Lord Blackridge said nothing as he spoke, with Peter explaining everything that had happened since he had woken up in that dark room. It was only when Peter had finished that Lord Blackridge let out a long breath, shaking his head in apparent disbelief.

“That is quite astonishing,” he muttered, as Peter wondered whether he would be able to find any more whisky to take away the frustration that continued to build within him. “And you have no thought as to who might have written such a thing?”

“None,” Peter sighed heavily. “I cannot imagine who would have done so.”

There was a short, tense silence. “You do not think that it would be Miss Grey herself, do you?” Lord Blackridge suggested, sounding hesitant. “She would not…”

Peter laughed aloud at this, despite the confusion and frustration that lingered in his heart. “No, indeed not. Miss Grey is nothing if she is not honest and I am fully aware of just how little she wishes to so much as walk with me.” He shook his head, recalling just how bluntly she had spoken. “No, Miss Grey cannot be considered and nor can her aunt, Lady Sharrow. I believe she was just as astonished as Miss Grey was over my appearance within the house and my declaration of affection.”

Lord Blackridge sucked in a breath.

“Yes,” Peter admitted slowly, dropping his head a little. “I had to pretend that the only reason I wished to court Miss Grey again was because I realized that I had feelings of affection within my heart that would not leave me. It was dishonest, yes, but I had very little choice.”

A long breath escaped from Lord Blackridge. “And you are convinced that your brother might be in danger?”

“I do not know!” Peter exclaimed, spreading his hands. “I cannot tell. I have no knowledge of where Edward might have gone and if he still lingers on the continent then my letters and a response thereafter will take much too long to return to me. The presence of his ring alongside the note concerns me greatly. How did this gentleman come across it? Why does he have it?” He shook his head. “I must take this threat with all seriousness. If I do not act, then I cannot be sure of what will occur. I cannot take that risk, Blackridge.”

Lord Blackridge sighed heavily and rubbed at his forehead. “I can see your predicament,” he admitted, offering Peter no hope. “Is there a way for you to discover who wrote the letter?”

Peter shook his head. “No, I do not think so.”

“Then what do you intend to do?”

Shrugging, Peter felt an ache slowly build within his chest, his heart thumping painfully as he forced himself to admit aloud what he already knew to be true. “I must do as I have been told,” he said unequivocally despite the pain he felt. “I must court and thereafter propose to Miss Grey. I must take her as my wife, even if I do not know who is forcing me to do as they request.” He tried to laugh but it came out as a harsh, jagged sound. “I suppose I do need an heir, do I not?”

“But to consider Miss Grey as your wife is quite something,” Lord Blackridge protested weakly, as though he knew there was no immediate solution. “She is loud where you are quiet. She is not ashamed about speaking her mind whereas you would prefer to keep your opinions to yourself, unless you are asked directly. Moreover, she is something of a bluestocking, is she not?”

Peter nodded, looking away. “But what else can I do?”

“You can do nothing,” Lord Blackridge admitted after a few seconds of strained silence. “Unless you discover who wrote this and why they so urgently seek your and Miss Grey’s marriage.”

Closing his eyes for a moment, Peter rubbed at his forehead and heaved another long breath. “I shall court her as I have been asked and attempt, in any way I can, to find out who has done this,” he said slowly, knowing that this was the only option open to him. “I know that I could ignore the letter and do nothing, but I dare not risk Edward’s life nor reputation.”

“That speaks well of your fondness and dedication to your brother,” Lord Blackridge said carefully. “Although you must also consider yourself.”

Peter shook his head, his spirits sinking low. “What consideration can there be? I need a wife in order to produce an heir and Miss Grey is just as reasonable as any, I suppose. I shall do what I have to in order to ensure that my brother is safe. After all, he is the only family that I have left in this world.”

“There is one other option, however.”

Peter stopped dead, a voice that was unfamiliar to him reaching his ears. He froze as Lord Blackridge stared down at him, his mouth ajar as they both tried to work out who could possibly be speaking.

“You will have to forgive me for eavesdropping, but when it concerns my most particular friend, I am afraid that I have very little choice but to intervene.” Something else was murmured—most likely to a companion—and as this was said, Peter forced himself to turn about and look at the lady in question.

He recognized her as she stepped forward, remembering her to be the young lady with whom he had danced some night previously. Miss Smallwood, if he remembered correctly.

“As I said, gentlemen, there is another consideration that you have not once given thought to,” the lady said in a quiet voice.

“And what is that, might I ask?” Peter replied, thinking to himself that Miss Smallwood had not been this articulate nor this determined in her speech when he had first been introduced to her.

Miss Smallwood gave him a small smile, then tipped her head a little to the left. “You can tell Miss Grey the truth,” she said simply. “She has intelligence enough to work alongside you and compassion enough that she will not turn away from you without careful consideration.” Her smile broadened and a small gleam came into her eyes. “And I must also add that if you do not speak the truth to her, Lord Marchmont, then I fear that I may have to do so on your behalf, for I certainly will not allow my friend to be dragged into a marriage without the full understanding of what it is you are doing.” There was a moment’s pause. “Do I make myself clear, Lord Marchmont?”

He swallowed hard, his face and neck burning with a sudden heat and his eyes darting from here to there, afraid that someone else might overhear or that Miss Grey herself might suddenly appear and demand to know what he was speaking of to Miss Smallwood.

“Perfectly clear, Miss Smallwood,” he murmured, relieved that the gloom did not permit her to see just how embarrassed he was. “I see that, yet again, I have no choice but to do as I am instructed.”

Miss Smallwood did not appear to be upset by this, nor did she look even remotely embarrassed. Instead, she simply smiled, curtsied, and then turned to walk away.

6

Ophelia was doing her utmost to appear even slightly interested in Lord Marchmont’s conversation, but given that it was stilted and uneven, she was finding it increasingly difficult to do so. They were walking through St James’s Park and, whilst the day was fine and the sun warm, Ophelia struggled to find any enjoyment whatsoever.

“I do recall that you have always enjoyed walking in the park.”

Sighing to herself, Ophelia looked up at Lord Marchmont, taking in his strained expression and wondering why he was putting himself through such torment in order to court her when she knew that there would be plenty of other young ladies with whom he might find things a good deal easier. “From what I recall, Lord Marchmont, we took three short strolls in the park and you called upon me twice for afternoon tea.” She arched a brow at him as he looked at her again, clearly a trifle uncomfortable. “It was a courtship of a sennight, at the very most.”

“Ten days,” he muttered, lowering his gaze to the path in front of them. “And as I have said, I have found a great affection for you ever since I brought our courtship to an untimely end.”

“Yes,” Ophelia replied dryly. “So you have said.” She sighed again and looked back to the path in front of her, thinking to herself that the sooner this walk with Lord Marchmont ended, then the sooner she would be free of him. She would make it quite clear that she had no desire to continue their courtship and certainly no desire to wed him, even if he had this ‘great affection’ within his heart. The warnings of her aunt rose in her mind, recalling how she had been told that the life of a spinster would be one of difficulty and strife, but try as she might, Ophelia could not even imagine a life lived with Lord Marchmont. He was dull, boring, and, whilst handsome enough, did not smile a great deal but rather seemed to remain almost entirely serious.

“Miss Grey?”

She started, turning her head to see Lord Marchmont looking down at her with a question in his eyes. A little ashamed that she had not been paying any attention, she felt a flush rise in her cheeks and, as her face burned, she saw that Lord Marchmont’s lips crooked into a smile.

A trifle irritated, Ophelia resisted the urge to flounce a little, but gathering herself, chose to speak honestly. “I was not listening to you, I fear,” she stated as he smiled. “What was it you asked me, Lord Marchmont?”

Lord Marchmont shook his head and let out what Ophelia made to be an exasperated breath.

“I am rather dull, am I not?” he murmured out of the corner of his mouth as his eyes lingered on the ground by his feet. “I do not hold your interest, Miss Grey.”

“No,” she replied, but without any malice whatsoever. “I fear you do not, Lord Marchmont.” Hesitating, she considered the flash of guilt that had suddenly sliced through her heart. “Although mayhap I should be more careful in not allowing my attention to drift, Lord Marchmont.” She glanced at him, a small, self-conscious smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Forgive me.”

Lord Marchmont looked surprised, his eyebrows lifting for a moment as he looked back at her. Their steps had slowed, the air around them seeming to grow thick as Ophelia held his gaze. Had his eyes always been such a mixture of dark greens and browns? She had always thought his brown eyes to be rather dull, but now that she looked into them a little more closely, Ophelia realized that she had been wrong in that assumption.

Lord Marchmont cleared his throat loudly, catching Ophelia by surprise and making her jump. “I shall make more of an effort to maintain your interest, then, by being all the more interesting, Miss Grey.”

“I hardly think that such a thing would be possible, Lord Marchmont.”

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Shame crashed over her like a wave, sending a flurry of heat from her chest to the very top of her head. She wanted to bury her face in her hands, to step back in horror and to turn and run from him, such was her mortification. Silence reigned for some minutes, leaving Ophelia in such a state of embarrassment that she did not know what to do or what to say. Yes, she knew she should apologize, but she could not even think of how to begin.

Lord Marchmont let out a long, heavy breath and shook his head, lowering it so that he looked the very picture of sadness. “I am not a particularly interesting gentleman, Miss Grey. I have opinions which I keep to myself, for I am unused to sharing my thoughts. I struggle to know what to say to you in order to engage you in conversation for I am not well used to speaking to young ladies such as yourself.”

“I am so terribly sorry, Lord Marchmont,” she blurted out, pressing her hands against her hot cheeks and wishing she could find something more to say other than a mere apology. “It was not meant as it sounded.”

He chuckled sadly and kept his gaze on the ground by their feet. “I fear it was. As I have said, I do not think of myself as a particularly interesting fellow, whereas you have a great many opinions and do not seem to be eager to keep them to yourself as I am.”

Ophelia felt herself bristle but held herself back from reacting strongly, hearing the slight rebuke in his words but telling herself that it was to be expected. A young lady did not often share her thoughts, suggestions, or opinions with others as Ophelia did. Her own aunt had often said so, had she not?

“I am surprised, then, that you are so eager to continue this courtship,” she stated, without putting any sting into her words. “If you consider that we are so ill-suited, then surely in time, your feelings will disappear.” Reminding herself that she did not believe that Lord Marchmont truly felt anything for her, Ophelia held her gaze steady until he lifted his head to look back at her, seeing his jaw clench tight.

“I would try to get to know you a little better, Miss Grey.”

He had chosen not to answer her, it seemed, looking at her with such a steadiness in his eyes that Ophelia felt her frustration begin to fade away.

“I truly believe that we can find a way to rub along quite well,” he continued when she said nothing. “Even though I am somewhat dull and you more than a little… lively, I would hope that we might find a balance somewhere. Pray, do not turn away from the possibility.”

She wanted to bark at him that he was being ridiculous and that she had no choice but to bring this absurd arrangement to an end, but much to her surprise, she felt something twinge within her that made her hesitate. What could it be? It surely could not be that she wished to find that same companionship that Lord Marchmont spoke of, for she knew all too well that such an idea was more than foolish when they so obviously did not suit. Was it because of her aunt’s warnings that she was now torn with uncertainty over what she wished to do?

“Have you ever considered, Miss Grey, that our courtship was of too short a duration?” Lord Marchmont asked, his voice a little softer now. “Mayhap that was all that is required in order to bring us both to a place of certainty.”

Again, Ophelia felt herself hesitate, questioning this. Their courtship had been rather short, but she had thought it to be a good thing, ending what had only just begun out of the realization that they did not suit. Privately, she did not think that prolonging their courtship would bring them closer to each other and certainly would not convince her that he was a gentleman she might grow fond of, but the slight sense of hope about Lord Marchmont forced her to remain silent.

“If you would just consider me again, then we might find a new sense of happiness and contentment that would otherwise have passed us by,” he said, as though he could see the struggle going on in her heart. “Would you not even allow yourself to consider such a possibility?”

Much to Ophelia’s surprise, Lord Marchmont reached out and settled one hand over hers. She could feel the heat from his hand through her glove and was even more astonished at the reaction from within her heart. It jumped furiously in her chest and began to quicken almost at once, not slowing until he had let go of her hand.

“You have convinced me, Lord Marchmont,” she replied, wondering why she suddenly felt so unsteady. “I shall allow our courtship to continue for the time being, as you have requested.”

He smiled at her, his eyes alight and his appearance suddenly so altered that Ophelia caught her breath. This was not the Lord Marchmont she knew, the gentleman who remained so stoic and expressionless no matter the conversation or the company. This was a gentleman she did not know, whose smile brightened his entire countenance and suddenly seemed to render him a good deal more handsome. Ophelia was forced to drop her gaze, not at all certain what she was to do with such a strange, unwelcome feeling.

“You cannot tell me how glad I am to hear this from your lips,” Lord Marchmont breathed, looking almost relieved at her admission. “Truly, you have made me happier than you know.”

This filled her with a deep sense of pleasure, which, again, she could not explain. When had she ever considered that bringing joy to Lord Marchmont would add to her own sense of delight? It confused her utterly.

“Might I call upon you tomorrow, then?” Lord Marchmont asked, beginning to walk again and, to her surprise, offering her his arm.

Ophelia swallowed and accepted it after a moment, trying to clear her mind from all the many troubling questions over her strange and curious feelings. Thankfully, the surge of excitement that had filled her when he had taken her hand did not return, allowing her to breathe a little more easily.

“Yes, of course,” she found herself saying, without even considering what other social events she might already be planning to attend. “I should be glad of your company, Lord Marchmont.” Ophelia frowned as she said this, feeling as though her heart were forcing her to say things that she did not understand nor wish to say. She certainly did not want Lord Marchmont’s company, surely? Why, then, was she saying to him that it would be delightful to see him again?

“Wonderful,” Lord Marchmont murmured, looking at her for a long moment before turning his gaze away. “Are you to go out this evening, Miss Grey?”

Ophelia, who could not recall a single thing about her intentions for the rest of the day and particularly for the evening, shook her head so that she would not have to tell him that she did not remember.

“Then I shall make sure to be as interesting as possible when I call upon you tomorrow,” Lord Marchmont quipped, as though he found her previous comment about his dull character to be somewhat amusing. “For I should like you to have some entertainment to look forward to!”

Ophelia did not know what to say, wondering at his sudden lightness of tone and manner and finding that she herself was deeply confused about what she felt and what she thought of Lord Marchmont’s behavior. “Thank you,” she murmured, quite at a loss as to what else she might remark upon. Now, it was not Lord Marchmont who struggled to maintain the conversation, but she. How quickly things had changed.

Suddenly aware that her usual honesty and tendency towards speaking her thoughts without consideration had, in fact, brought her a deep sense of embarrassment and Lord Marchmont a good deal of mortification, Ophelia took care to speak carefully as they returned towards the waiting carriage. She had always thought that her bluntness was a refreshing change that ought to be seen amongst more of the young ladies of the ton, but now that she knew just how poorly she had behaved, Ophelia was inclined to think more carefully about what she wanted to say. Lord Marchmont, for his part, seemed to relax slightly and the conversation certainly flowed with a little more ease, although it was not completely without pause. To her surprise, Ophelia found that she garnered some enjoyment from the remainder of her time with Lord Marchmont. Much to her astonishment, she found herself telling him of her father, who lived on the continent and had not been seen by Ophelia in some years. Lord Marchmont expressed regret at this, and Ophelia, without having any intention of doing so, told him that her father’s absence brought her a good deal of hurt and a sense of loss. That she should have shared such an intimacy with him was quite astonishing, even to herself.

When he bid her farewell and stated that he looked forward to seeing her again the following day, there was no sigh of irritation that escaped from her lips, nor was there any sense of heaviness or frustration that she was not to be free of him.

Her aunt was going to be delighted.

However, upon entering the house, Ophelia was surprised to discover that her friend, Miss Smallwood, was waiting for her in the parlor. Glad that she would not have to immediately report to her aunt and account for all that had passed between herself and Lord Marchmont—which meant that she would have a little more time to consider the renewal of her courtship with the gentleman—Ophelia hurried into the parlor and greeted her friend quickly.

“I am terribly sorry that you called upon me when I was already out,” Ophelia said hastily, grasping her friend’s hands for a moment. “Had I known that your intention was to seek me out, then I would have let you know that I was already previously engaged.”

Miss Smallwood smiled, although it did not quite reach her eyes. “I knew that you were to be out walking with Lord Marchmont, Ophelia,” she said, sitting back down in her chair and waiting until Ophelia did likewise before continuing. “I spoke to him rather recently, you see.”

Ophelia frowned, not quite understanding what Louisa meant. Tucking a stray curl behind her ear, she gazed at Louisa in the hope that she might explain herself further.

“He did not say anything to you, then?”

Ophelia’s frown deepened. “What can you mean, Louisa? We spoke of some things, but nothing of importance.”

“He did not speak to you of his reasons for seeking to continue his courtship, then?”

A tight knot formed in Ophelia’s stomach, her hands clasping together with a sudden anxiety. “I do not understand what you mean, Louisa.”

A long, heavy sigh dropped Louisa’s shoulders. “He did not, then. I am sorry for that. However, he will not be allowed to continue on as he has done. I have already told him as much.” She looked back up at Ophelia, a slight tension in her expression. “You would have been rather proud of me, I think, speaking to them both as boldly as I did!”

Growing both frustrated and all the more nervous that her friend was speaking of something she had no awareness of, Ophelia sat forward in her seat and tried to contain her fright and irritation. “You have not told me what you are speaking of, Louisa, and I do wish that you would do so since I am growing increasingly anxious waiting for an explanation.”

Miss Smallwood nodded, now looking apologetic. “I am sorry for not speaking plainly, Ophelia. However, the truth is that Lord Marchmont has not been honest about his reasons for pursuing you again. I overheard him speaking to his acquaintance and knew at once that you ought to be made aware of the truth.” She shook her head, her lips thinning as a frown formed between her brows. “I had thought that he would take the opportunity today to tell you the truth, but mayhap he thought that I was not serious when I first spoke to him.” Her brows lowered a touch more. “But he will find that I have meant every word.”

“What is it that he has said?” Ophelia asked, her anxiety bubbling over. “Come now, Louisa, you must tell me.”

Louisa shook her head. “No, I shall not,” she stated firmly. “Lord Marchmont shall be the one to do so. When do you see him next?”

“Tomorrow,” Ophelia replied, hating that she would have to endure hours of not knowing the truth about Lord Marchmont. “Why?”

Louisa grimaced. “Because I fully intend to be there,” she replied darkly. “And he shall be forced to tell you all, Ophelia, for otherwise you are being led down a path with no true knowledge of why you are being taken there. And I shall not stand for that.”

Ophelia closed her eyes and let her breath shudder out of her. She had no idea what Louisa meant, but needless to say, the happiness that had flooded her soul within the last hour was now completely gone. Having suspected that Lord Marchmont had not been telling her the truth when he expressed his deep affection for her, Ophelia now knew for certain that he had been telling her an untruth. But for what possible purpose? And why had he chosen to lie to her?

“He shall have a good deal to answer for,” she heard Louisa mutter as the door opened to allow in the maid with the tea tray. “But mayhap there might be some good from it in the end.”

Ophelia, feeling as though dark, heavy clouds had wrapped around her and now held her tightly, could not even feel a single flicker of hope. Tomorrow could not come soon enough.

7

Peter muttered under his breath as he walked swiftly towards Lady Sharrow’s townhouse, avoiding the urchins that ran here and there in front of him. Perhaps having chosen not to take his carriage had been a poor idea.

“Marchmont!”

A little surprised to hear his name being called, Peter looked to his right to see a familiar face peering out of a carriage window.

“They will have the money from your pockets if you are not careful!” Lord Whitfield laughed, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “Come now, come in here and I shall have the carriage take you wherever you need to go.”

Peter was about to refuse and say that he did not have far to walk, only for one of the street children to shove at him hard, whilst another grabbed at something in the depths of Peter’s pocket. With a yelp, Peter regained his footing and stumbled quickly towards the carriage, shaking his head as he went.

“I do not recall London being as full of urchins as it is now,” he muttered as he climbed into the carriage and sat back opposite Lord Whitfield. “But now it seems that one is not safe even walking in broad daylight.”

“That is why one should always take one’s carriage,” Lord Whitfield said, shaking a finger at him. “Now, where am I to take you?”

Peter let out a long breath and finally managed to relax. “I am to call upon Miss Grey, who resides with Lady Sharrow, her aunt,” he stated, giving the address. “She is expecting me.”

Lord Whitfield looked mightily interested at this and, having instructed his driver where to go, leaned back against the squabs and pierced Peter with a sharp eye. “So, you have gone back to Miss Grey, have you?” he asked with a lift of his eyebrow. “I thought I heard that you had brought an end to such an acquaintance.”

Clearing his throat and not particularly willing to go into such details, Peter lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “I have changed my mind.”

Lord Whitfield laughed heartily at this, although Peter did not find anything of particular mirth within what he had said. “Good gracious! A gentleman who pursues the lady he has, only days before, said goodbye to. I do not think such a thing has been heard about before within society!”

Peter grimaced. “I am to be an object of ridicule, then?”

“Certainly not,” Lord Whitfield replied, looking suddenly serious. “You are not a gentleman who is often within society, I know, and you appear to enjoy a quiet life for the most part.”

Wincing, Peter knew he could not deny it. He had never thrown himself into the Season and did not often seek out new acquaintances so that he might converse and dance with the new debutantes that had arrived in London. Last Season, he had enjoyed watching all that went on for the most part and had not particularly engaged with anyone other than a few close friends. This Season, however, he had thought to behave a little differently, which had begun with his desire to court Miss Grey. He had been overeager and made a mistake as regarded that particular lady and now he was to find himself saddled with her for the rest of his days.

“You shall hear a few comments about your behavior, mayhap, and some gentlemen may laugh at your choice to pursue Miss Grey for the second time, but have no fear… the Season is only just begun and there are sure to be a great many more things to capture the attention of the beau monde. You shall be nothing more than a passing remark.” He shrugged. “You may wish to avoid White’s for the next sennight or so, until someone else has attracted the scrutiny of the ton. That is all you must do.”

This did not relieve Peter’s tension particularly, although he smiled as best he could and thanked Lord Whitfield for his advice and for his aid in escaping the urchins. Removing himself from the carriage, he bade Lord Whitfield a quick farewell and mentally reminded himself not to go to White’s for at least a fortnight, so that he would not have to endure any knowing looks or cutting comments regarding his behavior towards Miss Grey. They could not know of the torment that was in his heart, the suffering and the struggle that came from having to court Miss Grey when he did not wish to.

That being said, he considered, as he walked up the stone steps towards the front of the house, his last conversation with Miss Grey had not been as bad as before. She had made a somewhat cutting remark and had clearly been ashamed of it thereafter. That seemed to have softened her as a result, for she had spoken with a good deal more care and her apology had appeared quite genuine. There had been an easiness that had begun to form between them as they had returned to the house. It did give him the smallest flicker of hope that he would not have to endure a long and difficult marriage with her, when the time came. She might, in fact, be able to set a guard on her lips in time, so that she was not as blunt and cold with her words as he had always known her to be.

“Miss Grey is waiting for you, Lord Marchmont.”

The butler took his hat and gloves and directed him towards the drawing room. Peter quickly made his way towards the door, not wanting to be tardy, and pushing open the door, made to greet her and bow… but was suddenly stopped by the sight of Miss Smallwood sitting directly beside Miss Grey, who was looking at him with ice in her blue eyes.

His world began to shrink.

When Miss Smallwood had spoken to himself and Lord Blackridge some two nights ago, he had thought that she would give him time to speak to Miss Grey about what was truly going on. In addition, part of him believed that Miss Smallwood would not actually do as she had threatened in speaking to Miss Grey about what she had overheard, given that it was a matter of great seriousness. As such, he had not given it even another moment’s thought, thinking that it would be best to do all he could to promote even the smallest of intimacies between them first. He had not considered that Miss Smallwood would expect him to speak honestly to Miss Grey within the next few days. And now, it seemed, because he had not done so, she had done as she had threatened and spoken to Miss Grey on his behalf.

“Miss Smallwood,” he murmured, dropping his gaze and inclining his head as heat shot up his spine. “Good afternoon. Miss Grey.” He bowed again. “I did not expect to have company.”

“Lord Blackridge will not be attending,” Miss Smallwood said, as Peter took a few steps forward into the room. “I thought it best not to invite him for fear that he would speak to you of this meeting in advance.”

Peter saw the surprised look on Miss Grey’s face as she took in her friend’s strong demeanor and loud, fervent words. Clearly, she had not expected Miss Smallwood to be so determined.

“I did not think that you expected me to speak to Miss Grey immediately, Miss Smallwood,” Peter said, trying to appear calm and collected despite his churning stomach. “Miss Grey, whatever your friend has stated, I had every intention of speaking the truth to you once our companionship had grown somewhat.”

Miss Grey fixed her eyes back onto his, her face a little paler than he remembered. “You should have told me the truth, whatever it may be, from the very beginning, Lord Marchmont. I am grateful to Miss Smallwood for her insight and her insistence that I know all.”

“I confess that I do not quite understand everything,” Miss Smallwood interjected, glancing at Miss Grey. “But I knew that Miss Grey could not be permitted to continue in her courtship with you under false pretenses, Lord Marchmont. Surely you were aware of my determination to speak openly to her, given what I had said?”

Peter cleared his throat and, even though he had not been invited to seat himself, sat down in a chair that faced both the ladies. Miss Grey’s hands were tight in her lap, her eyes never lifting from him, and Peter felt a rush of nerves run through him. A sense of shame rose up within him and he cleared his throat again, much more gruffly this time. What was he to say?

“Lord Marchmont.”

Miss Grey’s voice was quiet yet firm and Peter had no choice but to look up at her.

“I confess that I did not believe you when you stated openly that you had some affection for me. To change your mind so quickly did not seem reasonable to me and, for that, I am grateful that Miss Smallwood came to speak to me as she has done. But now I wish to know the truth, Lord Marchmont. In all its entirety.”

Peter closed his eyes and let out a small groan. “I fear that if I tell you, Miss Grey, you will no longer agree to our courtship and I simply cannot allow that.”

“Allow?” She laughed harshly, the sound bouncing around the room. “Lord Marchmont, you forget yourself! I am not yours! You cannot order me about nor demand that I do whatever it is you wish me to do! I have my own mind and therefore, I shall make my own decisions despite what you might think is best. Now, may I suggest that you start at the beginning and tell me everything plainly.” Her eyes lifted to his and she arched one eyebrow. “For if you do not, then you can be assured that our courtship, such as it stands, is now completely at an end.”

Peter swallowed hard, knowing that he had spoken out of turn but finding that his desperation was such that he did not know what else to do. “I was told to court you, Miss Grey. I was told that not only did I need to court you, but that I had to make you my wife.” He winced as her eyebrows rose and her mouth hung ajar for a moment. “Had I any choice in the matter, I would not have returned to you, Miss Grey, but as things stand, I am entirely without power in this situation.” Quickly, and as calmly as he could, Peter began to speak openly to Miss Grey and to Miss Smallwood, thinking that he had no need to hold anything back from either of them. He told them of the injury to his head, of waking up in the small room and of finding the box and the note that was contained within. Miss Grey said nothing as he spoke, her lips clamped together in a thin, hard line.

“My brother, Edward, is on the continent—or was, as far as I am aware. I have no knowledge as to where he might be at this present moment, and as such, I fear that the threats contained within the note might very well be brought to fulfilment should I not do as has been asked of me. Along with the note was a ring. A ring that I recognized as belonging to my brother. I have very little idea as to how the perpetrator had it in his possession, but it does, I admit, strike fear into my heart as regards my brother’s safety.” He said nothing more, his words drying up on his tongue as he let his gaze pass from Miss Grey to Miss Smallwood and back again. Miss Grey was watching him with careful eyes, her expression no longer dark and angry, nor filled with anxiety. It was as if, in telling her all, he had allowed her a freedom that had brought with it both relief and clarity.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Peter lowered his gaze and let out a long, slow breath, trying to find a calmness that seemed to elude him. He did not know what Miss Grey was thinking nor what she would say, and the fear of it began to bite at him, hard. If she refused to court him any longer, as she had every right to do, then he would have no choice but to wait and see what punishments would fall on Edward’s shoulders, once he discovered his whereabouts.

“You say that your brother is abroad?” Miss Grey said slowly, surprising Peter with her question. She had not become angry with him nor spoken with a harshness that he knew he deserved. Instead, she was speaking calmly and quietly, as though she were trying to work something out in her mind.

“I believe he is. He has lived there for some years, ever since the death of our father. I believe he has made something of a home for himself there, although he always promised to return to England. His letters have been infrequent but I have never had cause to worry for him…until recently.” He spoke honestly and the flicker in Miss Grey’s eyes seemed to tell him that she was appreciating his openness.

“You fear, then, that since you cannot be certain of where he might be, the person who is responsible for this note will do exactly as they state, before you have the time to discover Edward’s whereabouts.”

Peter nodded, suddenly finding himself quite glad for Miss Grey’s sharp mind and quick thinking. “Indeed. I have written to various places in the hope that he may be discovered there, but as yet, he has not replied to me. I cannot risk his reputation and good name, Miss Grey, not when it is to be my fault for such a thing.”

Miss Grey held up one hand. “It would not be your fault, Lord Marchmont. It would be the fault of whoever is trying to manipulate you.” She sighed and dropped her hand. “Although I can understand your fear. The ring being sent with the note only confirms that this is a matter to be taken with all seriousness.”

He swallowed hard, unable to shake the guilt from him. “Edward is the only family I have remaining,” he admitted. “I would do all I can to protect him. Believe me, Miss Grey, I wish to do all I can to discover the truth about who has written this note and why, but in the meantime, I must do as they have asked.”

Miss Grey arched one eyebrow. “And lead me down a path that is filled with nothing but untruths?”

“Because I had no other choice,” he stated quickly, interrupting her. “I had no assurance that you would understand and agree, Miss Grey, so therefore I spoke lies to you in the hope that you would accept my courtship. And, thus far, it appeared to be working.”

Color rose in Miss Grey’s cheeks, the angry sparkle returning to her eyes.

“I know that you want me to apologize and I will beg your forgiveness if you wish me to,” Peter continued, without allowing her a moment to interrupt. “But I pray that, under the circumstances, you can see why I chose to do as I did and that, mayhap, you will have kindness enough in your heart to aid me in this.” His gaze rested on Miss Grey and he saw, as a few moments of silence passed, that the anger began to leave her expression.

“Do you still have the note, Lord Marchmont?”

Miss Smallwood spoke for the first time in some minutes, her eyes wide with both astonishment and anxiety.

“I do, Miss Smallwood,” Peter replied.

“Then might you bring it to Miss Grey?” Miss Smallwood asked, throwing a glance towards Miss Grey. “She may recognize the hand.”

Miss Grey gave Miss Smallwood a half smile. “I may,” she replied with a knowing look. “And it will give me the opportunity to confirm that what you have said is true, Lord Marchmont.”

He frowned, feeling a deep flare of anger rise up in him. “If you wish, Miss Grey, you may come and inspect the side of my head if what you seek is the truth. The injury I sustained—which can only have come from a heavy blow—has not yet healed. If you look here,” he gestured to the side of his head, just behind his ear, “then you will see the evidence which you so obviously seek.”

Of course, he did not expect Miss Grey to immediately get to her feet and come and do just as he had suggested—but then again, Miss Grey did not behave as most of the young ladies of the ton did. She stood by him and looked down, waiting for him to indicate where she was to look, and Peter, brushing aside his surprise, did just that.

Her fingers were gentle as she pushed aside his thick, dark curls that wove so tightly together. Peter let out a hiss as his head burst with pain all over again, reminding him that the injury to his head had been a significant one that he was oft inclined to forget.

“Goodness,” he heard Miss Grey murmur, feeling himself suddenly relieved that he had proven the truth to her. Her fingers ran through his curls for a moment, as if she were putting them back in place, and for some inexplicable reason, Peter felt his heart leap with a sudden awareness of her. He dared not look up, his heart beating a trifle more quickly as Miss Grey rested one hand on his shoulder for a moment before making her way back across the room. She did not sit but poured a small measure of whisky into a glass which she then handed to him.

Peter accepted it gratefully but not without a good deal of surprise. Did this mean that Miss Grey was able to forgive him for what he had done?

“I will admit to you, Lord Marchmont, that I am more than a little astonished to hear everything that you have endured and the truth behind your reasons for pursuing me once again,” Miss Grey began, once she had seated herself back down. “I am sorrowful that you did not simply tell me the truth from the very beginning, for then we would have been able to begin this courtship with understanding and acceptance instead of confusion and doubt.”

“I am sorry,” he began, only for Miss Grey to hold up one hand, clearly asking him to remain quiet as she spoke. A flush ran up his cheeks but he did as she asked and fell silent.

“That being said, Lord Marchmont, I can understand why you have done such a thing as this,” she continued, her voice now a touch softer. “Your concern for your brother is to be admired, although it is rather frustrating that you cannot locate him at this present moment.” She sighed and dropped her hands to her lap. “Letters to the continent will, as I understand, take a good deal of time to reach their intended recipient, which is why this person, whoever they may be, has chosen to use him as an impetus for you to do as they ask.”

“Then you think I have acted foolishly,” Peter muttered, passing one hand over his eyes and feeling his stomach lurch with fear. “You believe that I should have simply ignored this note and continued on regardless.”

Miss Grey’s expression twisted with uncertainty for a moment. “I cannot say,” she muttered, looking, for the first time, a little unsure of herself. “I can understand why you have done such a thing, for the fear that unknown consequences might be brought to bear on your brother is to be expected. However, could someone truly reach him when he lives so very far away?”

“If he still resides there,” Peter reminded her. “I do not know if he has returned to England or is in the process of doing so.”

Miss Grey sighed heavily and nodded, her frustration matching his own. “Nor can I understand why I am being added to this situation,” she told him. “What possible reason could someone have for wanting you to marry me? I have no particular need to do so and, from what I know of you, you have no reason to hurry towards matrimony.”

He nodded. “That is so.”

Confusion knitted her brow. “It is all very strange. However, in light of what you have told me, I suppose, Lord Marchmont, that I can understand your reasons for doing what you have done, although I would have preferred that you told me the truth from the beginning.”

He spread his hands. “I did not know what your response would be, Miss Grey,” he told her honestly. “You have a firm mind and when you make a decision, I suspect that no amount of pleading or discussion would change your mind. I could not risk that.”

A flicker of guilt caught her expression but was gone in a moment. “Mayhap that is true,” she agreed, as Miss Smallwood’s eyes rounded in surprise at such a confession. “However, as I am fully aware of the circumstances now, we must continue on as we are, whilst attempting to discover the person behind this note.” She lifted her chin and looked at him steadily, as though daring him to disagree—although all Peter felt was a ripple of surprise.

“You will allow our courtship to continue, then?” he asked, awash with both relief and hope. “You will not bring it to an end?”

Miss Grey’s eyebrow arched. “I am not as unfeeling as all that, Lord Marchmont,” she stated, as though she were a trifle offended. “Of course we must continue. It will look to all of society that we are very fond of each other and that our courtship is progressing nicely—but, of course, we shall simply be doing our utmost to discover who has written this note and demanded such things of you.”

“Appearances only,” Miss Smallwood said, making Miss Grey nod her agreement.

“Precisely.”

“So there will be no need to consider matrimony and the like,” Peter murmured, wondering why he felt no relief at that suggestion. “For once we find the truth and call out the person responsible, we shall have no need to continue the pretense.”

Miss Grey smiled and sat back in her chair, now looking a trifle more relaxed. “That is exactly what I mean,” she said with a gentle wave of her hand. “We shall work together—the three of us—to try and find out the truth and save ourselves from what would be a very difficult and trying marriage.” Her smile grew steadily as she watched him and Peter forced himself to smile back, even though he did not feel like doing so.

“We shall have Lord Blackridge to aid us also, I am quite certain,” Miss Smallwood said, making Peter nod his agreement. “So there will be four of us.”

“And surely that is more than enough to find the truth,” Miss Grey said practically. “What say you, Lord Marchmont?”

Peter tried to smile but found that his stomach was tied up in knots and that his hands were sweaty as he clasped them in his lap. “I say that is a capital idea, Miss Grey,” he replied, as genuinely as he could. “Although I would ask one thing—where might we begin?”

Miss Grey frowned. “Begin?”

“What I mean to say is, how might we go about finding the truth about this gentleman?” he asked, seeing Miss Grey’s frown deepen. “Where do we start?”

Miss Grey hesitated, looking thoughtful for some moments before her expression cleared. “We go back to the beginning, Lord Marchmont,” she said calmly, as though she had thought of this all along. “We return to the boarding house and look carefully all about the room. We study the note. We look at the box. You must try and recall if you can remember anything about the night before you awoke there.” Her smile grew triumphant. “Have no fear, Lord Marchmont—we shall discover the truth, long before you are forced to wed me.”

He tried to laugh but the sound stuck in his throat, leaving nothing more than a rasping sound that ran from his chest towards Miss Grey. He did not have the same hope as she, did not have the same trust and expectation that was so apparent in her expression. But yet, at least now she knew the truth and had not turned away from him once she had learned of it. Together, they would be setting out to try and find the person responsible and he had to be glad of that.

“I thank you, Miss Grey,” he stated, getting up from his chair and making to take his leave. “I thank you for your understanding and your willingness to aid me in this. Not every young lady would have done so.”

She smiled at him. “I think you will find, Lord Marchmont, that I am not like every other young lady of the beau monde.”

This time, his laugh came out from him with ease. “No, indeed not, Miss Grey. But I find that I am rather grateful for it.” This, he realized, was the truth, in all of its entirety. Other young ladies would not have been so willing to listen and certainly might not have chosen to come to his aid. There was a relief in his heart that Miss Grey was so very different and so willing to do what she could to bring this difficult set of circumstances to an end.

“You shall be attending Lord Matthews’ ball tomorrow evening, I hope?” he asked as she and Miss Smallwood rose to their feet in order to bid him farewell.

“Yes, I expect to be,” Miss Grey told him as he took her hand and bowed over it. “You shall have to make it apparent to all and sundry that we are courting, Lord Marchmont. It will mean garnering a good deal of attention, which I know you do not particularly enjoy.”

He inclined his head again and let go of her hand. “I shall do whatever I must,” he replied, finding that he was quite drawn to this gentler side of her that he had not seen evidenced before. “I look forward to speaking with you again tomorrow, Miss Grey. Good afternoon. Good afternoon, Miss Smallwood.”

“Good afternoon,” Miss Smallwood replied, seeming to have retreated back into her quiet demeanor once more.

Peter turned on his heel and made his way from the room, feeling a good deal brighter than when he had first seen both young ladies looking back at him with anger and confusion in their eyes. The relief that came with knowing that Miss Grey not only knew the truth but was now willing to aid him in this very difficult situation coursed through him as he walked from the house. There was a gentleness and a kindness to her that he had not seen before and the strength of her character had, for the first time, brought him a good deal of gladness. Had she not had such strength, then she might have turned away from him and left him to deal with the consequences that would follow.

“Thank you, Miss Grey,” he murmured to himself, putting his hat back on his head and allowing his gaze to reach up to the windows of the townhouse as though he might see her there. “You have done more for me than you know.” So saying, Peter turned, drew in a long breath, and then continued down the London street, finding that he was suddenly looking forward to seeing Miss Grey again come the morrow.

8

Walking into the ballroom, Ophelia settled her shoulders and lifted her chin a notch, feeling an uncharacteristic sense of nervousness wash over her. It could not be that the guests and, therefore, all of the London ton were soon to know that she was being courted yet again, by Lord Marchmont, surely? She had no need to feel anxious over such a thing as that, for it meant nothing and she was well aware of that. Once they discovered the truth behind whoever was pushing Lord Marchmont towards her, then their courtship could come to an end again and she would be free to pursue whatever—or whoever—she wished.

Swallowing hard, Ophelia tried not to allow her anxiety to show, wondering if her aunt was aware of it at all. Throwing her a sidelong glance, she saw that Lady Sharrow was much too busy looking out across the crowd for some of her own acquaintances to notice anything else. That came as something of a relief.

“Now, you will be courteous and attentive, will you not, Ophelia?” Lady Sharrow asked as they walked together through the crowd in search of some familiar faces. “You will not allow your tongue to speak without at least thinking about what you are to say?”

Ophelia felt herself blush, which was, again, most unlike her. It was as though what she had said to Lord Marchmont when they had walked through the park had brought her a sudden sense of awareness over her own failings. Normally, she would have simply sighed inwardly and promised her aunt that yes, she would be courteous and careful, whilst having no intention of doing anything of the sort. However, on this occasion, Ophelia felt ashamed that her aunt had been required to point such a thing out, as though she expected Ophelia to embarrass herself by speaking with blunt honesty.

“I shall be very careful, Aunt,” she promised as Lady Sharrow gave her a sharp look. “And I am sorry that you have such concern for me.”

Lady Sharrow’s brows lifted in surprise and for some moments, it looked as though she wanted to speak but could find nothing to say. Ophelia said nothing either, waiting for Lady Sharrow to either give her another warning about her behavior or state that she fully expected Ophelia to fail regardless. However, Lady Sharrow said no such thing, resting one hand on Ophelia’s arm.

“You quite surprise me, Ophelia,” she murmured, her expression growing a trifle concerned. “You have never spoken with such understanding and apparent regret before. Is something the matter?”

Ophelia shook her head. “No, there is not.”

“Then I must hope that this is to do entirely with the company of Lord Marchmont,” Lady Sharrow commented with a sudden gleam in her eye. “You did not tell me how your time was with him yesterday afternoon. I know he called upon you.”

“He did,” Ophelia replied, not wanting her aunt to know even a modicum of what had passed between herself and Lord Marchmont. “Miss Smallwood was present also, as you know.”

Lady Sharrow let go of Ophelia’s arm and gave her an encouraging smile.

“He was pleasant enough,” Ophelia admitted, seeing her aunt’s expression brighten. “I have said that we shall continue our courtship for the time being, although I can make you no promises that there shall be anything thereafter, Aunt.”

A broad smile settled on Lady Sharrow’s features. “But that is quite wonderful, Ophelia,” she said, letting go of Ophelia’s arm. “It is more than you have ever allowed a gentleman to do before and I am truly glad that you have seen sense and permitted him to court you again.”

Ophelia closed her eyes briefly, wishing that she could make her aunt understand. “I have not promised that it will continue to matrimony, Aunt,” she said plainly, knowing that, should she and Lord Marchmont find the perpetrator, there would be no need for their charade to continue. “Please ensure that you remember this whenever you speak of our courtship to another.”

Lady Sharrow nodded and waved a hand, which told Ophelia that she was no longer really listening but was, instead, already imagining the wedding that Ophelia might have once she became Lady Marchmont. A stab of pain lanced Ophelia’s heart. She did not want to upset her aunt, especially when she had done so much for her, but Ophelia was not about to marry Lord Marchmont simply to save her aunt some pain.

But what if you grow close to him?

She threw the question aside at once, not allowing herself to even consider it, for she had to simply ensure that she thought of Lord Marchmont as an acquaintance and nothing more. She had always thought him dull and staid, but now that he was entangled in some sort of mystery, Ophelia found him a good deal more interesting. Would their intimacy increase to the point that she would find herself enjoying his company? Would they share so much that it would become difficult for her to pull herself away from him when the time came? Swallowing hard, Ophelia tried to thrust these concerns aside, but found that they seemed to stick to her, entangling her heart as she looked all about her for the very gentleman that was currently on her mind.

With a start, Ophelia recalled how she had brushed aside his hair to look at the injury he had sustained. Miss Smallwood had commented on her behavior once Lord Marchmont had left and Ophelia had laughed and brushed off the comment at once, even though she knew that it had been entirely brazen and certainly not what she ought to have done. And yet, she had needed to know with certainty whether or not Lord Marchmont was telling the truth and that had seemed the easiest way to do it. What she had not expected was to feel such an extraordinary blow to her heart as she had threaded her fingers through his hair. A shock had leapt through her fingers and run up her arms, making her catch her breath. She had never been so close and certainly had not been so intimate with a gentleman in such a way before, but had done her best to cover her reaction completely from both Lord Marchmont and Miss Smallwood. She had done rather well to hide it from even herself, given that she had only thought of it at this very moment.

“Miss Grey, good evening.”

The sound of his voice made her heart lurch in her chest, heat creeping up her spine as she turned to face him. It was, of course, simply because she had been thinking of him in such an intimate fashion that she had felt such a strong reaction, she told herself, curtsying quickly to cover all that she felt.

“Good evening, Lord Marchmont,” she replied, surprised to see the easy smile on his face that she had not often seen before. His whole expression was alight, his dark brown eyes fixed on hers and holding her gaze tightly. Was he truly that pleased to see her?

“Oh, Lord Marchmont, good evening!”

Beside her, Lady Sharrow curtsied quickly, as Lord Marchmont bowed in her direction.

“Good evening, Lady Sharrow.”

Ophelia hid a smile, seeing the twinkle in Lord Marchmont’s eyes as he took in her aunt’s demeanor. Lady Sharrow was practically gushing with delight upon seeing him again, as though she were the one being courted.

“I am very glad to see you again, Lord Marchmont,” Lady Sharrow began, pushing Ophelia forward slightly. “Are you dancing this evening? We have only just arrived and Ophelia’s dance card has not yet been touched!”

Ophelia blushed furiously at this, aware that her aunt was pushing her forward still further, obviously wanting Lord Marchmont to make his interest in Ophelia completely apparent.

“I was hoping to secure at least one dance with you, Miss Grey,” Lord Marchmont replied with a soft smile in her direction. “That is, if you will allow me.”

“I would be glad to,” she replied, holding out her dance card and seeing her aunt’s broad smile as Lord Marchmont took it carefully. “You may secure two, if you wish.”

Lord Marchmont glanced at her from under his brows as he looked down at her dance card, a peculiar smile on his face. Was it because he knew that she was doing this simply to play her part? Or was he truly glad that he was able to continue their courtship in such a fashion?

“Two, then,” he replied, writing his initials down. “And one being the supper dance, I think.” Looking back at her, he let her dance card go. “And the first, the waltz.”

She could not explain it, but for some reason, the way he said those words brought a slight fluttering to her heart. Managing to smile at him, Ophelia tried her best to remain almost nonchalant, turning to her aunt with a practiced air of refinement.

“That is most kind of Lord Marchmont, is it not, Aunt?” she said with a slight tip of her head. “I must hope that I find other gentlemen to secure other dances, else I shall be seen to be dancing only with you, Lord Marchmont.” Returning her gaze to him and feeling a good deal more settled within herself now that her heart was no longer misbehaving, she allowed her smile to broaden. “And I should not want that.”

“Indeed not, Miss Grey,” he replied easily. “If you would be willing to accompany me, then I might introduce you again to Lord Blackridge, who is here this evening also.”

Ophelia’s lips quirked, aware that, most likely, Lord Blackridge would not be best pleased to be forced to speak with her again, since he would be embarrassed about the entire scenario. Miss Smallwood had told Ophelia everything, including the fact that Lord Marchmont had been discussing matters with Lord Blackridge. He had been fully aware of the circumstances that had surrounded Lord Marchmont and Ophelia, but had not once suggested, as Miss Smallwood had done, that Lord Marchmont tell her the truth.

“I should be glad to, if my aunt does not protest.” She cast a quick glance towards Lady Sharrow, who made a shooing motion, shaking her head in mock disbelief as she did so. With a chuckle, Ophelia took Lord Marchmont’s offered arm and walked with him away from her aunt.

“Might I say that you look quite lovely this evening, Miss Grey?”

She smiled softly. “Thank you, Lord Marchmont,” she replied quietly. “Might I ask how you are faring?”

Much to her surprise, Lord Marchmont let out a long, slow breath, his head lowering for a few seconds before he replied. The crowd parted before them as they walked, drawing nearer to the edge of the ballroom where it was much quieter.

“I confess that I find my mind still tortured as I question who has done such a thing,” he admitted, speaking openly to her as he had done before. “I cannot imagine why someone would wish the two of us together. What would be so pressing about our courtship that they would threaten my own brother’s reputation?”

Ophelia frowned, her eyes darting about the room as though they might land on the culprit and, in one moment, everything would become clear. “I confess I do not know,” she conceded solemnly. “I have wondered whether my uncle or aunt would do such a thing, but it was nothing more than a momentary thought, for I know full well that neither of them would act with such indiscretion. My uncle is not even in London at this present moment, even though he has been informed of various… events.” She gave Lord Marchmont a sidelong glance, wondering if he knew just how confused her uncle had been to receive one letter from Lady Sharrow stating that Ophelia’s courtship had come to an end, only to receive another a few days later saying that it had been reinstated. His return letter had been short but clear enough to display his confusion over the matter.

“I have had one thought,” Lord Marchmont said as they walked towards the open French doors. “Might you care to walk with me for a few minutes? Ah, there is Lord Blackridge. He can accompany us so you are not without a chaperone.”

Ophelia found herself wanting to state that she did not care whether or not she had any chaperone, but stopped herself from saying such a thing aloud just in time. She was trying to keep a guard over her mouth, was she not? And to speak so foolishly might be a source of embarrassment not only to her but also to Lord Marchmont.

So, with due diligence, Ophelia greeted Lord Blackridge with as much good grace as she could manage, seeing the way that his expression grew somewhat uncomfortable as he looked away from her only to let his gaze dart back to her face for a moment.

“As I have said, Blackridge, Miss Grey is aware of everything,” Lord Marchmont said as Lord Blackridge shuffled his feet in a nervous fashion. “Might you walk with us for a few minutes in the gardens? I have had a thought that I wished to share with Miss Grey, but it is important that it is done so as privately as possible. You may recall that the note stated that Miss Grey was not to know of what had occurred with me and I fear that the person behind the note may be watching us or drawing near to us at this very moment.”

Ophelia had quite forgotten about this part of the note, and felt a shiver run down her spine, trembling suddenly. Lord Marchmont gave her a sharp look of concern, having obviously felt her shake. Ophelia, who hated that she had shown such a moment of weakness, cleared her throat gently and then smiled at Lord Blackridge. “Shall you join us, Lord Blackridge?” she asked, not wanting to cause either gentleman any concern. “All is forgiven, I assure you.”

Lord Blackridge smiled back, although his shoulders dropped in evident relief. “Yes, of course, Miss Grey,” he said, stumbling over his words. “I should be glad to. Please.” He gestured towards the door and Ophelia walked towards it at once, half dragging Lord Marchmont along with her in her urgency to leave the ballroom and the many, many guests within.

The gardens were quiet and Ophelia allowed herself to relax, taking in long breaths as she fought to settle her quickening heart. It was the thought that the person who had written the note was within the ballroom that had set her all atremble, even though she had believed herself to have a strong constitution. What was it she was afraid of? Did she fear for Lord Marchmont? For his brother, whom she did not know? Or was it that she feared that her own behavior would be the thing to throw the entire situation into disarray? If she spoke out of turn, if she behaved with her usual brashness and blunt manner, then might she not inadvertently say something that would prove to the person responsible that she knew what was going on? That could, in turn, have disastrous consequences for which she would be solely responsible.

“Are you quite all right, Miss Grey?”

She jerked in surprise, pulled from her anxious thoughts by the voice of Lord Marchmont. He was now looking at her with concern, his eyes darting across her face as though he might be able to make out what she was thinking or feeling. The gardens were well lit with a good many lanterns and so it was easy enough to see the worry in his eyes.

“I am quite all right,” she replied, trying to reassure him despite her slightly tremulous smile. “Thank you, Lord Marchmont. I was just lost in thought for a moment.”

Lord Marchmont nodded and smiled, although the concern did not leave his eyes completely.

“What was it you wished to say?” she asked, trying not to think about the effect his worried gaze was having upon her heart. “Was it something of particular interest?”

Lord Marchmont nodded and lifted his gaze from her, freeing her completely. Ophelia quietly let out her breath, relieved at no longer being the object of his attention.

“Yes, indeed,” he murmured, keeping his voice low and quiet so that only Ophelia and Lord Blackridge could hear him. “I did wonder, Miss Grey, whether you are simply the unfortunate soul in all of this.”

Her frown was immediate. “Unfortunate?” she repeated quickly. “What do you mean?”

“Unfortunate in that you have found yourself tied to me,” he replied by way of explanation. “I was reminded by Lord Whitfield recently that the ton are always aware of the happenings of others. Most will know that we were courting. Had I been courting some other young lady, then it might well have been her name on the note I discovered, as opposed to yours.” He shrugged and looked away. “This may very well have nothing to do with you, Miss Grey, and yet you have become entangled within it regardless.”

Ophelia considered this in silence for some minutes, whilst Lord Blackridge grunted his agreement. If such a suggestion were true, then it meant that she was simply unlucky.

“The note instructed you to resume your court with me,” she stated, seeing Lord Marchmont nod. “The urgency, then, might be presumed to be your marriage, Lord Marchmont.”

Lord Marchmont rubbed at his chin with his free hand. “What do you mean?”

“The note mentioned courtship and marriage, did it not?” she asked, seeing Lord Marchmont glance at her before looking away. “The focus of the note is to have you married just as soon as can be arranged. And the best way for such a thing to occur is for you to resume your courtship with a lady you have previously become fairly well acquainted with.”

“Indeed, that is so,” Lord Blackridge agreed, suddenly sounding a little excited. “Miss Grey is quite correct, Lord Marchmont. To demand that you resume your acquaintance with her might well be because the need for you to marry grows urgent. It would take much longer for you to acquaint yourself with other young ladies and even longer for you to choose one or two to court.”

Ophelia felt Lord Marchmont’s steps slow, his expression thoughtful. “That could very well be the case,” he admitted, looking down at Ophelia with dark, knotted brows. “Which means, Miss Grey, that I must apologize to you profusely that you have been dragged into this.”

A surge of compassion caught at her heart. “It is only a thought, Lord Marchmont,” she told him, reaching to wrap her free hand around his arm as though that might make him aware of just how little she blamed him for this. “It may not be as we have thought. Besides which, even if it is so, it is not as though you are at fault in any way.” She smiled at him, wanting to lift the heaviness from his shoulders and, much to her relief, he finally sighed, nodded, and smiled back, the tension leaving his frame as he did so.

“Then all we must discover is who will benefit from your marriage,” Lord Blackridge suggested, drawing both Ophelia and Lord Marchmont’s attention. “Will that not give us the answers we seek?”

Lord Marchmont squeezed his eyes closed and rubbed at his forehead, coming to a sudden stop. “If only it should be as easy,” he muttered, making Ophelia’s heart squeeze with sympathy all the more. “I have no family save for my brother, for my father was an only child. I simply cannot think of who might benefit in the way you suggest.”

Lord Blackridge did not seem to be phased by this. “It may be someone you have not thought of,” he told Lord Marchmont firmly. “Might we meet tomorrow to discuss matters further?”

Lord Marchmont glanced down at Ophelia and then back to Lord Blackridge. “If you would both call upon me in the afternoon, then that might very well suit us all,” he told his friend. “And mayhap you will wish to bring Miss Smallwood also, Miss Grey?”

Ophelia nodded quickly. “But of course.”

“And after we have discussed matters and taken some refreshments, I thought to go to the boarding house where I was discovered and speak again to the proprietor,” Lord Marchmont finished, now looking back at Ophelia. “And yes, Miss Grey, I would be pleased if you would accompany us there also.”

Having just been about to protest that there was no reason why she, too, might not join Lord Blackridge and Lord Marchmont at the boarding house, Ophelia closed her mouth quickly and felt heat rise in her cheeks. “You know me a little better than I expected, Lord Marchmont,” she told him, unable to hold his gaze given the laughter that was within his expression. “You knew I would not be particularly enamored with the idea of remaining behind.”

“Indeed, I did,” he replied with a small chuckle. “But regardless, Miss Grey, I should be glad of your company for I know you have a quick wit that may prove very useful as we discuss things with the fellow. It may be that your manner of speaking will surprise him so much that he will have no choice but to answer your questions truthfully.”

Ophelia’s color heightened even more. Lord Marchmont patted her hand as it rested on his arm, peering down into her face.

“I did not mean to embarrass you, Miss Grey,” he said, sounding deeply apologetic. “It is just that I think you will do wonderfully as we search for the required answers, truly.”

Nodding but still feeling deeply ashamed, Ophelia looked up into his face and saw the frustration at his own lack of consideration written in his expression. Her heart lifted from her mortification, seeing that he truly had not meant to shame her but had meant to encourage her that her unusually honest manner and sharp tone would be put to good use come the morrow. Sighing, she looked away and let her lips quirk gently.

“It seems I am not the only one who can, on occasion, speak without due consideration,” she replied, seeing him give her a wry smile. “Thank you, Lord Marchmont. Thank you for including me in your plans tomorrow. I look forward to speaking to this proprietor and doing what I can to aid you in your search for answers.”

“I am truly grateful to have your support,” Lord Marchmont told her, his hand squeezing hers gently. “It has been a comfort to know that you are willing to help me in my struggles.”

Ophelia smiled and, for a long moment, it seemed as though there were just the two of them in the gardens, all sound and distractions fading away. Even Lord Blackridge’s presence had become nothing more than a shadow in her eyes, looking up keenly into Lord Marchmont’s face and finding a comfort there.

“Shall we return inside?”

Lord Blackridge’s voice jerked them back to themselves, making Ophelia flush and tug her hands from Lord Marchmont’s arm.

“Yes, indeed,” she replied, putting a bright smile on her face to cover her embarrassment. “For it will soon be our waltz, Lord Marchmont, and Lord Blackridge, I do not think you have signed my dance card yet!” She laughed as the gentleman bowed quickly and reached for it, making Lord Marchmont smile too. There was something growing between herself and Lord Marchmont that Ophelia did not even want to acknowledge, for fear that she would become so aware of it, she would not be able to think of anything else. Turning her mind and heart away from Lord Marchmont, she hurried back towards the ballroom, determined that she would enjoy the rest of the evening and would not think about the note and her courtship until the morrow.

9

There was a sense of camaraderie growing between himself and Miss Grey, Peter realized. Gazing at her now, seated across the carriage and deep in conversation with Miss Smallwood, Peter allowed himself a long look at the lady he was courting. Her emerald eyes were glinting with happiness, as though she were very much looking forward to interviewing the proprietor of the boarding house, her chocolate-colored hair carefully pulled back under her bonnet. One or two small tendrils had escaped and played about her temples, bouncing gently as she laughed at something Miss Smallwood had said. She was not markedly beautiful but there was something about her that he could not look away from. Was it the lightness of her eyes? The way her lips curved as she smiled? He simply could not understand what it was about her that caught him now, as it had done the first time he had seen her.

Of course, the first time he had sought to court her, he had been much too eager. Having decided that he was to do all he could to find himself a wife, he had been transfixed by Miss Grey’s seeming ease of manner as she conversed easily with a good many acquaintances. Having sought an introduction, he had been delighted with her seeming interest in him and eagerly asked to call upon her. Their first afternoon visit had gone well, although it was rather brief. Thinking that Miss Grey might soon be caught by another gentleman once the Season began to progress, he had acted rashly and asked to court her after only one visit. She had been surprised but had agreed—and things had only worsened from there. Now, however, Peter had to admit that he was seeing something markedly different about Miss Grey. Now that she knew the truth about his difficulties, she had shown both compassion and understanding, and instead of turning away from him had sought to share in his troubles and help him find a satisfactory end. Moreover, she was doing her utmost to not speak rashly and was obviously taking a good deal more time to consider her words. Whilst he had come to appreciate her honest manner, he could not pretend he was not grateful for the consideration she had begun to show in that regard. Perhaps, if she continued to do so, then he might…

He shook his head to himself, stopping his thoughts at once. He could not allow himself to become caught up with Miss Grey, not in any way. He had to ensure that, whilst they continued to give the appearance of courtship, he did not allow his heart to become fettered. Yes, he was growing more considerate of Miss Grey and yes, he had come to appreciate her greatly in her willingness to help him, but he did not need to begin to feel anything of consequence for her. That would be entirely foolish, given that their courtship would come to an end once the identity of the person who had written the note came to light.

“Are you quite all right, Lord Marchmont?”

Looking up, he saw Miss Grey watching him curiously.

“It is only that you just shook your head and then murmured something,” she explained, looking apologetic for interrupting his reverie.

“Oh.” He shrugged, thinking quickly to come up with some excuse as to what he had been thinking about. “I was just hoping that the proprietor will be more willing to speak to me than he was the last time I spoke with him.”

Miss Grey chuckled. “I shall make certain that he is,” she replied, making him grin. “Might I ask what he said to you last time?”

Peter frowned, trying his best to recall. “I was in something of a haze when I left the boarding house at first,” he replied slowly, looking out of the window. “I recall the proprietor being rather angry with me for not paying my dues.”

“Your dues?” Miss Smallwood repeated, speaking aloud for the first time since they had climbed into the carriage.

Peter nodded, looking back at her. “Apparently, I was to pay for using the room I was in,” he replied with a shrug. “I had no knowledge of this but the man was most insistent.” Closing his eyes, he tried to remember what else had occurred. “My head was in a terrible state, but I recall asking him who had brought me there. However, he was so angry that I had not paid him as he had been promised that he refused to say anything more until I brought him the money.”

“And you have not done so as yet,” Lord Blackridge stated with a half-smile. “But you shall do so now, then?”

“I shall pay him more, if he will speak the truth to me,” Peter replied with feeling. “And whilst I hope he will allow us to look about the room again, I fear that it will hold no answers for us.” He opened his eyes, feeling the carriage slow. “Ah. I see the hackney is waiting.”

Miss Grey blinked in surprise. “The hackney?” she repeated, sounding confused. “I thought we were to drive directly to the boarding house.”

Peter hesitated, not wanting to frighten either Miss Grey or Miss Smallwood but knowing that he had to be honest with them both. “I am taking precautions, Miss Grey,” he said softly. “Taking my carriage to the boarding house is, in my estimation, a little unwise. It would be easily spotted and mention of its presence—as well as of those within—might well make its way to the ears of the man who put me there in the first place.” Miss Grey’s eyes flared for a moment before she nodded slowly, giving him a small smile. She was not afraid, then. Rather, she simply accepted that what he said was necessary. Peter felt his admiration for her begin to build.

“Come, then,” Lord Blackridge said as the carriage door opened. “Quickly, if you please.”

* * *

It took another half hour before the hackney finally arrived at the boarding house. Peter had instructed the driver to take his time in reaching their destination, so that he might be sure that no one was following them. By the time they reached the place, he was more than satisfied that they were quite alone.

“Here we are,” he said grandly, opening the door and jumping to the ground before offering his hand to Miss Grey. “Let us go inside with all haste.” Instructing the driver to wait for them and throwing him a guinea by way of a promise that he would pay the man handsomely, Peter urged the other three inside, ignoring the urchins that ran past them as they did so. The street was rather dirty and the boarding house itself did not appear to be particularly clean. He suppressed a shudder, knowing precisely why he had been brought here by the man responsible. It was a place where no one would be willing to speak of what they had seen. A place where men had to remain hidden and silent, for fear that opening their mouths would earn them grave consequences. Money held great sway over the people who lived here. It kept them quiet. It kept them from speaking the truth. It bound their tongues and allowed dark deeds to escape unnoticed.

Peter’s stomach tightened as he walked into the boarding house, wrinkling his nose at the damp smell that assailed his nostrils. The front door opened directly onto a large, open space which had nothing more than a few chairs and a large table, where a man sat with a book open in front of him and a pencil in his hand. To the man’s left there was an open door that, if Peter recalled correctly, led to the rooms where patrons could stay.

“Good afternoon,” he stated, walking towards the man and recognizing him as the proprietor. “You might remember me?” He saw the man’s brows furrow but held his gaze steadily, knowing that his very presence should force the proprietor to show him some begrudging respect.

The man looked him over and then grunted. “You didn’t look like that when I saw you last.”

Peter shrugged. “I suppose I was a little worse for wear,” he admitted, knowing that he certainly had not looked his very best that morning. “But that is not of any importance. What is important is that I inspect the room I found myself in and that you give me as much detail as possible about the fellow that brought me here in the first place.” He narrowed his eyes as the man frowned. “I know full well that I cannot have walked into this place myself and climbed the stairs to the attic rooms, so you need not pretend that it was so.”

The man’s angry glare held no respect whatsoever, begrudging or otherwise. “You didn’t pay me what you owe.”

“If Lord Marchmont did not come here of his own accord and was, instead, brought by another gentleman, then why is it his responsibility to pay what is owed?” Miss Grey stepped forward, her hands in front of her clasped together as she looked at the proprietor. “That does not seem particularly fair now, does it?”

The man said nothing for some moments, his gaze running down over Miss Grey’s form and then back up again. Peter felt something within him flare with anger, to the point that he had to fight the urge to lean across the table and plant the man a facer.

“Once you are finished regarding me, might you be able to find a tongue in your head?” Miss Grey asked, her tone a good deal sharper as she narrowed her eyes. Much to Peter’s relief, the man flushed dark red and looked away, stammering something incomprehensible.

“You shall give me the description of the fellow that brought Lord Marchmont here that night whilst Lord Marchmont himself searches the attic room.”

The proprietor opened his mouth in protest, but Miss Grey held up her hand almost at once, silencing him.

“You need not ask why Lord Marchmont is required to do so, for it is not for you to know. Now, the key to the room, if you please, and thereafter, draw up a chair for myself and Miss Smallwood so that we may seat ourselves whilst we talk to you.” She gave the man a small smile which did not warm her eyes. “And some tea would not go amiss.”

The effect Miss Grey seemed to have on the man was incredible to witness. The proprietor seemed to deflate in his chair, sinking back into it as his red face began to turn a little more pink. He stared at Miss Grey for a full minute before nodding to himself, getting up with some difficulty from his chair, and lumbering over to a chest of drawers that sat close to the window at the back of the room. The sound of keys being jangled reached Peter’s ears and he looked at Miss Grey, who had a triumphant smile on her face.

He wanted to pull her tight into his embrace out of sheer joy and relief that she had been able to do something he was certain he would not have managed. The look in her eyes when she directed her smile towards him told Peter that Miss Grey was just as pleased as he, although the smile disappeared from her face the moment the proprietor walked back towards them.

“What is your name?” Peter asked as the man handed him the key.

“Marks,” the man replied gruffly, not looking at Peter. “Do be quick, if you please. I have someone coming to stay in that room tonight.”

Peter, remembering the thin mattress he had seen, winced inwardly, grasped the key, and hurried from the room with Lord Blackridge by his side.

“Do you think Miss Grey and Miss Smallwood will be quite all right with Mr. Marks?” Lord Blackridge asked, looking concerned. “He appears quite brusque.”

Peter snorted, grinning at his friend. “You need not worry on Miss Grey’s account, Blackridge,” he told him. “She is more than capable of not only securing the answers we need from Marks, but ensuring that they are both treated with nothing but respect. By the time we return, I expect they shall both be sipping tea out of Marks’ very best china cups and have him waiting on them should they require anything further.” His grin slipped as he looked up at the staircase that led towards the attic rooms. His memories of descending it were not pleasant ones. “Someone with a good deal of strength must have helped me up these stairs,” he muttered, beginning to climb them. “Either that or I walked up here willingly of my own accord, and he struck me hard once I was within the room.”

“You have no memory of being here other than when you awoke?” Lord Blackridge asked, making Peter shake his head.

“None,” he replied darkly. “The last thing I recall was being at some ball or other and enjoying a few glasses of ratafia—nothing more.” He shook his head, the absence of memory frustrating him. “If I could recall anything more, then mayhap I would be able to understand who has done this.”

“It is all very strange,” Lord Blackridge commented as they walked along a short hallway towards the final set of stairs that would lead them to the attic. “It is not as though there is any purpose or benefit to anyone in you marrying.”

Peter remained silent, although he agreed entirely. Prior to coming here, the four of them had considered who might benefit from either his or Miss Grey’s marriage—but they had not been able to think of even a single name.

“Do you recall who might have been drinking with you that evening?” Lord Blackridge asked as Peter took the key and pushed it into the locked door of the attic room. “Anyone who might have been able to put something into your drink that would render you either easily pliable or encouraged towards sleep?”

Again, Peter could not recall even a single thing and so shook his head. “No, I do not,” he muttered, feeling embarrassed that he did not remember anything that would be of use to them. “If I could, then it would be a great help, I know.” He sighed and pushed the door open. “You think, then, that I imbibed something as opposed to being knocked unconscious?”

Lord Blackridge shrugged as Peter walked into the room, the dry, musty smell of the room making him wrinkle his nose. “I think, Marchmont, that if you were hit on the head and knocked unconscious, it would not have been done in public. It would have drawn attention, would it not? Therefore, if you can only recall the ball that you attended and nothing more thereafter, then I would suggest that laudanum, or some such thing, was put in your ratafia without you being aware of it.”

Peter, seeing the sense in this remark, nodded slowly as Lord Blackridge walked into the room behind him. “I do not recall anyone of significance, however,” he replied, his frustration growing steadily. “I cannot even think of who might have put something such as that into my glass of ratafia.” He shook his head and sighed, running one hand through his hair as he wandered to the window, recalling just how painful his head had become when he had pulled the curtain back to reveal the daylight. “Perhaps this entire situation is nothing more than foolish. The proprietor is certain to have cleaned this room since I was in it.”

Lord Blackridge chortled. “I hardly think so, given the state of this place!” he replied with a chuckle. “The dust lies thickly in certain corners and the mattress does not look particularly clean.”

Wincing, Peter turned around. “No wonder my mouth felt as though it were filled with dirt when I first awoke,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Although I found myself lying on the floor instead of the mattress, which may, in fact, have been something of a blessing.”

Another chuckle came from Lord Blackridge, lightening the tension Peter felt somewhat. “Indeed. Although there is a small wooden box here—” he paused. “It does not seem to hold anything of significance.”

Peter turned sharply, cursing himself under his breath for never once thinking about returning to the boarding house to pick up the wooden box and bring it back with him. Lord Blackridge’s eyes widened as he saw Peter’s immediate response, realizing quickly that this box was the one that had contained the note.

“It does not appear to have any markings or the like,” Lord Blackridge said hastily, handing the box to Peter. “I fear there is nothing that will catch your eye.”

Peter swallowed hard and accepted the box from Lord Blackridge’s hand, turning it over and over as though he might be able to find something—anything—if he just looked hard enough. It was fairly small, but appeared to be beautifully made. The hinges did not squeak when the box was opened and the box itself shone with a brilliance that told Peter it had been buffed and smoothed to perfection. It was as though the box itself was unfinished, as though it had been intended for some ornate decoration but had been removed from that purpose by someone unknown. Disappointment seeped into his bones as he saw that what Lord Blackridge had said was correct, for the box seemed to be entirely without embellishment. It had no markings, no carvings, and nothing of note that might give him a clue as to where it had come from. Frustrated, Peter closed his eyes and let the box drop from his hands, hearing it clatter on the floor.

“Marchmont, look!”

Lord Blackridge’s voice was filled with a sudden excitement, making Peter turn at once to look down at the broken box. The box was in two separate pieces on the floor, and as Peter dropped to his haunches to look at what Lord Blackridge was pointing at, he saw a distinct mark on one of the pieces.

“It is an initial, I think,” Lord Blackridge said quickly, gesturing to the black ink mark which had been hidden from Peter’s eyes. “No, two. Look, there. R.H.”

Peter narrowed his eyes and picked up one half of the box, realizing that the initials had been written on the underside of the top half of the box, where it would join with the lower. The initials were written right next to the hinges, so that they would not be seen unless someone searched for them carefully. Was this the maker’s initials? Was this someone he could find, in the hope that they might be able to tell him who had owned this box?

“It is something at least,” he breathed, feeling a sudden surge of hope rise in his chest. “R.H.” He frowned. “I do not know any merchant with those initials.”

“But we can search,” Lord Blackridge said, sounding much more enthusiastic now that they had found something of note. “Take the box with you, Marchmont. It is necessary for what we are to do next.”

Peter nodded and rose to his feet, picking up both pieces of the box. He cast an eye over the rest of the room, not seeing anything else of significance.

“I will go over everything,” he said, feeling a good deal more decisive. “Just in case there is something else that has been hidden and is just waiting for me to seek it out. And then, we shall return to Miss Grey and Miss Smallwood and see what it is they have discovered.”

Lord Blackridge nodded his agreement, although his broad grin told Peter that he was utterly delighted that they had found something. It would have been quite disheartening, Peter knew, to have discovered nothing of consequence. At least, with this box, they would have another trail to follow.

Some minutes later, Peter and Lord Blackridge walked from the room with a feeling of satisfaction in both their hearts. They had not found anything more, aside from the mark of blood on the floor which Peter knew had been from his head, but the fact that they had found the box and the initials therein brought them both a good deal of happiness.

“Miss Grey,” Peter smiled, walking towards the lady and seeing that, as he had thought, both she and Miss Smallwood were drinking tea from delicate china cups, whilst Marks, the proprietor, stood a little to one side eyeing them warily. “We have returned.”

Miss Grey smiled at him, although there was something in her eyes that told him she had something important to tell him. His heart quickened.

“Might we depart, then, Lord Marchmont?” she enquired, as her friend, Miss Smallwood, rose from her chair. “I am growing quite weary, I confess, and should be glad to return home.”

“But of course.” He bowed quickly, then offered her his hand which she took without hesitation, rising to her feet as she held his hand for just a moment too long. His mouth went dry.

“Thank you, Marks.”

Miss Grey looked away quickly, dropping his hand as though she had realized what she had unintentionally done.

“I am certain we shall have no need to return,” Peter commented, looking at the proprietor, who was gazing at Miss Grey with a slightly wary eye. “Thank you for your willingness to be of aid. If you will send my bill here, then I shall ensure you are paid fully.” He dropped his card on the table and saw Marks nod, although he did not insist that the money be paid immediately, as Peter had feared. With nothing more to be said, Peter offered Ophelia his arm and within a few moments, the four of them were seated once again in the hackney.

“I can tell by your expression that you have discovered something of note, Miss Grey,” Peter said at once, seeing the way Miss Grey smiled at him. “Pray, what is it?”

Miss Grey’s smile was gentle. “It may not give you the answers you seek, Lord Marchmont, but we did discover that the man who brought you here was a gentleman.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

Miss Grey threw a quick glance towards Miss Smallwood, who nodded in an encouraging fashion as though Miss Grey needed to be cajoled into speaking the truth.

“Marks was not completely willing to speak to us initially, but I soon encouraged him to do so,” Miss Grey began, a little slowly. “He stated that he has no knowledge of who it was that brought you here, Lord Marchmont.”

“Oh.” Peter felt himself sag with disappointment, but Miss Grey, it seemed, was not finished.

“However,” she continued, holding up one hand to stem any words of disappointment from his lips, “he did state that it was a gentleman who organized everything, for whilst he did not come inside himself, he had multiple footmen who came into the boarding house to do his bidding. One talked to Marks and told him what was required and produced a coin or two in order to secure the attic room without any further questions—although he did state that the footman said, very clearly, that you yourself would be paying any outstanding debts, Peter.”

Now a little more interested and feeling a tad more hopeful, Peter leaned forward in his seat so that he would not miss a word. “I do not care about such a trifle.”

Miss Grey nodded. “Of course.”

“So, I was brought into the boarding house by the footmen?”

“You were,” Miss Smallwood said quietly. “You were carried in, Marks said, as though you were completely in your cups and could not stand any longer.”

“Except he noticed that your head was in something of a state, with what appeared to be a cloth pressed to it,” Miss Grey added with a slight wince. “You must have sustained the injury to your head prior to being taken into the boarding house.”

Lord Blackridge cleared his throat, looking thoughtful. “Mayhap to ensure that you were completely unconscious and unable to pay any attention to where you were and what was occurring around you.”

“Mayhap,” Peter agreed, looking back at Miss Grey. “Is there anything else of importance? Whilst I am truly grateful for what you have discovered, it does not give us any further clues as to who has done this.”

Miss Grey held his gaze for a moment and then let a small smile creep across her face. “Indeed, it would be rather disappointing if there was nothing more,” she stated, whilst Miss Smallwood also began to smile. “But, thankfully, there is one thing more.”

Peter held his breath, seeing the glint in Miss Grey’s eyes. “Yes?”

She tugged something from her pocket and handed it to him, making him jerk back in surprise and shock when he saw the blood-stained handkerchief.

“It is quite dry,” Miss Grey stated, as though this was all that should concern him. “Marks found it in the room once you had departed. It was pressed to your head when you first arrived.”

A slow, creeping nausea climbed up Peter’s throat. “I see.”

“Look,” Miss Grey insisted, sounding amused that he was so repulsed by the handkerchief. “It has a name sewn into it, here. ‘Wilson’.”

“Wilson?” Peter repeated, leaning forward to see where Miss Grey was pointing. “I know no one by that name.”

Lord Blackridge nodded, looking at the handkerchief also. “It is not a name I am familiar with either.”

“But it must belong to someone connected to all of this, “Miss Grey insisted, frowning slightly that they had not been as excited as she was over this. “The name must mean something.”

Frowning, Peter nodded slowly, whilst not taking his eyes off of the handkerchief and the carefully embroidered name. The cloth itself was not particularly fine, which meant that it was probably not one that belonged to a titled gentleman. Most likely, it would belong to one of the staff—the valet or butler, mayhap. Looking up at Miss Grey, he saw her sagging back against the squabs, her disappointment evident.

“Thank you, Miss Grey,” he said earnestly, not wanting her to think that she had failed in any way, nor that he was not grateful for what she had discovered. “This has been most helpful. I am glad that you were able to discover the truth from Marks, for I fear that should I have continued to question him, he would have remained entirely silent.”

Miss Smallwood put one hand on Miss Grey’s arm and smiled encouragingly at her, making Peter wish that he, himself, was free to do exactly the same.

“You did very well, Ophelia,” Miss Smallwood said gently. “The way you convinced Marks to speak was quite wonderful to watch. I do wish that I had your ability to converse in such a firm and decisive manner.”

Miss Grey looked a little embarrassed and shrugged, although her lips were beginning to curve into a smile. “That is kind of you both to say. I am just sorry we could not find anything more.”

“This is enough,” he said firmly. “And with the box that Lord Blackridge discovered, we have more clues than before.” Seeing curiosity jump into her features, he spread his hands. “I will speak to you both of it once we have returned to the house. You will see, Miss Grey, that we are not without hope. We will discover the truth in the end, I have no doubt of it.”

Miss Grey looked back at him, doubt flickering in her green eyes, and Peter found himself almost desperate to have her believe that he was speaking the truth, that she had no need to fear that they would not succeed. His heart jumped quietly in his chest when she nodded, and he reached forward to touch his hand with hers for just a moment.

“Thank you, Lord Marchmont,” she replied, squeezing his fingers gently. “More than anything, I wish to see this burden removed from you, to see it taken from you entirely. That is all I wish for. To see you free.”

Her hand let go of his as she sat back. Peter swallowed hard, trying to find something to say in response but finding that his whole being had suddenly flared with heat and that his heart was thumping furiously within him. Choosing not to stumble or stammer over his words, he looked out of the hackney window, feeling truly grateful for Miss Grey. To have his ‘freedom’, as she had put it, would be to leave Miss Grey behind, to free her from their courtship again and to set himself apart from her. Initially, he had been filled with determination over that particular matter, but now, as the hackney drove through London and Peter sat across from Miss Grey, he found that desire to be parted from her slowly beginning to fade, leaving him greatly confused.

How foolish it would be to find himself holding some sort of affection for the one lady he had been trying to separate himself from. Surely it could not be that his heart was beginning to soften towards her. No, he could not allow that to occur.

And yet, as he glanced across the carriage and took in her countenance for a moment, Peter knew that he was not as unaffected by her as he wanted to believe. There was more than admiration in his heart for Miss Grey. It had come upon him rather swiftly and now that he was aware of it, Peter did not know what he was to do.

It was most disconcerting indeed.

10

Ophelia looked at her reflection in the mirror, tilting her head slightly so that she might see the way her curls ran down to her shoulders from where they had been pinned in place. Her maid had spent a good deal of time on such an arrangement and Ophelia was more than pleased with the result. Seed pearls had been pressed into her hair, catching the light whenever she moved. All in all, it was both an elegant and a beautiful presentation.

“You have done very well,” Ophelia murmured, getting to her feet and turning around to smile at her maid. “I thank you. Now for my gown and then I believe I shall be quite prepared.”

The maid blushed a little and hurried to get Ophelia the gown she had chosen for this evening. It was a delicate shade of turquoise, not overly dark, with a cream satin ribbon tied at her waist. Her feet were already encased in soft slippers and she would take her shawl with her so that the cool night air would not nip at her arms. Stepping into the gown, she waited until the maid had finished tying it before she allowed herself a look in the full-length mirror. One or two final touches—perhaps a necklace and earbobs—and she would be quite prepared.

She hoped Lord Marchmont would appreciate it.

The thought brought her up short, her eyes flaring with sudden shock. Had she truly just been considering Lord Marchmont? Had her thoughts just turned towards him as though he were the sole object of her intentions? Her cheeks flushed with color as she closed her eyes tightly, as though in doing so, all thoughts of him would rush from her. Instead, they only intensified.

Swallowing the sudden lump in her throat, Ophelia opened her eyes and let out her breath slowly, trying to calm herself somewhat. Her acquaintance with Lord Marchmont was growing, yes, but that did not mean that she ought to feel anything other than friendship towards him. To have any more than that was certain to bring about a good deal of difficulty.

“Are you quite all right, my lady?”

Ophelia turned swiftly and nodded to her maid, knowing that her color remained heightened. “I am perfectly well, I thank you,” she lied. “You may retire for the night. I do not intend to return home early and can quite easily retire without your help.”

The maid beamed at this, bobbed a curtsy, and hurried from the room just as Lady Sharrow approached. Her eyes ran over Ophelia’s new gown and she smiled her approval as she lingered in the doorway.

“I was just about to come in search of you,” Lady Sharrow said with a warm expression. “You look quite lovely, Ophelia. Are you prepared? Lord Marchmont has not yet arrived but I would not wish to be tardy.”

Just as she said this, there came the sound of hurrying feet and Lady Sharrow looked over her shoulder. Murmuring something to the servant that had approached, she then looked back at Ophelia.

“Lord Marchmont has just arrived,” she said, her tone now a little urgent. “Do come quickly, Ophelia. You are prepared, are you not?”

Ophelia nodded, hating the streak of nerves that ran up her spine as she hurried from the room after her aunt. She had no need to feel like this, no need to be anxious about Lord Marchmont’s arrival, and yet she felt as though her stomach were filled with butterflies, all beating their wings at a frantic pace.

“Oh!”

Lady Sharrow stopped dead, making Ophelia come to a stumbling stop.

“I quite forgot that I wished to wear my pearls this evening,” Lady Sharrow said, one hand pressed against her throat as though they might be there. “I shall only be a few minutes, Ophelia. Do go and greet Lord Marchmont.”

A frown dug into Ophelia’s brow, seeing the gleam in her aunt’s eye and wondering if this had been done deliberately. “I do not think that would be proper, Aunt.”

“Nonsense!” Lady Sharrow protested, gesturing for Ophelia to continue towards the drawing room alone. “As I said, I shall be but a few minutes.”

Ophelia was about to protest that she should not greet Lord Marchmont alone, only for Lady Sharrow’s expression to grow a little hard, her brow furrowing. Seeing that it was pointless to argue, Ophelia sighed heavily, turned on her heel, and began to progress along the hallway towards the drawing room where Lord Marchmont was waiting.

“Lord Marchmont.”

Opening the door, Ophelia attempted to sail in with as much grace and poise as she could, hating that her heart was thumping so loudly that she was certain that he could hear it.

“Good evening, Miss Grey,” he replied, looking quite resplendent in his formal attire. “Thank you for permitting me to accompany you to the theatre this evening.”

Ophelia smiled and nodded, suddenly wondering what it would be like to sit in the darkness in such close proximity to this gentleman. A flush began to rise up her neck and into her cheeks as she let this thought take hold, feeling a sense of excitement.

“You are looking forward to this evening, I hope?” Lord Marchmont asked, coming a little closer to her, his hands held loosely behind his back. “I confess that I am not often enamored with Shakespeare, but this evening, I may find that the company increases my enjoyment of such a thing.”

This was a compliment indeed and Ophelia managed to accept it with a warm smile. “I look forward to being in your company also, Lord Marchmont,” she replied, a trifle thickly as she struggled to know what to say. His nearness was having a profound effect on her, one she could not quite understand. “It will be a relief for us both, I think, to have an evening without focusing on the current predicament we find ourselves in.”

Lord Marchmont grinned, his brown eyes alight as he stood only a couple of steps away from her. “I am glad you think so, Miss Grey. It has been a very interesting few days, has it not?”

It had been two days now since they had been at the boarding house. Ophelia had been glad that they had discovered as much as they did and had been greatly excited to find the handkerchief and then to be shown the box with the initials carved into it. However, she had left both items with Lord Marchmont, knowing that she could not be of much help to him given that none of her acquaintances had either the name ‘Wilson’ or the initials ‘R.H’.

“Have you discovered anything new?”

Lord Marchmont’s smile faded and he shook his head. “No, unfortunately not. I confess that I was hugely pleased that we had found not one but two items, and that Marks had been willing to speak to you about what had occurred that night. However, now it seems that the task of finding who created the box and who the handkerchief belongs to is much more difficult than even I had anticipated.” He gave a small shake of his head. “I thought this evening to take my mind from it entirely and simply enjoy being in your company, Miss Grey.”

“I would have thought that you would prefer not to be in my company, Lord Marchmont, given that I am much too brash and far too outspoken.”

Ophelia did not know where the words came from, surprising both herself and Lord Marchmont, it seemed. She closed her eyes and cringed inwardly, wondering why she had spoken so indelicately. Was it because she was afraid that he would end their courtship the moment they discovered the truth? Why would she be afraid of that when it was what she wanted also?

“Miss Grey, I know that we find ourselves in a very awkward situation,” Lord Marchmont began, sounding a trifle hesitant. “I am aware that we must keep up appearances in order to prove to whoever is watching us that we are—that I am—doing as he has asked, but I would not have you believe that I find your company something that I must endure.”

Swallowing quickly, Ophelia settled her shoulders and tried to think about what she wanted to say before she said it. Lord Marchmont was looking at her with concern and worry in his expression, as though he were the one at fault for making her believe something that was not at all true.

“Forgive me, Lord Marchmont,” she stammered, spreading her hands in front of her. “I do not know what possessed me to speak to you in such a manner.”

He did not smile nor did he look to be angry. “There is nothing to forgive, Miss Grey.”

A small groan escaped her mouth and she shook her head, turning away from Lord Marchmont so that she might wander to the window and attempt to gather her fragmented thoughts. Embarrassed, she was glad that he could no longer see her red cheeks, hating that she had not been careful in what she said.

“You do believe me, do you not, Miss Grey?”

His voice was nearer than she had expected and Ophelia jumped, turning around to see Lord Marchmont moving closer to her again, as if he could not bear to be separated from her. “What do you mean, Lord Marchmont?” she asked, aware of the fluttering in her chest and attempting to settle her composure.

He cleared his throat, now standing so very close to her that she could feel his breath brush across her cheek. She could move away, could step back from him, but it was as though she were tied to him and he was pulling the cord so that she had to move even closer.

“I must know that you are assured that I truly do find your company most engaging,” Lord Marchmont said, his voice and expression somewhat tender. “I know that when I first brought our courtship to an end, I told you that I did not think we suited each other particularly well. I am rather quiet and fairly dull, whereas you sparkle with life and vivacity.” He shrugged, a sad smile creeping across his face. “We are very different, you and I, and yet I find now that I truly do look forward to being in your company.”

She did not know what to say at this, seeing the fervency in his eyes and wanting to understand it. They were, as he said, so very different and yet she, too, had found herself growing increasingly comfortable in his presence. Over the last fortnight, she had learned to watch what she said before she said it, to speak with consideration and understanding, and not to act brashly. That was entirely because of Lord Marchmont’s influence, from her desire not to embarrass him in any way. Part of her had wanted him to enjoy her company, had wanted him to find a quiet contentment in their acquaintance. She should be delighted that he was speaking to her so, but instead, all she felt was nervousness building up through her.

“Miss Grey?”

Lord Marchmont reached out and before she could say anything, pushed back a curl from her forehead, tucking it behind her ear. She shivered at his touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment as she pressed one hand to her stomach in an attempt to steady her breathing.

“Forgive me.” Lord Marchmont’s voice was low, his hand falling to his side. “I did not mean—”

“Please.” Ophelia opened her eyes, speaking urgently so that he could not continue to express regret. “Please, Lord Marchmont, you need not apologize. It is quite all right.”

He looked down at her with something in his eyes she could not quite make out.

“I—I find that I also look forward to being in your company, Lord Marchmont,” she admitted, the words tumbling from her mouth as if she were suddenly desperate to have them said aloud. “I know that I have insulted and offended you prior to this, when I called you dull and the like, but I can only apologize for such a thing now.” She held his gaze, her heart thudding in her chest. “You are not at all the gentleman I thought you were. I find myself looking forward to being in your company. I do hope you can forgive me for my past wrongs.”

He smiled at her and took a small step closer, making Ophelia’s heart thump all the more quickly. Her whole being was aware of him, focused entirely on him, finding that a strange desire was building up within her, urging her on. She did not know precisely what it was she wanted, feeling this strange new affection and desire for Lord Marchmont grow within her with such force that it took her breath away. When he reached out and brushed his fingers lightly down her cheek, it was all she could do to keep from throwing her arms about his neck and pulling his head down to hers. To behave in such a wanton fashion was not at all acceptable and she knew she could never give in to such a desire without fully considering the implications that would follow.

“Miss Grey, you are quite extraordinary.”

Lord Marchmont’s voice was low and soft, one hand settling on her waist whilst she found herself putting one hand gently on his chest, feeling the wild beat of his heart under her fingers. Astonished, she looked up into his face and saw him smile at her in a self-conscious manner.

“You can see what effect your nearness has on me, Miss Grey,” he whispered, his head beginning to lower. “I do not know what this means, but—”

The sound of footsteps brought Ophelia to her senses all at once and she dropped her hands to her side and then turned so that she could hurry towards the window, in order to look out of it. Her eyes saw nothing, her breathing coming quick and fast as she tried to find her composure all over again, not wanting her aunt to be aware of what had almost occurred.

“Lord Marchmont!” Lady Sharrow’s words were filled with welcome and, as Ophelia turned, she saw the hopeful gleam in her aunt’s eye although she appeared to be disappointed that Ophelia and Lord Marchmont were standing on opposite sides of the room. “How good to see you. Thank you for your kind offer of accompanying us to the theatre this evening.”

“But of course.” Lord Marchmont’s voice was calm and steady, and he gave Lady Sharrow a small bow as Ophelia smoothed her skirts and then walked towards them both. “I do hope this will be an enjoyable evening.” He glanced towards Ophelia as he said this, a smile playing about his mouth that had Ophelia blushing all over again.

This did not go unnoticed by Lady Sharrow, who practically grinned with delight as she gestured for them both to quit the room.

“Shall we depart?” she asked, moving to stand by the door. “I do not want to be late.”

“Of course, Aunt,” Ophelia murmured, hurrying forward first and thinking that the sooner they got in the carriage and made their way to the theatre, the better. She would no longer feel such a heat rushing through her once she was in the company of her aunt as well as Lord Marchmont. There was nothing she needed to worry about. This strange awareness of his presence would flee from her soon.

Much to her surprise, Lord Marchmont was at her heels, catching her hand and, before she could say a word, settling it on his arm. She did not remove it but felt her breath hitch as he looked down into her eyes.

“I think we have an urgent need for a private conversation, Miss Grey,” Lord Marchmont murmured as Lady Sharrow walked behind them along the hallway. “What say you?”

She nodded, not quite certain she should trust her voice.

“I apologize if I was overly familiar and if you did not wish for my attentions,” he continued, in such a low voice that Ophelia struggled to hear him. “But there are emotions in my heart that cannot be hidden for much longer, Miss Grey.”

Taking in a breath, Ophelia attempted to settle her shoulders and remove the sense of frantic anxiety from her. “You have nothing to apologize for, Lord Marchmont,” she told him, no longer able to look up into his face for fear of what his smile might do to her heart. “And yes, I quite agree. A conversation would be most welcome, although mayhap in a few days’ time, once I have considered all that I feel and decided what I am to do with it.” Shooting him a quick glance, she saw that his smile had faded somewhat and a flicker of a frown was crossing his brow. Nevertheless, Lord Marchmont nodded and accepted her suggestion with quiet thanks.

Nothing more was said thereafter, for once they were in the carriage with her aunt, there was no opportunity to speak privately. Ophelia took the chance to look out of the window and allow her heart to swim with whatever emotions it wished, letting them climb through her as she accepted each one. This was not at all what she had thought would occur when she had first offered to help Lord Marchmont, and even now, she was not certain that it was what she wanted.

It was good that Lord Marchmont was willing to listen to her, to give her the time she needed to consider her own heart before sharing his thoughts with her also, but even the thought of allowing herself to feel this deep affection for Lord Marchmont without restraint gave her pause. What would become of their mystery if she thought to accept him again? Would he simply give up the search? Would he want to marry her and forget about the note and the ring? Or would he seek to find the culprit and mayhap, once it had been dealt with, choose to pursue a true courtship with her? Ophelia did not know, feeling a dull ache begin to form between her brows. This was all so new and, in its own way, quite terrifying. She had been certain of herself, knowing what she thought, what she felt, and what she wanted, but now, in this strangeness that surrounded herself and Lord Marchmont, she had very little idea of what she wished for in her future. She was not even sure of her own heart, wondering at the emotions that flooded it whenever she so much as glanced at Lord Marchmont.

He caught her looking at him and smiled at her, his eyes warm as he held her gaze. Ophelia swallowed hard and looked away, unable to bring a returning smile to her lips. It was all quite overwhelming and she did not feel as though she had the strength to save herself from her turbulent emotions.

But, then again, perhaps there was no need to do so. Perhaps there was something truly wonderful in what she felt for Lord Marchmont and in what he might feel for her. The only question was, dare she risk the vulnerability that would come with sharing her heart with him?

11

“You have found nothing?”

Peter shook his head, sighing heavily. “I took the box to various places within London and asked as to who might have made it, but no one gave me any help whatsoever.”

“Then we must keep looking,” Lord Blackridge stated unequivocally. “There must be someone who knows where this box has come from.”

Peter nodded but did not say anything more. His mind was, it seemed, not completely focused on the box nor on the note and the ring. Instead, it was beginning to consider Miss Grey with a good deal more urgency than before.

“Marchmont.”

He looked up. “Yes?”

Lord Blackridge narrowed his eyes a little. “Something else has occurred. Something else is distracting you. What is it? Have you heard from your brother?”

Feeling a twinge of guilt that he was not more concerned for Edward given that he had received no response as yet to any of his letters, Peter shook his head.

“Then what is it that catches your attention so?” Lord Blackridge asked, frowning. “You appear to be quite caught up with something other than this box and handkerchief.”

Peter swallowed hard and then shook his head again. “It is Miss Grey, Blackridge, that is all.”

Lord Blackridge looked greatly astonished for a moment, then began to chuckle. “Indeed?” he replied, laughing softly. “That is, you are considering a proper courtship with her?”

Peter shrugged. “I do not know what it is I am considering,” he replied truthfully. “Other than I cannot seem to remove her from my thoughts. I greatly enjoy her company and no longer find her as loud and outspoken as I did before.” He sighed heavily and would have run his hand through his hair in exasperation at his own lack of clarity, were it not for his hat. “My estimation of her has changed significantly.”

“That is excellent news,” Lord Blackridge exclaimed as they drew near to White’s. “It means that if we do not find the person behind the note and the threats, then you may find yourself rather contented in the fact that you must marry Miss Grey after all.”

Frowning, Peter tipped his head. “I cannot be certain if that will be the case,” he said slowly. “I am not certain as to what Miss Grey herself feels and I should not want to press the matter if she does not feel the same as I do.” He did not tell Lord Blackridge about how he had drawn close to Miss Grey the previous evening, before they went to the theatre. Nor did he tell him about how her breath had quickened, how color had come into her cheeks, and how her eyes had sparkled as she had looked up at him. She had been utterly breathtaking and even now, Peter was not certain that it had actually occurred.

“I think, then, that you must speak to her of what you feel,” Lord Blackridge said authoritatively. “I know you are not inclined to speak your thoughts and opinions aloud, but mayhap in this case, it is merited.”

“I have every intention of doing so,” Peter told him, seeing the surprise in Lord Blackridge’s expression over Peter’s sudden decisiveness. “I have even told Miss Grey as much. However, I am to wait a day or so first, I think. I simply need to consider what it is that I wish to proceed with, as does Miss Grey.” He smiled at Lord Blackridge, seeing the surprise turn to sincere happiness. “But in any case, you are correct. There is still the need to find the culprit for I do not wish either myself or Miss Grey to feel obliged to proceed with any deepening of our acquaintance. I would have it come from the heart, if it is to come from anywhere.”

Lord Blackridge nodded his agreement. “Quite. Now, what say you to a drink, old boy?”

Peter glanced up uneasily at White’s. He had not gone into that establishment for some weeks, fearing that he would be ridiculed and mocked by the gentlemen within. It was not as though he could not brush off such comments, but merely that he did not want to be the center of attention. Nor did he want to feel obliged to defend himself over his decision to reacquaint himself with Miss Grey. “I do not think that it would be wise,” he told Lord Blackridge. “Lord Whitfield was quite clear that there would be those within who would enjoy nothing more than to mock my choice of lady.”

Lord Blackridge’s eyebrows rose. “I see,” he said slowly, looking at Peter with a curious expression. “And you do not think you can meet such a challenge?”

Stiffening, Peter tried not to allow the barb to sink home. “It is not as though I cannot withstand it, Blackridge. It is simply that I do not wish to. I am permitted that, am I not?”

His friend chuckled. “You are of course, permitted to do as you wish. However, I fear that you are being a little too cautious, Marchmont. The rumors and whispers will have moved on to someone new by now, I am quite certain. After all, have you not heard that Miss Lambert has found herself engaged to some rogue or other? I cannot quite recall his name, but it is more than a little astonishing that someone as proper and as choosy as Lady Elgin—that is, Miss Lambert’s mother—would see fit to attach her daughter to a scoundrel.”

Peter, who was not at all interested in Miss Lambert or in why her mother had chosen to push her into the arms of a rogue, could not help but roll his eyes.

“You see?” Lord Blackridge insisted. “There will be no one to so much as glance at you now that this gossip has taken hold.”

Sighing inwardly and telling himself that in fact, he would quite like a drink, Peter shrugged and turned towards White’s. “I suppose I could do so,” he replied slowly. “But if I choose to leave, for whatever reason, then you shall have nothing to say about the matter.”

Grinning, Lord Blackridge hurried towards White’s as though he were a child eager for some special treat. “Of course I shall not,” he replied drolly. “Come now. I am certain you will find a great deal of enjoyment within.”

* * *

Much to Peter’s relief, it seemed that Lord Blackridge had been correct. No other gentleman came near him, aside from a few of his acquaintances greeting him, and Peter soon found himself relaxing in a chair in a quiet corner of the establishment with a large brandy in his hand. He allowed his gaze to rove over the crowd of gentlemen, wondering why Lord Whitfield had thought that Peter would find such trouble here. Perhaps it had been as Blackridge had said. Other rumors and pieces of gossip had become much more interesting to the gossip mongers and therefore, he was free to go about his business without interruption.

“Got a pretty little thing now, do you not?”

Peter knew that it was not his business to eavesdrop, but the three gentlemen seated to his left were not making any effort to keep their voices low.

“I do, as it happens,” said a second gentleman. “Intend to keep this one too, I think.”

The third laughed raucously, as though this was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard.

“I do!” the second man protested, sounding offended. “She means a good deal to me.”

“And it helps that her father is exceedingly rich and is likely to bestow a large dowry upon her,” the first gentleman said dryly. “Is that not so, Carrington?”

Lord Carrington muttered something under his breath whilst the other two gentlemen laughed aloud. Peter winced, feeling sorry for Lord Carrington, who was clearly caught up with the young lady in his own way—although whether it was on her own merits or due to the wealth and prestige that she brought with her, he could not say.

“I intend to buy her a beautiful set of pearls,” Lord Carrington announced, sounding as though he had just hit upon the idea. “I shall bestow them upon her and make sure to let her know the depths of my affections.”

“My goodness, that does sound rather serious,” said the first gentleman, his tone still teasing. “And it shall cost you a great deal of money, I am quite certain of that.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw Lord Carrington draw himself up.

“It does not matter the cost,” he replied primly. “I shall spend whatever I wish on my lady, if I am to prove to her the depths of my affection.”

The third gentleman chuckled. “Then you must call upon Mr. Huntly.”

Lord Carrington hesitated. “And who is Mr. Huntly?”

“He is nothing more than a simple tradesman,” the third gentleman replied with a slight sniff. “Although the creations he produces are quite remarkable, he will charge you a good deal for one of his pieces. Lives fairly well now, from what I understand. One of his wooden boxes would make the perfect presentation for these pearls you intend to buy.”

Peter shot out of his seat almost at once, his brandy sloshing over the side of the glass as he slammed it down, hard. He stared, wide-eyed, at the three gentlemen, who were all looking at him with the most peculiar expressions on their face.

“This Mr. Huntly,” Peter said at once, not caring that he was showing that he had been listening to their conversation. “Where might I find him?”

The second gentleman frowned, his eyes a little angry as he sniffed with disdain. “And why, might I ask, should you wish to know that, sir?”

“I must know,” Peter insisted quickly, racking his brains to find a suitable excuse. “It is only that I am to propose to my dear Miss Grey and have been searching for the perfect gift to go along with my words of affection. I have, as Lord Carrington has done, purchased something valuable, but I felt the presentation was lacking somewhat.” He tried to smile, despite the hammering of his heart. “This may be precisely what I am looking for.”

The first man glanced at the other two before addressing Peter. “You are Lord Marchmont,” he said, to which Peter nodded. “And you are to propose to Miss Grey, then?”

“I am,” Peter said hurriedly, catching Lord Blackridge’s eye as he began to meander towards Peter from where he had been standing, talking to another acquaintance.

“Then I should be delighted to help you!” said the second gentleman, grinning as though Peter had given him some sort of wonderful gift. “Mr. Huntly is located near the docks. He has a decent establishment, although why he does not move into a better part of London I cannot tell. He makes a good deal of money from what he sells; I am quite certain of it.”

Nodding swiftly and quite certain that he was appearing a little frantic, Peter asked a few more questions in order to find out the exact location of this Mr. Huntly, seeing Lord Blackridge’s eyes widen as he came nearer and overheard what was being discussed.

“I thank you,” Peter said, bowing quickly as Lord Carrington nodded. “You have been very kind. Allow me to purchase you all a drink.”

The second gentleman chuckled. “Thank you, Lord Marchmont,” he said, getting up. “And may I be one of the first to offer you my congratulations.”

Peter stared at the gentleman’s outstretched hand blankly, not quite understanding what he meant.

“On your upcoming betrothal,” the gentleman said with a slight frown. “You have not forgotten that you are to propose to Miss Grey, have you?” He grinned again and Peter, trying to laugh, grasped his hand firmly and shook it. He had indeed forgotten that the premise of his explanation for seeking out Mr. Huntly was that he was to propose to Miss Grey, but did not want the fellow to know that.

“But of course,” he said, letting go of the man’s hand. “Although she has not accepted me as yet!”

“I am certain she will,” Lord Blackridge interrupted, jerking his head towards the door. “If you will excuse us, gentlemen, I will accompany Lord Marchmont in his search for Mr. Huntly.” He sighed heavily as though it had been a great burden to him to be in Peter’s company thus far. “At least now I shall have an end to the constant concern that he shall not be able to find the perfect gift for his lady.”

The three gentlemen laughed and bid Peter and Lord Blackridge farewell. Peter remembered to order and pay for three drinks for the gentlemen before he left and then hurried out into the afternoon sunshine with a sense of growing anticipation within him.

“It has to be this Mr. Huntly,” he said as Lord Blackridge made to hail a hackney. “There can be no other.”

“I think you are right,” Lord Blackridge replied as a hackney stopped. “Although you do realize that you must now do as you have said and propose to Miss Grey?”

Peter climbed into the carriage, his brow furrowing as he did so. “I—I had not thought of such a thing.”

“Those gentlemen will have that news all around White’s within the hour,” Lord Blackridge said darkly. “And thereafter, the beau monde will continue to pass it from person to person until Miss Grey herself hears of it! You had best inform her before that occurs so that she is not taken by surprise with the news.”

Peter nodded slowly, feeling a tight ball of tension settle in his stomach. “I understand,” he muttered, feeling both excitement at discovering Mr. Huntly and anxiety over what he had just said about Miss Grey. “I shall try and speak to her this evening if I can, although we were not due to meet again until tomorrow evening at Lord and Lady Patterson’s ball.” He tried to settle his mind but felt as though his skin had just been pricked all over by a thousand needles, his hands clasping and unclasping in his lap.

“Do you think that this Huntly will be able to give us the information you are so desperately seeking?” Lord Blackridge asked, obviously aware that Peter was more than a little hopeful. “What if he knows nothing?”

“I must believe that he knows something,” Peter replied, his mind returning to his brother. “I must know who is attempting to threaten Edward and this is my only opportunity to do so. If nothing comes from this, then what have I left?”

Lord Blackridge shrugged. “You have the handkerchief and the name Wilson.”

“That is even more obscure!” Peter protested, flinging up his hands in frustration. “The handkerchief could belong to anyone. It may even have been picked up from the ground or the ballroom floor and pressed to my head, which gives it no significance whatsoever.” He shook his head. “No, this is my only hope, Blackridge. If this comes to naught, then I shall have no other choice but to give up my quest.”

“And marry Miss Grey,” Lord Blackridge added, lifting one eyebrow in what was a knowing look. “Is that what you mean to say?”

Peter closed his eyes momentarily. “I think I intend to marry her regardless,” he replied honestly. “Although I hope that I can speak to her before the rumors reach her ears.”

Lord Blackridge chuckled, although Peter did not find anything of amusement in what he had said. Clenching his hands tightly together, he silently prayed that he would have both the time and the courage to speak to Miss Grey about his proposal of marriage long before the whispers came to her ears—and, deep in his heart, he found himself hoping desperately that she would say yes.

12

Ophelia had not heard from Lord Marchmont aside from a short note that had been sent to her earlier that day, stating that he had something of the utmost urgency to speak to her about and requesting that she seek him out the very moment she arrived at Lord Patterson’s ball. She had not quite known what to make of this note, but had felt her anticipation at the thought of seeing him again rising steadily within her as the carriage took both herself and her aunt to Lord Patterson’s home.

She smiled softly to herself as she looked out of the window and onto the dark London streets. The last time she had been alone with Lord Marchmont, he had practically taken her in his arms and, had they not been interrupted, she was certain that he would have kissed her. Most likely, she would have leaned into him and accepted it without hesitation, for in her heart, Ophelia knew that this was what she desired above all else. It was a marked change from her first impression of Lord Marchmont, and in a strange way, she was quite pleased that the note had been given to him for it had brought them both back together again. Had it not occurred, then she would have never known the depths of Lord Marchmont’s character. Nor would she have become aware of her own faults, which, of late, she had been doing her best to overcome. Lord Marchmont brought out the best in her and she wanted to know him better still.

A slight shiver ran down her frame as she considered what he might be wishing to speak to her about. Was he going to propose marriage? Of course, that was to be expected since it had been decisively written in the note Lord Marchmont had received, but if all was discovered and brought to light, would he still have reason enough to propose? And would she have reason enough to accept him?

Tossing her head so that her brown ringlets bounced, Ophelia told herself to stop being ridiculous. Most likely, Lord Marchmont had found something of interest regarding what had happened to him, and that would truly be of great importance. To know who had done this, who had threatened his brother and the reasons behind the need for Lord Marchmont and herself to wed would bring Lord Marchmont great relief, she knew. Biting her lip, Ophelia wondered silently if Lord Marchmont had heard from his brother. Mayhap that was what the news was. Mayhap he was going to tell her that his brother was quite safe and that there was nothing more that they needed to concern themselves with. It had been nothing more than a ruse, he would say. Their courtship could come to an end.

“Ophelia?”

Starting in surprise, Ophelia turned to see her aunt giving her a quizzical look. The carriage, she realized, had come to a stop and the door was already open, waiting for them both to climb out.

“Sorry, Aunt,” Ophelia muttered, feeling more than a little embarrassed. “I was simply lost in thought for a time.”

Lady Sharrow smiled. “I can see,” she replied, giving Ophelia a knowing look. “Lord Marchmont is to meet you here this evening?”

“Yes, he is,” Ophelia replied calmly. “Do go first, Aunt. I shall wait.”

Lady Sharrow chuckled, obviously aware that Ophelia was doing her best to cover her emotions and feelings by urging her from the carriage first. However, she did as Ophelia had asked and, within a few minutes, the two ladies were ascending the steps into Lord and Lady Patterson’s home.

“Just so that you are aware, Ophelia,” Lady Sharrow murmured, once they had greeted their hosts. “Your uncle has already approved of Lord Marchmont by post.”

Ophelia threw her aunt a calculating glance. “I have not yet had any suggestion that Lord Marchmont is thinking of betrothal.”

Her aunt waved a hand as though Ophelia were being ridiculous. “Regardless of what you might think, I expect an engagement very soon. You cannot pretend that you are not affected by the gentleman. Even I can see it in your eyes whenever he is in the room, or even, indeed, when you are thinking of him.” She chuckled and patted Ophelia’s arm. “You have no need to consider refusing him for fear that Lord Sharrow will reject him, Ophelia. That is all I am saying.”

Ophelia found that she had no ready answer, her cheeks blossoming with color as she walked into the ballroom alongside her aunt. To know that even her aunt had noticed her regard for Lord Marchmont was a revelation and, in some small way, Ophelia felt glad that her aunt had written to Lord Sharrow in order to seek his approval. She could not guess whether this was what Lord Marchmont had in mind to speak to her of, but if he was to propose, then she would know that the choice would be entirely her own.

“Ah, there is Miss Smallwood,” her aunt said, tugging Ophelia from her thoughts once more. “Do enjoy yourself this evening, my dear.”

Ophelia smiled tightly, nodded, and promised that she would, before turning her steps towards Miss Smallwood.

“I am very glad to see you this evening, Louisa,” Ophelia said at once. “Lord Marchmont has asked me to seek him out almost the moment I set foot into Lord Patterson’s home, but as yet, I have not been able to see him.”

Miss Smallwood’s eyes were bright, a smile on her face as she looked at Ophelia expectantly. “What does he wish to speak to you about?” she asked, with the same knowing look on her face that Lady Sharrow had worn only moments before.

Ophelia tried to laugh but it came out as a wheeze, her chest suddenly tight. “I am certain it is to do with the note and his brother,” she said, her voice a little weaker than she had expected. “But regardless, I have not seen him. Might you walk with me for a time?”

Miss Smallwood nodded and they began to meander through the crowd, only stopping now and again to greet familiar faces.

“Miss Grey?”

Stunned that someone would have the audacity to tap her on the shoulder, Ophelia swung around with the intention of delivering a harsh set-down, only to see a tall, fair-haired gentleman practically leaning over her.

“Earl of Ancrum,” he stated, without so much as a by-your-leave. “You are Miss Grey, yes?”

Ophelia blinked for a moment, trying to gather her composure. “I beg your pardon, my lord?” she asked, her voice filled with warning. “We have not yet been acquainted, I think.”

Lord Ancrum was now looking at her with something akin to frustration, although what he was angry about, Ophelia could not imagine.

“You are Miss Grey, are you not?” Lord Ancrum asked again, his brow lowering and his sharp grey eyes pinned to her. “Tell me. I must know at once.”

Ophelia glanced at Miss Smallwood but saw that she was staring into the face of Lord Ancrum, her eyes rounded with fright. Miss Smallwood, whilst she had begun to speak up a little louder and had slowly begun to grow in confidence, was clearly still intimidated by gentlemen such as this.

“I am Miss Grey, yes,” Ophelia replied, keeping her voice low and looking directly into Lord Ancrum’s fierce expression. “Although what you think you are doing by behaving in such a manner towards me, I cannot understand.” She tilted her chin upwards, not caring in the least that he was an earl and, therefore, higher in status than she. Title and fortune did not make behavior such as this acceptable.

“I must speak to you at once,” Lord Ancrum growled, reaching out to grasp her hand. “Come, Miss Grey.”

She stepped back, his hand missing her completely. “I hardly think that would be wise, Lord Ancrum,” she retorted, a little angry that he had thought that she would simply go with him without hesitation. A sliver of fear entered her mind but Ophelia thrust it away as quickly as she could. She would not allow herself to be intimidated.

“It is urgent,” Lord Ancrum said, his face beginning to darken with apparent anger that she would not do as he asked. “It is imperative that I talk to you without delay.”

“Then you may do so here,” Ophelia replied clearly, “where I can be seen by all the other guests and overheard by my friend, Miss Smallwood, who, I can assure you, is the very epitome of discretion.” Determinedly, she set her jaw and let her lips pull taut. “Now, what is it that is so urgent, Lord Ancrum?”

He glared at her, his anger and frustration mounting although it still came without any explanation whatsoever. Ophelia did not look away nor did she recant, as she was certain he expected her to do. She was not about to become recalcitrant, however, making sure to keep her composure steady and her expression calm. The last thing she needed was for any of the beau monde to notice her conversation with Lord Ancrum, which meant that she had to remain as calm as possible.

“You must not marry Lord Marchmont.”

All sense of calmness left her the moment those words came from Lord Ancrum’s lips.

“Lord Marchmont is not a suitable gentleman for you, Miss Grey. He is… poor.”

Ophelia took a moment to gather her wits about her, doing so quickly as she tried to summon an answer to this strange insinuation.

“I hardly think, Lord Ancrum, that my marital state is any concern of yours,” she replied, her voice still a little breathless from the shock of what she had heard. “Good evening.” Making to step away with Miss Smallwood by her side, Ophelia was startled as Lord Ancrum took a few steps closer to her, his hand snaking out to grasp at her arm.

“Miss Grey,” he grated, his head lowering as though he wanted to force her to do as he asked. “You must break your betrothal to Lord Marchmont. I insist upon it.”

Ophelia’s breath was coming quick and fast as she looked into Lord Ancrum’s face. Lord Marchmont had not, as yet, proposed to her, but for whatever reason, Lord Ancrum seemed to believe that she was engaged to him. Why would he be doing his utmost to prevent her from marrying Lord Marchmont? What possible reason could there be for this sudden, inexplicable determination?

“Release me at once, Lord Ancrum,” she hissed, trying to wrench her arm away in as unobtrusive a manner as possible, her heart beating quickly as fear slithered up her spine. Beside her, Miss Smallwood stepped a little closer, offering her silent support whilst ensuring that Lord Ancrum’s grasp upon Ophelia’s arm was hidden from prying eyes.

“You have no right to treat Miss Grey so,” Miss Smallwood added, her words a little tremulous as she fought to summon her courage. “Remove your hand immediately, Lord Ancrum.”

“I shall only do so once you have promised to break your engagement, Miss Grey,” Lord Ancrum growled, ignoring Miss Smallwood completely. “I cannot have you married to that gentleman.”

Ophelia swallowed the ache in her throat and narrowed her eyes. She had to find the strength within herself were she to escape from this confusing and painful situation.

“You and I are not even acquainted, Lord Ancrum,” she bit out, tugging her arm hard away from him and finally feeling his fingers loosen. “You have no right to ask me to do any such thing. How dare you treat me in such a manner!”

Lord Ancrum was breathing hard now, his face a dull shade of red. “You cannot, Miss Grey.”

“I will do as I please, Lord Ancrum,” she replied steadfastly. “And I shall not take advice nor accept the demands of a gentleman who does not even have the grace to have himself introduced to me properly.” She made to swing around and walk away from him through the crowd of guests, only to feel his hand tighten on her wrist again. Trying to tug free did no good and, much to her horror, Lord Ancrum dragged her back towards him and then, without warning, lowered his head and attempted to kiss her.

A gasp rippled through the ballroom as Ophelia tugged her wrist out of his grasp and, with that very same hand, threw a hard slap across Lord Ancrum’s face. Her color was high, her heart pounding furiously as she staggered back.

“How dare you?” she gasped as Miss Smallwood rushed to her side. “How dare you try to do such a thing, Lord Ancrum!” She could not say anything more, knowing that a good many members of the ton had seen what had occurred and that, as such, her reputation was already ruined. She had not taken any part in this, had not known what was coming or what Lord Ancrum’s intentions were, but still she would be the one to find her reputation smeared.

Lord Ancrum chuckled darkly and rubbed his face with one hand. “I will do what I must, Miss Grey. After all, I am only trying to save you from a most unfortunate marriage.”

Ophelia did not know what to say at this. The ripples of whisperings and gasps were spreading outward across the room, leaving her in no doubt that soon, all of London society would know what had occurred. Her face began to heat, and she was entirely at a loss as to what to do next. Thankfully, Miss Smallwood tugged at her arm, breaking her from her uncertainty as her friend whispered to her to come away from Lord Ancrum.

“You are a disgrace, Lord Ancrum,” Ophelia said loudly, suddenly finding her voice as she began to move from where she stood. “To treat me in such a deplorable fashion without any consideration is utterly despicable. How dare you call yourself a gentleman when you behave in such an uncouth manner?” She glared at him, breathing hard and finding a small sense of satisfaction rising up within her at the sight of his red cheek and his slowly fading smile.

“Whatever your intention was, Lord Ancrum, you have utterly failed. You shall find that I am not one easily affected by the whispers and the gossip that shall soon follow, for I shall know that I have done nothing wrong and therefore, I shall keep my head high and my spirits steadfast.” This was not quite the truth, for Ophelia knew that, regardless of how determined she was, she would find herself badly affected by what Lord Ancrum had tried to do, but she was not about to show any sign of weakness in front of him now, feeling her strength slowly returning.

Lord Ancrum laughed softly as Ophelia turned from him, his eyes dark.

“So long as I have put an end to your engagement, I shall find myself greatly satisfied,” he told her as she turned her head away. “For what gentleman would wish to marry you now?”

Ophelia’s heart turned over in her chest as she thought of Lord Marchmont, but she did not allow her sudden fear to show. Walking alongside Miss Smallwood, she made her way towards the open doors that led to the gardens, seeking a little solace within the darkness there. She should, of course, make an attempt to find her aunt and tell her what had occurred before she heard the whispers about what had happened, but she could not bring herself to do anything other than escape for the time being. Perhaps Miss Smallwood would be able to find Lady Sharrow and bring her to Ophelia, so that she herself would not have to return to the crowd of guests.

“Are you quite all right, Ophelia?”

Miss Smallwood’s anxious eyes looked up at her as Ophelia stepped outside, the cool air sweeping over her hot cheeks.

“I am as well as can be expected,” Ophelia answered honestly, closing her eyes for a moment as she grasped onto the rail and let her fingers curl around the metal, steadying herself. “That was entirely unexpected and, I confess, quite shocking.”

Miss Smallwood let out a long breath, clearly quite taken aback by what Lord Ancrum had done. “And you say you have not even been so much as introduced to that gentleman before?”

“No,” Ophelia replied, sighing and opening her eyes. “No, I have not. I have no knowledge of him and I certainly cannot imagine what he was attempting to do.”

Miss Smallwood tipped her head, regarding Ophelia. “He says that he wished to bring an end to your engagement,” she said slowly, looking at Ophelia carefully. “But I have not heard that you are betrothed.”

A slight tinge of hurt was in Miss Smallwood’s words, obviously a little sad that apparently Lord Marchmont had proposed to Ophelia and that she had accepted—but then not spoken of it to Miss Smallwood.

“I am not engaged,” Ophelia explained quickly. “Lord Marchmont has not yet proposed, Louisa. I cannot say why Lord Ancrum believed this to be true.”

“But you did not correct him,” Miss Smallwood said softly, no hint of accusation in her tone but rather one of confusion. “Why is that?”

Ophelia let out her breath slowly. “Mayhap because I wanted to know the truth behind Lord Ancrum’s strange behavior,” she said, aware that her heart had caught with excitement when Lord Ancrum had first suggested that she was betrothed to Lord Marchmont. “If I had denied it, then I feared that he would simply step away without revealing the truth about his concerns.”

“But we have not discovered the truth regardless,” Miss Smallwood added, looking frustrated as her expression was lit by the light coming from the door to the ballroom. “He did not say why he wished you to end this supposed engagement, did he?”

“No,” Ophelia admitted, a little sadly. “No, he did not. I will admit, Miss Smallwood, that I did not think that the consequences would be so dire in refusing to speak the truth to Lord Ancrum. Now, I must consider the fact that my reputation will be damaged due to his actions.”

There was silence for a few moments and Ophelia felt her spirits begin to sink. She had always considered herself to have a fairly strong character, but now knowing that she would have to face the beau monde again, and that she would see nothing but rejection in their faces, was beginning to tug her heart low. She would be given the cut direct from some, she was quite certain of it. They would not allow her to be a part of their conversation, their social circles. Due to Lord Ancrum’s actions, she would find herself quite disgraced.

“I do not think that Lord Marchmont will care about your damaged reputation, Ophelia.”

Miss Smallwood put one hand on Ophelia’s arm, breaking her out of her despondency.

“What do you mean?” Ophelia replied, trying not to allow her heart to quicken at the thought of Lord Marchmont and how he would respond to the news of what Lord Ancrum had done.

Miss Smallwood smiled softly. “I think that you care for Lord Marchmont greatly, Ophelia, and that he cares for you also. You need not protest,” she continued, holding up one hand as words sprang to Ophelia’s lips, “nor pretend that such things are not true, for it has become quite apparent to me these last few days that you have an affection for Lord Marchmont that cannot be hidden.”

Ophelia felt her color rise, her cheeks growing hot as she looked out towards the townhouse gardens, not quite certain what to say.

“I am certain that Lord Marchmont will not allow Lord Ancrum’s actions to stand,” Miss Smallwood finished, her hand dropping from Ophelia’s arm. “He will not let another gentleman’s actions prevent him from considering a future with you, Ophelia. Have no fear, my dear friend. It will all come to rights.”

Ophelia tried to say something but found that her throat was working furiously in an attempt to rid herself of the lump that was growing within it. She was overcome with emotion, realizing that part of her feared that Lord Marchmont might turn from her now that Lord Ancrum had treated her in such a way. Miss Smallwood had managed to recognize that fear and was doing her best to reassure Ophelia in any way she could.

“I pray that you are right,” Ophelia whispered, knowing that she could not deny that her heart was filled with none other than Lord Marchmont. “I fear that it may not be so.”

“He will not turn from you so easily,” Miss Smallwood insisted, her voice and expression firm with determination. “Have faith that his affections for you are true, and that he will not be swayed by something such as this. He will believe that Lord Ancrum is the one at fault. His concern will be for you, not for your reputation. He will not fail you, Ophelia. Simply trust that he will understand all once you have spoken to him of it.”

Ophelia nodded slowly, realizing that Miss Smallwood was quite correct. She needed to trust that Lord Marchmont would believe her when she told him what had occurred. She had to believe that he would not turn from her, as Lord Ancrum believed he would. Her fears continued to dog at her mind, but she pushed them away hard, closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath as she did so.

“You are quite correct, Miss Smallwood,” she murmured, one hand pressed against her stomach as she turned around to face the ballroom again. “And I must continue to behave as I have always done. I shall not allow Lord Ancrum’s behavior to place any guilt upon my heart.” She swallowed the lump in her throat and set her shoulders. “Now, I should go and seek out my aunt. Most likely she will be dreadfully upset and I will need to reassure her.”

Miss Smallwood smiled and nodded and made to step back into the ballroom with her—only for a gentleman to come hurrying out of the ballroom, his eyes roving here and there in the gloom until they landed firmly on Ophelia.

“Miss Grey!” he exclaimed, his small eyes seeming to bulge from his head. “Miss Grey, I hear that you are engaged to Lord Marchmont! Tell me that Lord Ancrum has not succeeded in his endeavors. Tell me that Lord Marchmont has not turned from you. Please, speak the truth to me for it is of the utmost urgency!”

Ophelia felt her heart quail within her for a moment, staring at this gentleman with no understanding as to who he was or why he sought such an answer from her. “I—I do not know, my lord,” she said honestly, thinking that this evening was most peculiar in all that had occurred. “Might I ask if we have been introduced? I confess that I do not recall—”

The gentleman held up one hand and, with the other, pulled out a large white handkerchief and mopped at his brow. “Miss Grey, if you please!” he exclaimed, as though she were doing wrong in speaking to him. “Remain here. I shall seek out your betrothed and ensure that he has not turned from you.” His expression grew somewhat grim. “After all, if Lord Ancrum interferes, then there can be no reason why I cannot also.”

Ophelia blinked, her confusion mounting. “Interfered?” she repeated, taking a step forward. “I do not understand.”

“Remain here, if you please,” the gentleman replied abruptly, not answering her questions. “I shall return with your betrothed at once, Miss Grey. Please, it is of the utmost importance.”

And, with that, he turned on his heel and hurried back into the ballroom.

13

“Did you see what occurred?”

Peter frowned to himself as he walked into the ballroom, wondering what had happened. Whispers and murmurings were running rife, for this was the fourth time he had come across ladies talking rapidly together about whatever it was that had happened at this ball. He shrugged inwardly, thinking that, most likely, a debutante had done something unfortunate or that a gentleman had made a disgrace of himself in some way. It would not be the first time such a thing had happened at a ball.

“The room seems to be abuzz with whispers,” Lord Blackridge commented as they made their way through the crowd in search of Miss Grey. “I confess that it does fill me with curiosity over what has happened.”

Peter snorted. “It will be idle gossip and nothing more,” he replied. “And I confess that I feel a little sorry for whoever will be dragged through society’s lips with harshness and disgrace.” He shook his head, taking in a breath to settle his nervousness. “Can you see Miss Grey or Lady Sharrow anywhere?”

Ever since they had discovered the truth about the wooden box, Peter had found himself almost desperate to return to Miss Grey’s side. He still could not be certain as to why this particular gentleman had set Peter up in such a fashion, nor why he was so desperate for Peter and Miss Grey to wed, but he had to find the lady and tell her of what he knew. He also had to ensure that she knew that the beau monde expected them to be engaged—and felt himself hoping that she would consent to such a thing regardless. It had been done in quite the wrong way, he knew, for he should have spoken to her first before ever even mentioning an engagement between them to another living soul, but it was too late to go back on what he had done now.

The truth was, Peter wanted desperately for Miss Grey to accept him. He could not hide his affection for her even from himself, knowing that to be by her side was something that he now longed for. The truth of his affections would be spoken to her with all honesty and hope, praying that she would believe his heart to be true and would accept his proposal of marriage. How much he hoped that she would accept him in the knowledge that he cared deeply for her and not out of any sense of duty.

Silently, he prayed that she felt something akin to his own affections, for that would be joyous in itself, filling him with light as he allowed himself to consider it. Most of the beau monde married out of duty and responsibility, finding themselves wed to someone who matched them in title and in fortune, but certainly not in affection. It was not something Peter had sought, even though he knew that he had needed to find a wife. He had, he recalled, accepted that there might be nothing more than a fondness between himself and the lady he chose to marry—but now that he had this strong affection in his heart for Miss Grey, he knew that he could not settle for mere fondness anymore. There was too much emotion between them for that.

“Miss Grey was quite right to slap him in such a manner.”

Peter stopped dead, his thoughts flying from his mind as he heard someone speak her name. Turning swiftly, he came upon three ladies speaking eagerly to one another, their eyes widening when they saw him approaching.

“Be careful, Marchmont,” he heard Lord Blackridge say behind him. “Do not show yourself too interested.”

Peter did not care how he came across, even though it might very well add to the gossip that was obviously winging its way around the room. “Might I ask,” he said with a tight smile, “what has occurred with Miss Grey? I have found myself a little tardy this evening and, as such, have missed the uproar.” His smile faded as he saw the three ladies exchange glances, one putting her fingers to her mouth as though in shock.

“I hear that you are betrothed to Miss Grey,” said the first lady, whom Peter knew to be Lady Whitehall, having been introduced to her before. “I am sorry that it will have to come to an end, Lord Marchmont.”

His gaze narrowed. The news of his betrothal had, as Lord Blackridge had predicted, made its way through London with a good deal of swiftness, but it was not this that brought Peter such concern.

“Why should you think it would come to an end, Lady Whitehall?” he asked, as calmly as he could. “What occurred here this evening?”

Lady Whitehall hesitated and then, slowly, began to tell him precisely what Lord Ancrum had done and how Miss Grey had reacted. All three ladies watched Peter closely, clearly wanting to gauge his reaction so that they might share it with others the moment he had stepped away. He was to be nothing more than another piece of gossip for them to share.

Peter felt himself grow slowly cold, horrified to hear how Miss Grey had been treated. Lord Ancrum had no right to lay a finger on her and why he had attempted to kiss her was quite beyond him.

“This is worrying indeed,” Lord Blackridge said, taking a step closer to Peter and to the ladies he was talking with. “Why did Lord Ancrum attempt to do such a thing?”

The second lady shrugged. “Mayhap he wishes to marry her himself?” she suggested, a small smile crooking her mouth.

“We believe that to be the case,” Lady Whitehall replied sharply, frowning in the lady’s direction. “It is because he sought to bring her engagement to an end, as he stated, although I fear that Miss Grey will refuse him.” She looked back at Peter, her expression growing curious. “Will you reject her now, Lord Marchmont? Will you free her to marry Lord Ancrum?”

Peter’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching as he sought to find some semblance of composure. All he wanted to do was to go in search of this Lord Ancrum and to take his vengeance upon him, to defend Miss Grey in any way he could.

“I shall not,” he stated crisply, aware that the three ladies were still watching him closely. “Instead, I shall demand that he make recompense for the disgrace he has attempted to bring upon Miss Grey.”

The three ladies gasped, their eyes widening. “A duel?” the third asked, agog with interest. “Truly?”

Peter gave them a small bow, not wanting to say anything more. “I shall do what I must in order to preserve Miss Grey’s reputation,” he declared unequivocally. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must find her.”

He did not wait to hear more but stepped away at once, Lord Blackridge by his side.

“I cannot understand it,” Lord Blackridge murmured as Peter held his head high and hurried through the crowd. “Why would Lord Ancrum attempt to do something so foolish?”

“He has quite ruined her,” Peter muttered darkly. “I have every intention of calling him out, Blackridge.”

His friend nodded, knowing precisely what he meant. “That is your prerogative, of course,” he allowed. “But mayhap finding out the truth behind his decision to do such a thing would be a wise course of action.”

Peter frowned, glancing across at Lord Blackridge. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that it may be in some way connected to this wooden box—to this entire mystery,” Lord Blackridge explained. “There is a good deal of strangeness still about what has occurred ever since you woke up in that room, and I cannot help but wonder if what has happened this evening is connected with it all.”

It was something Peter had not yet considered, his mind whirring with the idea. Could it be? Could Lord Ancrum have something to do with all that had occurred with him?”

“Oh, Lord Marchmont! There you are.”

Peter stopped dead as the one gentleman he had been seeking ever since they had discovered the truth about the wooden box hurried towards him, his face a little red. He stiffened at once, his hands still tight as his fingers curled together.

“Lord Whitfield,” he grated, his anger rising within him. “I have a good many questions for you.”

Lord Whitfield’s eyes widened.

“I have discovered that it was you who left the wooden box beside me when you had me placed in that attic room,” Peter continued, taking a single step closer to the fellow. “You purchased it, did you not? You left it beside me.” He saw the red begin to fade from Lord Whitfield’s cheeks, the man’s eyes widening. “You will explain yourself at once.”

Lord Whitfield shook his head, his cheeks wobbling as he did so. “You must speak to Miss Grey first, Lord Marchmont,” he stammered, beginning to step backwards. “She is waiting for you and I said that I would find you for her.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed, his anger tightening his chest. “What have you done, Lord Whitfield?”

“I have done nothing!” Lord Whitfield protested, his hands raised in defense. “I did not know that Lord Ancrum would behave in such a fashion, in an attempt to change the situation. It is most unfortunate.”

The man said nothing more but turned on his heel and hurried away from both Peter and Lord Blackridge, leaving them with no other choice but to follow him. Peter’s jaw was tight as he did so, his anger growing so quickly and so steadily that he felt as though it would be almost impossible to contain once he had his hands on Lord Whitfield. Walking quickly towards the open doors, Peter felt the eyes of the remaining guests lingering on him, quite certain that he would soon become a part of the fodder that fed the gossip eaters. He did not care. All he wanted to find now was the truth.

“Miss Grey!”

Her eyes flared as he walked out towards her, seeing her leaning back against the balcony rail.

“Lord Marchmont.”

Much to his surprise, she put her hands out to him and he took them without hesitation, squeezing her fingers gently so as to reassure her. Miss Grey’s eyes were wide with confusion and her pallor was a trifle grey. Clearly, she had endured a great deal this evening.

“I have heard what Lord Ancrum attempted to do, Miss Grey,” he told her, seeing her shoulders slump. “I am sorry for it.”

“It has no bearing on you,” she told him, her voice as firm as ever. “But yes, it was something of a shock.” A small smile crept across her expression. “Although I am glad that you have not thought ill of me because of it.”

He wanted to pull her into his arms, to reassure her that he did not consider her to be at fault, but restrained himself. “This has nothing to do with you or your behavior, Miss Grey,” he said firmly. “It is entirely to do with Lord Whitfield and Lord Ancrum.” Turning around, he allowed one hand to settle about her waist, whilst holding her other hand tightly. “You shall explain, Lord Whitfield.”

Lord Whitfield did not do so at once, as Peter had expected. Instead, he looked from Peter to Miss Grey and back again, a look of satisfaction settling on his expression.

“Speak.”

Lord Blackridge’s voice was loud and authoritative, making Lord Whitfield jump with the suddenness of it. The man began to stammer all at once, his expression now a little fearful.

“There is nothing to say,” he protested weakly, spreading his hands. “Lord Ancrum has behaved abominably and I am delighted that your engagement is to continue.”

Beside him, Peter felt Miss Grey stiffen and his embarrassment crashed over him like a wave.

“I fear that I have not asked you to marry me as yet, Miss Grey,” he murmured, looking down at her as her green eyes lifted to his again. “I have every intention of doing so, however. I am sorry that the ton has known of my intention before you.” His heart quickened as he waited for her to respond, his stomach churning as he feared she might refuse him—only to see her smile softly and nod her agreement.

“We can discuss such matters later,” she told him, her fingers pressing his for a moment. “But you need not fear that I am in any way offended, Lord Marchmont.”

This came as something of a relief to him and, for a few moments, Peter held her gaze, finding her to be truly lovely in both her character and her expression. He felt his heart lift free of its fears, his tension rushing out of him as he looked down at her, thinking himself to be one of the luckiest gentlemen to have ever lived to have found such an incredible young lady.

“You are to tell us the truth, Whitfield.”

Lord Blackridge spoke again, making Peter tug his gaze, reluctantly, from Miss Grey.

“We have found the box you left for me to discover the day I awoke in the boarding house,” Peter reminded him, making Miss Grey’s breath catch with surprise. “I found the maker of such a box. Mr. Huntly, is it not?” He watched Lord Whitfield keenly, seeing how he looked away sharply. “He recalled that you paid handsomely for such a box, even though it had none of his ornate carvings or the like. Why you purchased it, he did not know, but he was quite certain that it was to you that it was sold.”

Lord Whitfield let out a long breath, dropped his head, and ran one hand across his forehead.

“The truth, Whitfield,” Peter demanded, finding his anger beginning to burn once again. “Else it shall not only be Lord Ancrum that will face a duel.”

At this, Lord Whitfield whitened terribly, trembling visibly at the thought. “I should not speak of this to you,” he said eventually, pulling out his white handkerchief to mop his brow. “It is in the agreement.”

“The agreement, whatever it is, is at an end,” Lord Blackridge interrupted crisply. “Speak.”

For a few moments, Lord Whitfield did nothing but sigh and shake his head, mopping his brow and muttering to himself. Peter’s anger was burning hot within him, searing his veins and filling him so completely that it was all he could to do remain standing beside Miss Grey. Had it not been for her touch, he was quite certain he would have lunged for the fellow and thrown him hard against the wall until the truth was forced from his lips.

“I had no other choice,” Lord Whitfield sputtered eventually, his eyes lowering to the ground by Peter’s feet. “I made a ridiculous bet and knew that unless I did something, I should lose a great deal of money.”

Peter’s anger drained from him in a moment, leaving him feeling cold. “A bet?” he stated harshly. “This was all due to your attempts to win a bet?”

“It was a great deal of money,” Lord Whitfield wailed, looking utterly distraught. “I believed that you would wed Miss Grey. After all, you had not been looking with any urgency for a wife prior to this and I believed you to be quite enamored with the lady. I was in my cups and made this ridiculous bet for more money than I could possibly afford to lose.” He shook his head again, as though angry with himself for what he had done. “When I heard that you had ended your courtship, I knew that I had to do something in order to draw you back together again—although it could not be known that it was I who had done such a thing, since the agreement was that neither of us would involve ourselves with you in any way.” Miserably, Lord Whitfield drew his gaze up towards Peter, his sorrow evident. “I did not mean to bring you any harm, but I could not think what else to do.”

Miss Grey drew in a long breath, leaning into Peter. “You mean to say that you were the one who injured Lord Marchmont so terribly that he was knocked unconscious, only to set him in an attic room of a boarding house and leave him with a note that threatened his brother if he did not do as was demanded?”

Lord Whitfield looked at her for a long moment and then, sighing terribly as though he were truly distraught over what he had done, nodded.

“Where is my brother?” Peter demanded, his fear growing suddenly. “What have you done with him?”

“I do not know where your brother is!” Lord Whitfield exclaimed, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “That was nothing more than a lie, Lord Marchmont, although it did me no end of good to know that you would be coerced into acting as I wished because of what I held.”

Closing his eyes, Peter swayed suddenly, relief flooding him. Edward, it seemed, was quite safe. “The ring,” he said hoarsely, his voice rasping. “How did you come upon it?”

Lord Whitfield waved a hand. “I won that from him a long time ago,” he replied, shaking his head. “I do not think that your brother ever spoke to you of it, for he knew that it was dear to your family.”

“That cannot be so,” Peter replied, shaking his head. “I saw him with it often. It was never removed from him.”

“He had another one made to his specifications, I believe,” Lord Whitfield replied, still looking quite distraught. “The ring I placed in the box I won from your brother before he left England,” he told Peter decisively, his eyes finally lifting to his. “I had to use it in order to have you do what I asked.”

Peter swallowed hard, relief coursing through him as he felt Miss Grey’s hand tighten in his. His brother was safe. There was no threat. It had all been nothing more than a ruse.

“Might you explain the bet that you made, Lord Whitfield?” Miss Smallwood’s voice was thin but clear, and Peter nodded in approval. “Why did you seek to have Lord Marchmont and Miss Grey courting?”

“Not only courting, but wed,” Lord Blackridge interrupted before Lord Whitfield could speak. “Is that not so?”

Lord Whitfield nodded glumly. “Betrothed.”

“Betrothed,” Peter repeated, as thought that meant something. “Why did I need to become betrothed to Miss Grey? What was the purpose of it?”

“That was the purpose of the bet, do you not see?” Lord Whitfield exclaimed, throwing up his hands in apparent exasperation. “I have tried to explain this clearly to you Lord Marchmont, but it seems I have failed thus far.” He took in a breath and dropped his hands—although whether he was irritated with himself or with Peter, it was not clear.

“I placed a bet,” Lord Whitfield continued after a moment of silence. “I have something of a tendency to do such a thing without due consideration, particularly when I have drunk overly much.” He shook his head again, a soft groan escaping from him. “Therefore, when I came to my senses and realized what I had done, I had to pray that things would progress as I hoped. Unfortunately, when it appeared that you had decided against Miss Grey, I had to take matters into my own hands.” He swallowed hard and glanced up at Peter, appearing rather embarrassed. “I did not mean you harm, Lord Marchmont, but I could not afford to lose so much.”

Peter nodded slowly, his anger slowly beginning to fade as he saw the truth for what it was. Lord Whitfield had not done anything out of malicious intent, for it seemed he had wanted simply to win the bet—although doing what he had done to Peter in order to force his hand had been entirely wrong, of course. Glancing down at Miss Grey, Peter saw her looking back at him with wide eyes, as if she herself were not quite certain what to do with such information.

“I do not appreciate being manipulated in such a fashion, Lord Whitfield,” he said, turning his attention back to the gentleman in front of him. “You made me believe my brother was in danger.”

Lord Whitfield had the decency to look ashamed. “I quite realize that, Lord Marchmont,” he said, sounding almost humble. “I should not have done such a thing, but, as I said, I could not see another way out of such a thing.”

“Wait!” Peter’s eyes widened, suddenly recalling how Lord Whitfield had managed to discourage him from attending White’s on a few occasions. “You prevented me from returning to White’s. I see it quite clearly now. You were afraid that I would see the entry in White’s’ betting book, did you not?”

Lord Blackridge’s eyes widened in astonishment, nodding slowly as he realized the truth. “And did you not fear that a gentleman would speak to Lord Marchmont of your bet?”

Lord Whitfield shrugged. “Those who were present vowed secrecy, otherwise the bet would have failed should you have become aware of it. But yes, I feared that you would spy the entry in White’s’ betting book and call me out for it.”

“Goodness,” Miss Grey murmured, sounding surprised but not upset. “And might I ask, Lord Whitfield, if the gentleman you have bet against is Lord Ancrum?”

“It is,” Lord Whitfield admitted, looking at her whilst Peter gazed down upon her in admiration. “I am sorry for what he has done, Miss Grey. I did not expect him to attempt to ruin your reputation.”

Miss Grey hesitated, throwing a quick look up into Peter’s face before turning back to Lord Whitfield. “I do not think any particular harm has been done,” she said kindly, as though Lord Whitfield was nothing more than a foolish child who had done something silly and now was paying the consequences of it. “Lord Marchmont, as you can see, has not stepped away from me because of it.”

“No, indeed I have not,” Peter murmured, leaning closer to Miss Grey for a moment. “Nor would I.”

She smiled up at him, her eyes aglow.

“And I consider, Lord Whitfield, that whilst you have been incredibly stupid and whilst I shall not thank you for the injury to my head nor the threat to my brother and the worry and anxiety it has caused me since, I cannot pretend that I have not found a happiness with Miss Grey that I did not ever expect.” He did not look to Lord Whitfield as he spoke but rather gazed down into Miss Grey’s eyes, seeing her expression gentle as he continued. “For that, I think, there must be a modicum of gratitude within my heart. You have managed to procure some good out of your foolishness, it seems.”

Lord Whitfield shuffled his feet, clearing his throat gruffly and forcing Peter and Miss Grey to look back at him.

“Then, might I be so bold as to ask if the betrothal still stands?” he asked, looking to his feet as his color rose. “I know I have no right to ask it of you after all I have done, but the truth is, the bet…”

“Lord Marchmont is aware of the bet now, is he not?” Miss Smallwood asked, sounding confused. “Therefore, the bet no longer stands.”

Lord Whitfield looked all the more embarrassed. “It need not be known that Lord Marchmont is aware of what was agreed upon between myself and Lord Ancrum,” he said, his voice taking on a pleading tone. “It is, as I said, a great sum of money which the Earl of Ancrum might be able to afford to lose but I certainly cannot.”

Peter considered this for a few moments, looking down at Miss Grey and seeing her smile softly up at him.

“You do not deserve any kindness, Lord Whitfield,” he stated coldly, keeping his tone measured as he looked directly into the gentleman’s face and seeing him shrink before him. “You made me fear for my brother’s life. However, as it stands,” he continued, his tone softening, “it seems that, regardless of the bet and the money you stand to either make or lose, the betrothal between myself and Miss Grey will soon be confirmed.” He looked down at her again, hoping that she would not turn from him now. “That is, if she will agree.”

“I will.”

Her answer was immediate, coming to her lips without hesitation as she looked up at him. Had they been standing alone, then Peter would not have hesitated to lean down and kiss her hand, giving in to every emotion that washed over him.

“Then it appears you are not to have the punishment you deserve, Lord Whitfield,” Peter told him, seeing the man weaken with relief, swaying heavily as he mopped his brow again. “Now, whilst I am delighted with this news, it now seems that we have a good deal to set to rights.” He drew himself up and let go of Miss Grey’s waist reluctantly. “I must first speak to Lady Sharrow and then find that dastardly gentleman, Lord Ancrum.”

“Goodness, Lord Marchmont,” Miss Grey exclaimed, grasping his arm with both hands and looking up into his face. “You cannot mean to call him out.”

He smiled at her, although his expression remained rather tight. “I shall do what I have to, Miss Grey,” he said darkly. “I will not allow another gentleman to demean you without having to make recompense.”

“I do not want you to be injured in any way, however,” Miss Grey replied, her eyes suddenly blazing with a fire that he had not seen before. “There is no need to do any such thing, Lord Marchmont. You remaining by my side will be evidence enough that Lord Ancrum has been foolish in his attempts to ruin my reputation, surely.” Her hands tightened on his arm. “And if you do speak to him then have no doubt that I shall go with you. I shall not remain in the shadows whilst you seek to defend my honor.”

Peter held her gaze and felt admiration for her wash over him again, chasing his anger towards Lord Ancrum away.

“If it is of any help,” Lord Whitfield added timidly, “I know that Lord Ancrum has the outward appearance of courage but holds none within his heart. Even if you did call him out, Lord Marchmont, he will not appear.”

Miss Grey’s hands did not let go of his arm. “You must know how deeply I care for you,” she murmured so that only he could hear. “Pray, do not allow yourself to become injured for my sake, not when there is no need to do so. I could not bear to have you removed from my side, whether or not Lord Ancrum is the coward Lord Whitfield believes him to be.”

Peter let out a long sigh, feeling the final traces of fury being blown away by the tender words from Miss Grey’s lips. “I can do nothing but seek to please you,” he replied softly, seeing the look of relief in her eyes. “I shall seek out your aunt instead, then, and hope that she will not refuse my request to take you as my wife.”

Miss Grey laughed softly, her hands loosening their tight grip on his arm. “I do not think she shall even consider refusing you, Lord Marchmont,” she promised, leaning into him. “Come now, let us go and seek her this very moment.”

14

“I cannot believe that you are going to be wed!”

Ophelia tried not to laugh as her aunt threw open the drawing room door and practically danced into the room with these words flung out from her. She had never seen her aunt in such raptures before and hoped that this meant her aunt would never again fall into despondency as she had done before—although Ophelia had to admit that she was grateful Lady Sharrow had not done so these last few weeks. To have had her bedridden and tired and refusing to be of aid in any way would have brought Ophelia to the very limits of her strength. It was as though Lady Sharrow had discovered a new strength deep within her that had come from a determination not to allow Ophelia to become a spinster.

“Indeed, Aunt, I am very pleased,” Ophelia replied as her aunt clasped her hands together in delight. “Although I am sorry for the difficulties that came with last evening.”

The smile faded slightly from Lady Sharrow’s face. When Ophelia and Lord Marchmont had finally found Lady Sharrow, they had discovered her quite oblivious to all that had gone on. This was simply because Lady Sharrow had decided to sit in a quiet corner with one or two of her companions, having believed Ophelia to be safe in the company of Lord Marchmont and Miss Smallwood and trusting that Ophelia herself would behave impeccably.

It had come as quite a shock to the lady to know what had occurred, although Ophelia had been glad to see Lady Sharrow recover herself almost as soon as she had heard that Lord Marchmont sought Ophelia’s hand in marriage.

“Lord Ancrum is nothing more than a rogue,” Lady Sharrow declared firmly, her smile growing dimmer still as she spoke. “I hope that he finds himself in a good deal of difficulty at some time in his life, so that he might know what it is to be so troubled.”

Ophelia wanted to say that it was somewhat unchristian to be stating such things, but found that her tongue was bound, given that she found herself agreeing wholeheartedly with such a remark.

“But we need not think of that any longer,” her aunt continued abruptly. “I have written to your uncle and I have no doubt that he shall attend us here in London at once, much sooner than he had planned. He will want to meet Lord Marchmont and discuss certain matters with him.” She smiled and walked to the side of the room to ring the bell for tea. “Although you shall be married at home, of course.”

Ophelia smiled at her aunt, seeing the happiness in her eyes and finding herself glad that Lady Sharrow would no longer be so despondent. “Of course, Aunt.”

Lady Sharrow sighed happily and settled herself in her chair. “I must hope that this is the one thing that will bring your father back home to England,” she said, sending a jolt through Ophelia’s heart. “I know that we have been very happy here, but I can tell that you miss him.”

Ophelia, who tried her best to never allow her loneliness over her father’s prolonged absence affect her, managed to smile despite the sudden flood of tears that inexplicably pressed themselves against her eyes.

“He will return,” Lady Sharrow said with certainty. “My brother will return to greet his daughter and his new son-in-law, I am quite sure.”

“I must hope so,” Ophelia replied, an ache slowly growing in her throat. “I should be very glad to see him again.”

Lady Sharrow made to speak, only for the door to open and the butler to announce Lord Marchmont. Ophelia rose at once, brushing her tears from her lashes as Lord Marchmont stepped inside, his eyes fixed upon her immediately.

“Lord Marchmont,” Lady Sharrow cooed as Lord Marchmont bowed politely. “How very good to see you again.”

“I could not linger even a moment longer away from Miss Grey’s side,” Lord Marchmont replied, coming closer to Ophelia, who held out her hands to him. He grasped them tightly and looked at her with concern. “You are quite well, I hope?”

“Quite well,” she replied, squeezing his hands and finding her heart reaching out towards him. “It was only that Lady Sharrow made mention of my father. She believes he will return to England when he hears news of my engagement and I find myself hoping that he will do so.”

Lord Marchmont’s expression grew tender. “I can understand your hope,” he replied gently. “And I shall pray it will be as you say, Lady Sharrow.” He smiled at Ophelia and let go of her hands. “I have, this very morning, received a letter from my brother.”

Ophelia’s eyes widened. “Oh?”

Lord Marchmont grinned, a weight clearly removed from his shoulders. “He is still on the continent,” he replied with a shake of his head as though he ought to have known all along. “He writes to say that he is in full health and that there is nothing to be concerned about.” Shrugging, he spread his hands. “And he also states that the ring he has is nothing more than paste, since he lost the first in a bet of some sort. He was ashamed to admit it and so did not tell me.”

“So it is as Lord Whitfield said,” Ophelia murmured, seeing Lord Marchmont nod. “That is something of a relief, I must admit.”

Lord Marchmont let out a long breath. “It is,” he said, smiling at her again. “And I must hope that he, too, will return from the continent in order to be present for the wedding. I have written to him at once, although I cannot be certain that he will arrive in a month’s time.”

Ophelia laughed gently. “We have not yet had the banns called, Lord Marchmont,” she reminded him. “I would be glad to delay for a week or so if it would give your brother more time.”

“And, mayhap, your father,” he said, his expression warm as she held his gaze. “Although I should not wish to wait for too long, Miss Grey.”

Her breath caught at the look in his eyes. “Might you care for a short walk in the gardens, Lord Marchmont?” Ophelia asked, suddenly feeling the need to be free of the four walls that surrounded her, as well as from the sharp-eyed gaze of her aunt. “It is a fine afternoon and I should like to take a turn about the gardens.”

Lord Marchmont smiled broadly. “I should like that very much indeed, Miss Grey.”

Lady Sharrow cleared her throat softly. “Do ensure that you return for tea and refreshments,” she said, looking directly at Ophelia and making it quite clear that she was not to be alone with Lord Marchmont for long.

Ophelia nodded. “Of course, Aunt,” she murmured, before rising to her feet and walking towards the door, with Lord Marchmont only a step or two behind her.

* * *

“I know that you long to see your father again.”

“I do,” Ophelia admitted, her hand on Lord Marchmont’s arm as they walked through the small gardens. “But it was not only that hope that brought such a swell of emotion to my heart.” Her mouth went dry as she looked up into his face and saw the gentle tenderness in his expression. Swallowing, she tried to find what it was she wanted to say without stumbling over her words. It was not like her to find speaking her mind so challenging, but it seemed that discussing matters of the heart was more difficult than she had expected.

“I—I find that it is the happiness that comes from knowing I am to be your wife,” she said, finding that she could not keep his gaze, such was the intensity of his expression. He was focused entirely on her, on what it was she was saying, and Ophelia wanted to ensure he knew the full truth of what was in her heart. “I did not think that I should ever find myself so joyous over our betrothal, but now that it has come into being, I find that I am overcome with happiness at the prospect, Lord Marchmont.”

“Just ‘Marchmont’ will do, Ophelia.”

Her name on his lips sent her heart soaring to the skies and before she could prevent herself, Ophelia leaned into him, wanting his arm around her as it had been last evening. Lord Marchmont obliged at once, a happy sigh escaping from her mouth as he did so.

“I confess that I feel somewhat guilty that I did not propose to you as I ought to have done,” Lord Marchmont murmured, her head resting on his shoulder as their slow steps took them towards a wooden bench near a trellis of roses. “Perhaps I should do so now, Ophelia, if you would permit me?”

Her head lifted as he took a step away from her, her hands trembling suddenly as he captured them both in his, coming around to face her. She swallowed hard, her heart beating furiously as he looked down into her face.

“Ophelia, I confess to you that my heart is yours,” he said tenderly, his fingers pressing hers. “I have not known any such emotions as this before, nor did I ever expect to feel such things. When we first began to court, I believed you to be entirely unsuitable for me, thinking that we were both markedly different in our character and temperament.” His smile was gentle, his eyes filled with longing. “Even though the course of us returning to our courtship was not one I had planned or found agreeable, I confess that I discovered that you were truly a lady to be admired. Your strength of character, your determination, and your intelligence have captured me, Ophelia. Truly, you are the most remarkable young lady of my acquaintance and I am privileged to call you my own.”

Ophelia closed her eyes against the rush of joyful tears that threatened, her hands reaching up to press lightly against Lord Marchmont’s chest. “Your company and presence have made me realize that is it often best to consider what I say before I say it,” she admitted, looking up at him now that the threat of tears had passed. “You accept my faults without question.”

“As you do mine,” he said firmly, letting go of her hand so that he might reach up to cup her cheek. “You listened to my excuses for not speaking the truth to you from the start and forgave my foolishness without question. The strength you showed in working alongside me to determine the truth quite took my breath from me. You are intelligent, wise, and courageous. Your beauty shines out from you and I am captured by it.”

Ophelia swallowed the lump in her throat that had formed with his tender words and reached up to cup his face with both hands. “And I have discovered that you are a gentleman with such consideration and care for those that are close to you that I could not help but give my heart to you,” she told him, feeling him wrap his arms about her waist and draw her closer. “Your concern for your brother was so great that you could not help but do whatever was necessary to keep him safe. You showed great kindness towards Lord Whitfield, even though he did you a great wrong. You might easily have broken our betrothal in order that he might feel the full weight of his own foolishness, but you did not.”

Lord Marchmont shook his head. “I could not,” he said fervently, his hands about her waist now as he drew her closer to him than ever before. “I could not imagine being separated from you, Ophelia, not even for a moment. To break our engagement simply to punish Lord Whitfield was not in my power. My heart would not allow it. It could not allow me to do so. You have become so dear to me, Ophelia, that my whole being is filled with an abiding love that will never leave me.”

Her breath caught, her eyes widening as she looked up into his face and saw the truth in his eyes. He loved her. Lord Marchmont loved her in the same way that she loved him.

“You must know that I feel the same love for you,” she whispered, unable to keep the words from her lips. “I love you with my whole heart, Marchmont. I did not think that I should ever feel such a depth of affection, did not ever believe that I should feel myself so drawn to you, but it is now as though we are bound together. When you depart from me, my heart longs for you, burning through me with a pain that is only relieved when you return.”

Lord Marchmont lowered his head, resting his forehead against hers carefully. His eyes closed, his breath brushing across her cheek. “You have my love from this day onwards, Ophelia,” he promised. “I shall never leave your side from the day that we wed. I shall be your constant, the one that you can always depend on. I will love you with everything that is within me, sharing each moment with you and allowing the love between us to blossom into something that grows more beautiful with every passing day.”

For once, Ophelia did not know what to say, her words gone from her mouth as Lord Marchmont leaned down and captured her lips with his. She leaned into him, feeling their hearts beat with one shared love that she knew would never leave them. A great mystery had brought them together, but now they were about to step into another—the mystery of love.

* * *

An Earl’s Redemption

Brides of London

Prologue

Miss Lydia Whitaker sat down heavily at her dressing table. Dinner had not gone well and she felt no eagerness to prepare for this evening’s ball, even though she had been ordered to do so by her father, Viscount Templeton. Her mother would be weeping, most likely, over Lord Templeton’s cruel manner, and she herself would have to endure the quiet silence of anger and sadness that would linger between her parents for the next few days.

It was growing rather wearisome.

Her mother, Lady Templeton, was too caught up with her own appearance and presence in society to care much for what Lydia needed, even though this was now her third Season in London. The fact that her daughter was still unwed and still seemingly unimportant to the gentlemen of the ton would have been a matter of grave concern to most parents, but Lady Templeton did not seem to care. She often gave Lydia leave to do as she pleased and it was up to Lydia herself to ensure that she remained within the bounds of propriety at all times. She did her best to remain as dignified and as genteel as she could, but having a mother unwilling to introduce her to anyone of importance—for that would take time and effort and Lady Templeton was willing to give neither—was slowly beginning to eat away at Lydia’s patience.

Lydia was used as nothing more than a drudge whose sole purpose in life was to comfort her mother when she had difficulties of any kind facing her. She would have to go to her mother’s bedside should her mother take to her bed in anguish and fetch her whatever it was she required. A maid would not do, she had been told many times before, and indeed, Lady Templeton made certain that Lydia did her bidding by simply refusing to move or to even eat until Lydia herself came to her and did as she asked. When she did not use Lydia as her own personal servant, Lady Templeton did not care an iota for her daughter.

Lord Templeton had only ever had one purpose in life, which was to make sure that his son married and married well. Given that her brother was already married, settled, and had produced the heir within a year of his marriage, Lydia had hoped that her father might show her the same interest that he had shown to her brother, but that had not come to pass. Her brother had been sympathetic and had written to encourage her many a time, but had been unable to come to London on his own to help her given that he had responsibilities of an estate and now, a wife.

Lord Templeton now came to London for the Season simply so that he might have an enjoyable few months of gambling, drinking, and doing whatever else he wished. And, of course, Lady Templeton would grow weary of being forced to leave whatever soiree they had attended in order to accompany her drunken husband home each night and the arguments would begin in earnest. Lord Templeton would summon Lydia to listen to their arguments, demanding that she tell her mother this or that, whilst Lady Templeton was in the very same room as them both. Lydia knew she was simply a pawn in their games and so had learned to remain entirely silent rather than doing her father’s bidding and speaking to her mother in order to get her to admit some sort of guilt so that the argument might come to an end. But still, Lord Templeton persisted in demanding that Lydia join them whenever an argument was to begin. It was growing tiring but there seemed to be no escape.

Having danced to her parents’ tune the previous two years, Lydia was frustrated with both of them for their selfishness and their manipulation of her, whilst also deeply upset that they seemed to care so little for her that they did not even notice what she did or where she went—unless, of course, they required her for their own purposes. The ball this evening would undoubtedly force her to remain in the shadows or standing with the wallflowers, as her mother would almost immediately be caught up with her own acquaintances and her father would disappear to the card room within the first half an hour. As she did not have a chaperone, she would have to linger near her mother, who would not pay her a jot of attention. The evening would drag on, each minute going slower than the previous one, until finally, she would be granted the sweet blessing of returning home.

Something dripped onto her cheek and, to her surprise, Lydia realized that she was crying. She wiped it away quickly, not wanting the maid to see her so overly emotional. This was something she was used to by now, was she not? Why, then, was she so upset about what she knew to be the way of things?

Things will never change if you continue on as you are.

Lydia sniffed and pulled out a lace handkerchief to dab at her eyes. That held some truth, she thought to herself, realizing slowly that if she continued to simply accept that this was the way of things, continued to behave in such a flawless, proper manner, then nothing would change and she would find herself here again the following Season, until she was nothing but a spinster who would still be forced to return to London for the summer so that her parents might find their own enjoyments. If she did what was expected of her, which was to continue to linger near her mother and not seek out introductions to those she did not know, then all that would occur would be a few months of lingering shadows, of disappointment, sadness, and boredom. Was that to be her lot? Was that all she was willing to achieve? Her parents did not care what she did or who she met, just so long as she was not met with scandal, so surely there must be some way for her to change her situation and circumstances even if it was only in a small way?

Looking back at her reflection with a clear gaze, Lydia took in her appearance. Her cheeks were pale, her light blue eyes holding an obvious pain. When she smiled, it looked as though she were forcing it, for it did not light up her gaze as she hoped. Her long, dark tresses tumbled down her back, not yet held up tightly in some ornate fashion. Her maid would do that soon enough.

Was she pretty? There was certainly nothing about her that Lydia believed would instantly capture the attention of any gentleman, for whilst she was not overly plain, she was not a diamond of the first water. Her charms were few, for whilst she had good conversation, she was not particularly used to speaking at length with gentlemen of the beau monde. It had occurred on one or two previous occasions, but Lydia had, unfortunately, had her mouth go dry and her throat fill with dust as she had tried to make conversation. It had been most frustrating.

Sighing to herself, she pinched her cheeks hard, hoping to flood them with color. Looking at herself again, Lydia considered whether or not she looked any better and came to the conclusion that a little color in her face was better than none at all. Her eyes were still lackluster, however, and her smile did not come easily to her face.

“This evening will be different,” she told herself, trying to summon the inner courage that would be needed to go about matters differently. “You shall speak to ladies and to gentlemen, you shall dance and you shall smile and laugh. What else is there for you but the darkness?”

The dark shadows of each and every ballroom she had attended had become something of a familiarity to Lydia. Her mother did not notice where Lydia went and skulking back into the darkness had become something of a sanctuary for Lydia. It had meant she would not be noticed by another living soul and, for the most part, that had suited her fairly well. It meant that she behaved entirely within the bounds of propriety whilst saving herself the embarrassment of being noticed as a wallflower.

“But no longer!”

The thump of her fist on the dressing table startled her with the sound it made, although it also began to fill Lydia with a deep determination that flooded her soul. Her chin lifted, her eyes began to sparkle and, as the maid hurried in, murmuring an apology for being late, Lydia let herself smile. Things were to change for her. No longer would she be the obedient, proper Miss Whitaker. Instead, she would go about her business as a refined yet determined young lady, who did not care much for the intricacies that came with polite society. She would make herself out to be independent, even though she was still in her father and mother’s care, and in doing so, might find a change of happiness that would bring a new brightness to her future.

“I want you to ensure that you do your very best this evening, Millie,” she told her maid, who looked up at her, startled. “The pearls will be threaded through my hair in some sort of fashion, I think.” She arched one eyebrow at the maid, who began to nod fervently. “And I shall have the cream satin gown.”

The maid hesitated, then turned and disappeared into the small dressing room before emerging with the gown in question. Lydia nodded satisfactorily, seeing the maid’s eyes flicker with surprise but giving no explanation as to her choice. The cream satin gown had been declared improper by Lydia, who had disliked that it showed so much of her décolletage. Lady Templeton had trilled a laugh and stated that it was the highest fashion and it was to be expected that a gown should have a low bodice, but Lydia had not accepted this and had refused to wear it.

Until this evening.

“I shall be entirely transformed,” she told herself calmly, seeing a spark in her eyes that had not been there before. “The ton shall know Miss Lydia Whitaker and no longer think her nothing more than a flickering shadow.” A smile caught her lips, her cheeks flooding with color of their own accord.

This evening was going to be very different.

1

“Good evening, Lord Ancrum.”

Joseph, Earl of Ancrum, said nothing. Instead, he bowed over Lady Greaves’ hand and prayed that his notoriety had died down somewhat since the disaster that had been last year’s Season. He had been quite foolish and had behaved in a most improper and hurtful manner towards a Miss Ophelia Grey. Of course, that had all come to a swift end after his actions and he had lost a great deal of money in the process.

He had disliked losing money, although it did not impact his estate too greatly. More had been the embarrassment and mortification of losing such a sum to a gentleman he disliked intensely. Of course, he had also been ashamed of his own drunken behavior, which had been the only reason he had made such a ridiculous wager in the first place. Since reflecting on all that had occurred, he had therefore decided that he would not allow himself to act so foolishly again. And it would begin with an attempt to recover his reputation amongst the ton as much as he could.

“Lord Ancrum.”

He stiffened, seeing the coy smile on another lady’s face as she drew near to greet him.

“Lady Starling,” he murmured, aware of how heat climbed up his spine as he bowed in greeting. “How good to see you again.”

Lady Starling was a rich young widow whom Joseph had known for some years. She made playthings of the gentlemen of the ton but, as yet, Joseph had not been one of her chosen toys. His stomach tightened as he saw the way she smiled at him, her dark blue eyes fixed upon his. Her golden hair was delicately pulled away from her face, held back gently and seeming to give her a halo that only added to her beauty.

“You have returned to society, then,” Lady Starling murmured, her eyes flickering over his form as though she wanted to be assured that he was, in truth, the gentleman she knew. “Have you thought of taking a wife?”

Joseph hesitated, finding that he did not wish to speak to Lady Starling of all that was in his mind to do. “I seek only to prove myself to society once more, Lady Starling,” he told her, seeing the amused expression on her face. “My reputation has suffered somewhat of late, although I can only lay the blame for such a thing at my own feet.”

Lady Starling laughed and tapped his arm with her folded fan in a playful fashion. “Well, if you will attempt to go around kissing young ladies so that you might win a wager, then yes, I fear that your reputation will suffer somewhat,” she replied teasingly. “Although it is not as though you have been spurned from society, Lord Ancrum.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “There are those amongst us who believe you to be something of a rake.” Arching one brow, she leaned back and looked at him steadily. “And that is not always a poor reflection on a gentleman’s character, Lord Ancrum. It might be seen by some as an accolade!” She laughed softly, her eyes glinting with mirth. “What say you to that?”

Joseph sighed inwardly, frustrated that, already, the conversation had returned to his past mistakes. No, he wanted to say, he did not wish to be called a rake nor did he want society as a whole to think of him as one, but it seemed he was not to get what he wished. There was no one to blame but himself, of course, for attempting to kiss a lady in full view of the beau monde was, of course, the action of a fool and could well be construed that he was nothing more than a rake. He had never had any intention of marrying the lady he had attempted to kiss but had done so simply to mar her reputation and, therefore, ensure that he won the wager.

“I am no rake, Lady Starling,” he told her emphatically. “And I intend to make sure that, this Season, I prove myself not to be so.”

Lady Starling’s gaze became a trifle more serious. “How disappointing,” she said lightly, now putting her hand on his arm instead of her fan. “I had hoped that you were something of a rake, Lord Ancrum.” Her voice became singsong, her playful words hitting Joseph so hard that he felt as though he had been punched in the gut. Clearing his throat, he quickly placed his hands behind his back and tried to smile, which, given that he could not find anything to say to such a thing, was the only thing he could do. His heart began to quicken with the look in her eyes, knowing full well what it was that she was suggesting he pursue.

“One does not need to be a rake to enjoy the company and the delights offered by another,” Lady Starling continued softly, her eyes gleaming as if he were the prize she had been searching for. “I shall watch you carefully these next few weeks, Lord Ancrum. Mayhap there is a chance that our acquaintance will grow.” And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away from him, her steps slow and yet determined. The other guests stepped out of her way as she moved, clearly aware of just how much gravitas she held. Joseph let out a long breath, unable to keep his eyes from her. Lady Starling, it seemed, was considering him to be her next plaything and Joseph found himself overcome with delight at the prospect. He was no rake, no, but it was as Lady Starling said: one did not need to be a rake in order to enjoy the company of another. Particularly if it was warm company.

“You appear to be quite delighted with yourself, I must say.”

Joseph turned his head to see none other than Lord Irwin approaching him, a broad grin on his face.

“Irwin,” Joseph exclaimed, shaking his friend’s hand fervently. “Good evening to you.”

“Good evening,” Lord Irwin replied, his grin never slipping. “I did not expect to see you here this evening, although I am glad of it.”

Joseph chuckled ruefully. “I believe my notoriety had been the cause of my invitation,” he replied with a shake of his head. “But I am determined to prove myself to the beau monde so that they do not continue to consider me to be either a rake or unworthy of their company.” He grimaced, the truth of the matter hitting him full force. “And I have become aware that I must wed. The estate is doing well and I must therefore produce an heir.”

Lord Irwin laughed as though this was something mirthful. “It is not as bad as all that!” he exclaimed, evidently seeing Joseph’s dislike of the married state. “You know that I myself am wed now, do you not?”

Joseph nodded. “I do,” he replied quickly, recalling that Lord Irwin had become engaged last Season. “And does it go well?”

“Wonderfully,” Lord Irwin replied with seeming honesty. “Of course, it does help if one has a fondness for one’s spouse. Thankfully, I seem to have been blessed with a wife that truly cares for me and, indeed, over the past year, I have discovered that I myself have a very great affection for her.”

Joseph cleared his throat, not quite certain what he was to say to this.

“But you shall simply be seeking a bride that does not care about your scandalous behavior last Season, I presume,” Lord Irwin finished, clearly aware that all this talk of affection and matrimony was making Joseph uncomfortable. “Although I should say that talking at length to Lady Starling will do your reputation no good.”

Sighing heavily, Joseph rubbed at his forehead, a pinched expression on his face. “You do not hold back, do you?” he muttered, feeling a trifle frustrated over Lord Irwin’s blunt manner. “Yes, I am aware that conversing with Lady Starling is not to be seen as a wise behavior, but I had very little choice. It was she who approached me and she who has suggested that—” He stopped dead, realizing what he had been about to say and seeing Lord Irwin’s answering frown.

“Suggest what, might I ask?” Lord Irwin enquired, his frown deepening. “Do not tell me that she is considering you for her next victim, Lord Ancrum. It is not as though she is seeking a new husband for herself, which—”

“I should not consider her even if she was seeking to wed,” Joseph interrupted, hoping that this would allow him to escape answering Lord Irwin’s previous suggestion, but Lord Irwin only frowned.

“It would not be a good match,” Lord Irwin stated darkly. “Lady Starling is well known to be… rather open with her favors as I am certain you well know. To take her as a wife would be utterly disastrous and scandal would dog your family line for generations to come.”

Closing his eyes, Joseph let out a long breath. “I am fully aware of that, Irwin. As I have said, I would never consider Lady Starling to be a suitable bride, so you need not have any concern in that regard.” He was doing his utmost not to become irritated with his friend, but the way that Lord Irwin continued to speak against Lady Starling in such determined tones was becoming quite maddening.

“You will consider her then, for another position,” Lord Irwin stated, his cynicism evident in every single word and in every single look. “I hardly think that is wise, Lord Ancrum.”

Joseph hesitated, then shrugged. “I have not yet decided whether I would accept her attentions, even if she was to offer such a delight to me,” he replied as nonchalantly as he could. “Although I will say that I was flattered by her attentions.”

Lord Irwin scoffed at this. “Of course you were,” he stated, slicing the air with his hand. “That is precisely what she wants and what she uses. Her own reputation is one of note, and most gentlemen trip over their own feet in order to have her give them even a second glance. But not so with you.” He shook his head and Joseph felt a slight embarrassment begin to grow within him. “She has chosen you from amongst the ton and has decided to seek you out, instead of you pursuing her. Therefore, you are flattered by her attentions and begin to hope that she might be considering you for her future…. endeavors, shall we say.” Lord Irwin paused for a moment, making Joseph realize just how much of the truth was in Lord Irwin’s words. “She has no expectation that you will refuse her, does she?”

“No, of course, not,” Joseph replied quickly. “I should truly struggle to refuse someone such as Lady Starling.”

“Unless, in doing so and in denying yourself the pleasures of what was to come, you realize that it is for your best,” Lord Irwin said emphatically. “You realize that you must refuse her, so that your reputation can recover, so that society does not believe you to be the rake that they now consider you and so that you can find a suitable bride thereafter, just as you have intended.” He lifted one eyebrow questioningly. “Or do you think you will be able to find a gentleman willing to give you his daughter’s hand in marriage when you are known to be spending a good deal of time with Lady Starling?”

Finding his frustration and his embarrassment mingling together, Joseph let out a long breath, raised his gaze, and shook one finger in Lord Irwin’s direction. “You are rather irritating with your sound advice, old boy, I must say.”

Appearing relieved that Joseph was, it seemed, listening to his warnings about Lady Starling, Lord Irwin merely shrugged. “I do it for your best,” he reminded Joseph, who had no other choice but to begrudgingly accept this from him. “You are trying to restore your reputation, not ruin it further.”

“And having an intimacy with Lady Starling will ruin me further,” Joseph muttered, passing a hand over his eyes and letting out a long, slow breath. His delight over Lady Starling’s suggestion that he might become closer acquainted with her began to evaporate as he accepted that to do so would only cement his reputation as a supposed rake, which would mean that he would struggle to find a suitable bride when the time came. Lord Irwin was, as much as Joseph hated to admit it, wise in his speech and Joseph knew he could not ignore his friend’s advice.

“I speak as your friend, Ancrum,” Lord Irwin replied quietly, as if he feared that Joseph was going to be offended by what he had said. “That is all.”

“I know, I know,” Joseph intoned heavily. “You have saved me from myself, it seems, Lord Irwin. If only you had advised me so last year, then I might not have behaved as terribly as I did!”

Lord Irwin chuckled, the seriousness disappearing from his expression. “I was much too caught up with Miss Lucas, as you well know.”

“Indeed,” Joseph replied with a grin. “Where is your wife at this present moment?”

Lord Irwin looked all about him, only to then point across the room. “There, do you see her? She is conversing with a young lady, whom I have only just been introduced to this evening.”

Joseph peered out across the room in the direction that Lord Irwin pointed, catching sight of the lady as she spoke to another he himself was not acquainted with. Miss Lucas—or Lady Irwin, as she was now—was quite lovely, with red curls and sparkling green eyes, and the creature next to her seemed to pale in comparison. She had rather dark brown hair, with eyes that held no sparkle and there was no smile on her lips. She was watching Lady Irwin intently, clearly taking in everything that was being said as though her life depended upon it.

“Let me take you to greet her,” Lord Irwin suggested, moving away before Joseph could say anything. “I am certain my wife will be glad to see you again and she can give proper introductions thereafter.”

Joseph shrugged inwardly and began to follow his friend across the room towards Lady Irwin. It would do him no harm to greet Lady Irwin and to be introduced to her companion, whoever she was. In fact, it might be the very best thing for him, for it would at the very least remove the beautiful Lady Starling from his thoughts.

As he drew closer, the young lady that he did not know looked up at him directly. Her gaze was sharp, her eyes watchful as he came closer. She did not smile and there was no color in her cheeks but, he considered, taking her in, there appeared to be an air of decisiveness about her. Perhaps it was the lift of her chin or the way she carried herself, but he had the sense that she had a strong character indeed.

“My dear Lady Irwin,” Lord Irwin said, taking his wife’s hand and bringing it to his lips as though he had not seen her in some time. “I spotted you from across the room and could not help but be drawn back to your side.”

Lady Irwin blushed at this, although her eyes sparkled with beauty. “You are most kind, Lord Irwin,” she replied sweetly, coming to stand next to her husband. “You are to dance with me soon, I hope?” She looked up into Lord Irwin’s face and Joseph felt a sudden kick of longing within his own heart. Longing that he might have what was so obviously between Lord Irwin and his wife.

And then the moment passed and he was left standing quietly by his friend as he spoke to his wife, waiting for some sort of introduction.

“Lord Ancrum, I must apologize for my rude manner,” Lady Irwin said quickly, as if she had read his thoughts. “Good evening. How do you fare this evening?”

Joseph cleared his throat, bowed in greeting, and then shrugged in a somewhat hopeless manner. “I have been told that I may now be considered a rake,” he told Lady Irwin, who did not seem to be in the least bit surprised. “And your husband had been, of course, ensuring that I do not do anything foolish so that my reputation can be pulled free from such a description before too long.” He smiled tightly, seeing the sympathy in Lady Irwin’s eyes and feeling as though he did not deserve any of it. Then, his gaze shifted towards the other young lady standing opposite. She was standing quite still, her hands held loosely in front of her and her eyes fixed upon his face. There was curiosity in her gaze, her head tilted just a little to her right as though she wanted to know almost all she could about him from just a long glance.

Seeing the direction of his gaze, Lady Irwin began to apologize all over again. “I have not made formal introductions; I am truly sorry.” Sighing and shaking her head, she gestured towards the young, blue-eyed lady. “May I present Miss Whitaker, daughter to Viscount Templeton. Miss Whitaker, might I present the Earl of Ancrum.”

At this, the young lady’s eyes flared in surprise, her cheeks flooding with color as she looked back at him. Joseph sighed inwardly, bowing quickly so as to hide his frustration. Evidently, Miss Whitaker had heard of his stupidity last Season. When he looked up, she was rising from her late curtsy, her color still high as she lifted her head.

“I am very pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said in a quiet voice. “Might I ask if you are enjoying the ball thus far?”

Joseph lifted one shoulder. “I have only been here but an hour, Miss Whitaker,” he told her. “And as yet, have not managed to secure even a single dance. I am not certain that anyone would be glad of my company, however, given that it seems almost everyone is aware of my foolish actions last Season.” He gave the lady a rueful smile, which she did not return. Instead, she simply looked back at him steadily, her lips pressed together as though she were considering something important. Joseph did not know what else to say, looking from Miss Whitaker to Lord Irwin and seeing that, yet again, he was in quiet conversation with his wife. Lady Irwin laughed suddenly and Lord Irwin grinned, before realizing that Joseph and Miss Whitaker were both looking at them.

“I do apologize,” he said, shaking his head as Joseph lifted an eyebrow in surprise. “I have become quite distracted by my wife’s beauty.” He grinned at the quick blush that came to Lady Irwin’s cheeks, clearly delighted that his words could have such an effect on her. “I must take her to the floor for the next dance. Do excuse us.”

“But of course,” Joseph murmured, nodding in Lady Irwin’s direction as she took her leave of them. He was left standing beside Miss Whitaker, who looked after Lord and Lady Irwin with something of a longing in her expression. Joseph tipped his head and regarded her carefully, wondering if she might be someone he could consider courting. She had not backed away from him, had not made her excuses and hurried to leave his side now that Lord and Lady Irwin were gone from them. Instead, she had remained precisely where she was, standing quietly and without any urgency to depart.

Perhaps his reputation was not as ruined as he believed.

“You will forgive me for asking you this, Miss Whitaker, especially when we have only just been introduced, but I must know something.” He saw her turn her face back to his, her eyes alight with interest. “Does my reputation go before me?”

Much to his surprise, Miss Whitaker laughed. “Goodness, Lord Ancrum, that is something of a profound question. I do not know the entirety of society, as you must understand, so therefore I cannot state with any certainty what the beau monde thinks of you.”

He frowned, not content with her answer. “But you knew of me.”

Miss Whitaker’s smile faded, her expression growing serious. “Yes, Lord Ancrum. Yes, I did. But that may be because I was present on the evening that the…. incident occurred.” She looked back at him steadily, no judgment or rancor in her voice or expression. “I saw what you attempted, saw how Miss Grey slapped you, and thereafter, heard the many rumors that swirled around about you.”

“And now you are quite content to stand here and converse with me?” he asked, a trifle incredulous. “Will your father or mother not be deeply upset that you have been seen in the company of a rake?”

Miss Whitaker stiffened, her lips thin and her eyes growing hard. “My father will not care a jot, Lord Ancrum,” she told him, her tone flat. “And my mother is, as you might notice, just a little behind me.” She turned her head and gestured towards a dark-haired older lady, who was laughing uproariously at something one of her companions had said, her glass of ratafia sloshing dangerously as she held it in one hand. “Therefore, Lord Ancrum, you must understand that I make my own judgments upon such things as the company I keep and those I choose to speak to.”

His spirits buoyed and, thinking that Miss Whitaker was a determined yet considered young lady, Joseph turned his gaze back to her and found her watching him still with those light blue eyes of hers. She was not overly pretty but certainly tolerable enough. To have her own mind, however, was what drew him to her the most, for even though she knew what he had done, she had decided not to reject him utterly.

“Then might I ask if you would care for a dance, Miss Whitaker?” he asked boldly, extending his hand. “I have not danced the waltz for some time, I will admit, but I shall make every effort not to stand on your toes.” He smiled as he said this, attempting to put a note of teasing into his voice, but Miss Whitaker did not react in any way. Instead, she let her eyes linger on his outstretched hand for some moments, her face devoid of expression.

Joseph felt himself grow hot, fearing that he was to be rejected and finding his mortification already beginning to rise, only for Miss Whitaker to let out a long breath and step forward, accepting the offer of his dance.

“Thank you, Lord Ancrum,” she said softly, a light smile on her face. “I should very much like to dance with you. Shall we step out?”

“Indeed, we shall,” he replied, his spirits lifting all the more as he walked Miss Whitaker out to the dance floor and prepared to take her in his arms for the waltz.

2

Lydia had been more than glad to accept Lady Irwin’s invitation to afternoon tea, for the lady had seemingly thought well of their interaction two days ago at the ball. Giving herself one last look at her reflection in the drawing room mirror, she nodded to herself, thinking that she looked satisfactory, and then proceeded to make her way to the front door.

As usual, neither her mother nor her father were present to ask where she might be going. One was still abed and the other ensconced in his study, most likely studying the bottom of a brandy bottle. Her mother had imbibed a little too much last evening and, having called for Lydia to come and ensure that she was brought some laudanum and requesting that she place a damp cloth upon her head, Lady Templeton had groaned and sighed and complained until Lydia’s head had been so filled with her mother’s whining voice that it had begun to ache. Her mother had mentioned something about her debts, debts which were owed to some gentleman who had been playing cards with Lady Templeton last evening. Lydia did not know who this gentleman was or how much her mother had lost, but she had decided that it was not her business to either know or give it any consideration and so had set her mind to her meeting with Lady Irwin.

“I am to call upon Lady Irwin, should my mother enquire as to where I am gone,” she told the butler, who, having been used to this way of things, merely nodded and gave her a small smile. “I shall return before dinner.”

“Very good, Miss Whitaker,” the butler replied with a small inclination of his head. “Do enjoy your afternoon. Are you quite sure I cannot call the carriage for you?”

Lydia shook her head. The day was fine and Lady Irwin’s house was not too far away and she quite fancied taking a stroll through London. Her maid was already prepared to walk behind her, so that she would not bring shame to herself. “I shall hail a hackney if I am tired upon my return,” she replied, thinking how strange it was that a servant of her father’s house should show her more concern than her father himself. “I thank you.”

The butler nodded again, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled at her, making Lydia’s sorrow that she was not so well treated by her father pierce her heart all over again. Taking in a deep breath, she stepped outside and took in a lungful of air, putting a smile on her face that she hoped might bring cheer to her heart.

She had to recall what good things were in her life instead of remembering the sadness that came with her parents’ lack of interest in her life. For example, she was to call upon Lady Irwin, who was both kind and genteel, and Lydia hoped she would make a friend of the lady. To have someone to converse with, to have someone to seek out at any social occasion she might attend would be a great joy. Prior to this year, Lydia had simply stayed at the back of every room, not daring to greet anyone or introduce herself, for such a thing would be rude indeed and, therefore, she had not had any acquaintances she might consider to be friends.

But at the ball two nights previous, Lydia had thrown her caution aside and, as such, had discovered that some within society would not think her ill-mannered in any way whatsoever. Lady Irwin had been glad to meet her, it seemed, for she had accepted Lydia’s murmur of greeting at once and had brushed away Lydia’s stammered apologies for not introducing herself in the proper fashion.

Perhaps there was something in this way of conducting oneself. For not only had she met Lady Irwin and thereafter been introduced to Lord Irwin, Lord Irwin himself had then brought over another gentleman, who then had made Lydia’s acquaintance. Lord Ancrum had appeared to be quite amiable, although she had known of his reputation, of course. She had been present in the room the night he had attempted to kiss Miss Grey, although Miss Grey had slapped him hard enough to send him staggering backwards. It had caused quite the scandal, especially when it had become known that Lord Ancrum had only done so in order to win a wager.

Of course, had she decided to remain as she was, she would never have allowed herself to accept an invitation to dance with Lord Ancrum, but, given that she was attempting to behave in an entirely different manner to what she was accustomed to, she had decided therefore to do something she knew was not wise.

She had danced with Lord Ancrum.

The way his face had lit up with relief when she had accepted him had told her more about what he was feeling inside than any words could express. He was, it seemed, quite ashamed of the fact that he had such a poor reputation, although he had stated very clearly that he was all too aware that it was his own behavior that had brought about such a change. She had found herself mildly curious, wanting to know the entirety of what had occurred and what had made him so desperate to act in such a fashion, but had not asked him a single thing. As yet, Lydia did not know whether she would be continuing her acquaintance with the gentleman, although she would be more than willing to do so if he wished it of her.

He was handsome, she considered, walking quickly along the pavement and passing the many shops that lined the street. When she had allowed herself to study him, she had seen the strength in his broad shoulders and back, seeing how he held himself straight with his head lifted so as to exude a confidence he perhaps did not truly feel within. His face was rather angular, with a firm jaw and a Roman nose that accompanied dark grey eyes. It was those eyes that had caught her attention, for they seemed to swirl with mixtures of grey and black, changing almost every moment as she had looked into them. Fair hair and brows had added to his slightly foreboding appearance, although when he had smiled at her, that had dissipated somewhat.

Why are you giving him such consideration?

A faint blush touched her cheeks as Lydia thought on this for a moment. Lord Ancrum was, of course, an interesting character and had a handsomeness about him that could not be denied, but that was, at present, all he was. She could not allow herself to be caught up with him simply because he was the first gentleman she had been introduced to now that she had decided to behave in a different manner. If things continued as they were, then she would hopefully be introduced to a good many other gentlemen, and thereafter, might even have one showing a specific interest in her that she could return. Lydia considered the fact that an arrangement of husband and wife was not something she wished for, given that her parents’ marriage had been an arrangement between the two families. Their discontent and continued anger towards one another were not what she wanted to see repeated in her own life. Therefore, she had to hope that a gentleman who was amiable, refined, and, at the very least, kind would consider her. If she felt a fondness for him, then she would accept any offer that was given to her. However, if he was cruel and seemingly disinterested in her, then she would have no hesitation in refusing him, even if it meant that she would leave London this Season with no interest from any particular gentleman.

So caught up was she in her own thoughts that Lydia did not notice the gentleman hurrying towards her. Her thoughts were pulling at all of her attention, her eyes looking ahead but seeing nothing.

The gentleman in question was in a hurry, his eyes darting from here to there. His hat was pulled down low over his forehead as though to hide himself from view, even though he wore the attire of a gentleman.

A sudden jolt caught Lydia entirely unawares. Someone had slammed hard into her shoulder, knocking her completely off balance. With a small cry of pain, she staggered backwards, her hands flailing as she tried to regain her balance, but air was all she could cling to. She caught sight of a gentleman turning back towards her, his dark eyes looking into hers—and then, before she was truly aware of it, Lydia was flat on her back, looking up at the sky and feeling her head and shoulder begin to throb.

“Good gracious!”

A gentleman hurried towards her, bending down nearby and offering her his hand. Two ladies came with him, each with her hand pressed to her mouth as though in shock.

“Can you sit up, miss?” the gentleman asked as she took his hand. “You took quite a nasty fall there.”

Lydia held on tightly to the gentleman’s hand as he began to lift her carefully, making her wince as her head began to ache terribly.

“You have quite ruined your gown!” one of the ladies cried, as though this was of much greater concern to Lydia than that of her painful head and sore shoulder. “Goodness, what could that gentleman have been thinking of?”

Lydia blinked hard, looking into the gentleman’s face and realizing that this was not the man she had seen as she had fallen. He had light eyes and a round, boyish face instead of the dark eyes and grim expression she had caught sight of as she had fallen. Looking down at her gown, she saw the tear to the hem and the dirt and dust that covered her and felt heat rise into her cheeks. She must look a sight.

“I—I thank you,” she stammered, realizing that a small crowd of onlookers had gathered as she rose, still clinging onto the arm of the gentleman who had come to her aid. “I do not know what occurred.”

One of the ladies tutted loudly. “A gentleman knocked you over!” she exclaimed, gesturing behind her. “I do not know where he is gone, but I am quite certain it was a gentleman.”

“Impudent fellow,” the gentleman who held her hand replied, looking into her eyes with concern. “Could I catch him, I would ensure that he be brought back at once to make amends.”

Lydia tried to smile, resisting the urge to press one hand to her head. “I am quite all right, I assure you,” she said, seeing the ladies glancing at one another. Most likely, this story would be all through society by the end of the day. “I am very grateful to you for your kindness, sir, although I do not know your name.”

The gentleman smiled and let go of her hand slowly, as though to make sure she would not faint and collapse if he did so. Lydia stood quite calmly, not showing a single trace of pain in her expression as she held the gentleman’s gaze, thinking that he had a kind face which suited his chivalrous nature.

“Lord Paulson,” he declared eventually, giving her a quick bow. “Viscount Paulson, if you wish to know the title.” He chuckled and lifted his head again. “I am very glad to have been able to assist you…” He trailed off, clearly waiting for her to introduce herself also.

“Miss Whitaker,” she replied quickly, a little embarrassed. “I thank you, Lord Paulson, for your kindness in assisting me to my feet. I shall not hold you back from your path any longer.”

“Oh, but I should not allow you to leave without any assistance,” the gentleman said, looking all about her. “Your maid, where has she gone to? Or mayhap you are out with a friend or a relative?”

Lydia could not quite bring herself to say that she had been out walking without relative or friend, although she had no idea as to where her maid had gone.

“I did have a maid with me,” she murmured, looking all about her but not seeing the creature anywhere. “I am currently making my way to call upon an acquaintance and thought to walk instead of taking the carriage since the sun was so bright and the day so fine.” She did not know why she gave such a detailed explanation to a gentleman who had no reason to know such a thing, but she did so anyway, making Lord Paulson smile.

“Then I should be glad to accompany you,” he replied gallantly, offering her his arm as the crowd began to disperse. “Come now, I shall not allow you to refuse me. Where is it you go?”

“To Lady Irwin,” Lydia answered, seeing Lord Paulson nod. He clearly knew where she was to go. “You are very kind, but…”

Her words trailed off and Lydia found that she could not refuse, for the kindness of his expression and the awareness that she should not walk on alone were too much to bear. Therefore, she accepted his arm with a murmur of thanks and began to walk again, feeling no other pain except for the ache in her head and the throbbing of her shoulder.

The sound of hurried footsteps behind her made her turn her head before she could even begin another conversation with Lord Paulson, surprised to see her maid reappearing.

“I chased after the gentleman, my lady,” the maid explained, her eyes huge and her face a deep shade of scarlet. “I thought to catch him since he seemed to care nothing for you.”

Lydia blinked, stopping in her steps to turn and face her maid. “I see,” she replied, not quite certain whether she was pleased that the maid had done such a thing or angry that she had left Lydia’s side when she was needed the most. “And did you discover him?”

“He went into White’s, my lady,” the maid replied, hanging her head. “I am sorry if I done wrong.”

Lydia’s head began to pound all the more, forcing her to close her eyes and drag in a long breath.

“I shall go to White’s the very moment I have seen you to Lady Irwin’s house,” Lord Paulson answered, before Lydia could say anything. “I shall seek out this gentleman, for I, too, saw a glimpse of him.” He patted Lydia’s hand as it rested on his arm and then slowly brought her back around so that they might keep walking. “Mayhap I might call upon you to inform you if I discover anything.” He glanced at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Or even if I have been entirely unsuccessful.”

“You—you wish to call upon me?” Lydia repeated, a trifle confused. “We have only just become acquainted.”

“And yet I find myself quite entranced,” Lord Paulson said easily. “And it would not be gallant of me not to ensure that you have recovered from this nasty incident now, would it?” He chuckled and despite the strangeness of the entire situation and the ongoing pain in her head, Lydia could not help but smile back. She felt quite flattered that the gentleman wished to see her again, finding him to be utterly charming and more than considerate.

“I should be glad of that,” she replied softly, seeing his smile spread all the further across his face. “Thank you, Lord Paulson. You are very kind.”

3

It was to Joseph’s shame that he had not stopped the moment he had bumped into that young lady. He had received such an urgent note that he had been entirely set upon his course and had not even seen the lady until it was too late. Nor had he had the time to stop and ensure that she was all right, to offer his profuse apologies, and to beg her to forgive him, for the urgency of the note had called him to Lady Starling’s side immediately.

He had been unable to refuse her, of course, although he knew full well that going to see the lady was not in keeping with what he had promised Lord Irwin. In fact, it would be best for him to remain as far away from Lady Starling as possible, given that he was trying to keep his reputation as pristine as he could, but he could not turn away from her desperate request that she call upon him at the very first moment he was available.

Just quite what was wrong, he had very little idea, but the words contained within the note had seemed frantic. There had been no carefully curved and delicate writing but rather a hurried hand, with blotches of ink marring the page all the more. His heart was racing frantically by the time he reached the front door of Lady Starling’s townhouse, sweat trickling down his spine. Why he had not hailed a hackney, he could not quite understand, for then at the very least, he would not have arrived in such a state as he must appear now. He had not had the time to call for his carriage to be brought around but had simply hurried from the house, jamming his hat down on his head as he had done so. Thoughts had tumbled about his head so hurriedly that he had practically run through London towards her townhouse.

“Ah, Lord Ancrum.” The butler opened the door without any attempt at swiftness, surprising Joseph entirely. “Lady Starling is expecting you.”

“Where is she?” Joseph asked, a little out of breath as he removed his hat and handed it to the man. “What is it that has occurred?”

A flicker of a frown caught the butler’s expression, although it faded almost the moment it had appeared. “I do not think that there is anything untoward, Lord Ancrum,” he replied slowly, looking back at Joseph as if he were the one confused. “Is there something that concerns you?”

Joseph hesitated, his brows furrowing. He did not want to tell the butler about the note Lady Starling had sent him, but it was most peculiar that the butler himself did not know if there was anything wrong. “I—no,” he stammered, his confusion growing steadily. “If you will just direct me to her, then I shall be glad to call upon her.”

The butler cleared his throat and then nodded, gesturing for Joseph to follow him. He led the way to what Joseph presumed was the drawing room, having not been in Lady Starling’s residence for some time. The door was opened in front of him and his name murmured to the lady within, and Joseph lost no time in walking through to greet her.

Much to his surprise, Lady Starling was sitting quietly in a chair by the fire, although he did think it was a trifle unusual for a fire to be lit in the grate on what was a beautiful summer’s day. He bowed deeply, hearing Lady Starling rise to her feet with her gown rustling, before instructing the butler to bring up some refreshments.

“Lord Ancrum,” she cooed, the moment Joseph lifted his head. “How grateful I am to you for calling upon me with such swiftness.”

Joseph blinked in confusion, taking a few steps closer to Lady Starling. “I received your note, Lady Starling, and thought you to be in severe trouble of some sort. I do not understand what has occurred.” His frown deepened as he recalled the note, stating that she was in dire trouble and required his presence. “I thought you to be in some sort of danger.”

Lady Starling sighed heavily and reached out for his hands. “You have arrived only a few minutes too late, Lord Ancrum,” she told him sadly. “I was afraid that a certain gentleman would press his attentions upon me when I did not seek it.”

“Oh.” Joseph’s frown remained, not truly understanding why she had written a note to him instead of simply calling for a footman to remove the fellow. “Your staff could not…?”

Lady Starling gasped, as if he had suggested something truly abhorrent. “I could not do such a thing!” she exclaimed, sounding horrified. “Lord Paulson is not a gentleman to be trifled with.”

Trying to recall who Lord Paulson was, Joseph remained silent, whilst becoming slowly aware that Lady Starling was now holding onto his hand, her fingers tight as she looked up into his face.

“I do not know the gentleman, Lady Starling,” Joseph replied after a few moments of silence. “But I am sorry you had to endure such a thing.”

She sighed heavily and closed her eyes. “My note was written with such haste that I could barely get the words to the paper,” she said, each word appearing to be an effort to speak. “I had the butler delay him for some minutes whilst I wrote, but he could not be prevented from seeing me.”

Joseph let out a long breath, still feeling a trifle uncertain as to why she had chosen to call upon him instead of any other. Surely Lady Starling could call upon a good number of gentlemen to come to her aid, particularly those who might share a closer acquaintance with her than he.

“You wonder why I sought you,” Lady Starling said softly, as if she could see what was in his thoughts. “I confess, Lord Ancrum, your face was the first that came to me when I heard that Lord Paulson was to call upon me. I cannot explain it but it was as though something within me knew that you would come at once.” She blinked rapidly, a breathy sigh leaving her lips. “As though I knew you would protect me.”

Joseph let the last of his unease slip away, looking down into Lady Starling’s face and feeling his heart swell with pride. To know that he had been the one she had thought of, even though their acquaintance was not of a particularly long duration, was pleasing indeed. That must mean that she, at least, considered him respectable and trustworthy.

“I am honored that you thought of me,” he told her, glad to see the small smile of relief creep across her face. “Now, why do we not sit down and I shall make sure that you are quite all right and you can tell me all about this Lord Paulson fellow.” He smiled reassuringly at her and Lady Starling let out a long breath, closing her eyes for a moment before nodding and releasing his hand.

His chest a little puffed with pride, Joseph ensured that Lady Starling was sitting comfortably before taking a seat himself. The maid arrived only a moment later with the tray but Lady Starling ushered her away so that they would not be interrupted.

“Tea shall restore me very well, I think,” she murmured softly, her hand trembling as she reached for the teapot. “And there is a tray in the corner if you prefer the very best French brandy—oh!” The teapot slipped from her hand and crashed back down onto the tray, although, much to Joseph’s relief, nothing appeared to be broken. He leapt to his feet at once and grasped the teapot, pouring the tea for Lady Starling at once, seeing her press one hand to her forehead.

Mayhap she was more shaken than he had thought her. Adding a dash of milk to the now filled china cup, Joseph lifted the cup and saucer and held it out to her, feeling a rush of guilt that he had ever questioned whether or not there was something wrong.

“I thank you, Lord Ancrum,” Lady Starling replied heavily, opening her eyes as she dropped her hand to her lap. “You are very kind.”

“It is the very least I can do, of course,” he said gently, looking down at her for a long moment to ensure that she was quite recovered. “Now, do tell me about this Lord Paulson.”

Lady Starling sighed heavily and winced. “He is not the sort of gentleman that allows anyone to refuse him anything,” she replied, her voice low. “Lord Paulson is well known to be a gentleman disliked by almost everyone within high society.”

“And why is that?” Joseph asked, recalling that he still did not know who this gentleman was. “What is it that he has done that causes so many to turn against him?”

Lady Starling sighed again, her expression tight and her lips thin. “Lord Paulson discovers certain matters that those of us within the beau monde would rather not be known,” she replied slowly. “I cannot say how he discovers it, but once he has knowledge of whatever secret or misdemeanor it is, he will seek the person out and tell them of what he knows.”

Joseph frowned, rubbing his chin with his thumb. He did not know the gentleman at all, which came as something of a surprise given that he himself was well known within society. “And is he a gentleman of influence himself?”

“A viscount,” Lady Starling replied, her expression sorrowful. “And thus far, I have been able to stay far from him and he has never once come to me with some information that I must then contain.”

A sudden realization flashed into Joseph’s mind. “Until recently?” he suggested, seeing the way Lady Starling closed her eyes tightly.

“Indeed,” she replied, keeping her eyes tightly closed as if in an effort to keep her tears at bay. “He has discovered that my late husband often frequented houses of disrepute and that it was one of these visits that, ultimately, brought about his death.” She let out a long, shuddering breath and finally opened her eyes but looked away. Her cheeks colored with the shame of what she was revealing to him and Joseph felt his heart go out to her. “To be blunt, Lord Ancrum, it was a venereal disease that took him from this earth. This was kept secret from everyone save for myself and the doctor, so that the family line would not have to bear the shame of it. To everyone who asked, they were told that his heart had merely worn out.”

“Goodness,” Joseph breathed, realizing just how much Lady Starling had revealed to him.

“Lord Paulson has discovered this somehow,” Lady Starling continued miserably. “The day he told me of it, I had him removed from the house. However, he has not stopped in his attempts to ensure that I know the truth of his actions and what will occur thereafter if I do not pay him an extortionate amount of money.”

Joseph closed his eyes for a moment, feeling a flood of anger bursting through him.

“You can understand why, then, I could not have him removed from this house,” Lady Starling finished, sniffing delicately. “That is why I am so grateful for your presence, Lord Ancrum. Particularly when I know that you are attempting to ensure that your reputation remains completely without stain.”

“That does not matter at this present moment,” Joseph found himself saying, with more fervency than he had intended. “I shall, of course, do my best to assist you in any way I can, Lady Starling.”

She began to blink rapidly, her eyes shining with tears. “I could not ask you to do such a thing, Lord Ancrum.”

“No,” he said insistently. “I shall do what I can to help you even though I will admit that, at this present moment, I do not know what it is I can do.” His sense of pride was lifted to the skies in knowing that she had called upon him when she could have sought out any other. Was it because she knew that he could be trusted, since he was doing all he could to restore his reputation amongst society? Or was it because she knew that he would do all he could to aid her? Whatever the reason was, Joseph had to admit that he felt pleased that she had thought of him and with that sensation came the desire to do whatever he could to prevent Lord Paulson from continuing this reign of terror.

“What have I done to deserve your assistance and generosity, Lord Ancrum?” Lady Starling asked, leaning forward in her chair and fixing him with a warm gaze. “It seems our acquaintance is to grow closer after all, although perhaps not in the way I had first considered.”

Joseph managed a tight laugh at this, knowing that he did wish, deep down, to have some of the warmth of Lady Starling’s acquaintance but that he ought not to seek such a thing given that he was not only doing his best to restore himself within society but also mayhap seeking a wife with whom he could produce his heir. “I shall ensure that I introduce myself to Lord Paulson at my next social occasion, Lady Starling,” he said, trying to get the conversation back onto the matter at hand and not the subject of their now increasing acquaintance. “And thereafter, I might be able to formulate a plan as to what I might do to aid not only you, but all those affected by his cruelty.”

Lady Starling looked at him with such joy in her expression that Joseph could not help but smile. “You are more wonderful than I ever expected,” she told him, her voice a breathless whisper. “Thank you, Lord Ancrum. I am truly glad of your acquaintance.”

4

“Good evening, Lord Ancrum.”

Lydia, who was still feeling rather stiff and sore from her fall the previous day, smiled in greeting at Lord Ancrum, who was also attending Lord Twickenham’s dinner party.

“Ah, good evening, Miss Whitaker,” he replied, giving her a quick bow and a small smile, although his eyes became somewhat distant, moving about from place to place. It was as if he were looking through her instead of directly at her, as though his mind were already tugging itself away from her. “I—I hope you enjoyed dinner this evening.”

“I did, very much,” she replied, still smiling at him but finding herself somewhat irritated with his lack of direct interest. “And you?”

He caught himself, looking at her for a moment before his gaze flicked away again. “I—yes, yes. It was most enjoyable.”

Silence began to grow between them, leaving Lydia feeling as though she ought to slip back into the shadows as she had done so many times before. If she did so, most likely Lord Ancrum would not notice she was gone. The gentleman before her now was vastly different to the gentleman to whom she had been introduced at the ball, for he now seemed very distracted and disinterested in her, whereas previously, he had seemed to greatly appreciate her company. A flush of embarrassment climbed up her chest and into her face, wondering if it was simply that he had decided she was not as engaging as he had first thought. It was quite likely to be such a thing, given that she did not have much practice in conversing with gentlemen of any sort, as she had spent most of her time in previous Seasons merely watching them from the very back of the ballroom.

“Oh, Miss Whitaker.” Lord Ancrum gave himself a slight shake, evidently just recalling that they were meant to be having a conversation. “I must apologize. My mind is filled with a matter of difficulty that I must admit is clouding my thoughts entirely.” He gave her a half smile, appearing somewhat self-conscious. “What was it you were saying?”

She blinked, seeing that this time, his eyes were fixed upon hers and that he showed no sign of looking away again with distraction. “I do not think we were speaking of anything in particular, Lord Ancrum.” Looking across the drawing room and seeing that her mother was not so much as glancing in her direction to ensure that she was all right, Lydia recalled that she was attempting to change her behavior and her manner within society and, therefore, took a deep breath and asked a rather bold question.

“What is it, Lord Ancrum, that troubles you so?” she said, seeing how he started slightly in surprise at her honesty. “Is it something that would benefit you by sharing it with another?”

Lord Ancrum said nothing for a long moment, looking at her steadily and evidently thinking about her suggestion. Then, he let out a long breath, shook his head, and gave her a rueful smile. “That is kind of you to offer, Miss Whitaker, but I fear that our acquaintance is not yet as such that I would be able to do so.”

Lydia closed her eyes tightly, heat burrowing into her cheeks. “Of course, Lord Ancrum,” she stammered, realizing just how foolish it had been to offer her support when she barely knew the gentleman. “I—”

“You must not be embarrassed, Miss Whitaker,” Lord Ancrum interrupted, coming a step closer and putting one hand on her arm. “Please, it was a kind offer.”

She jerked back as his hand patted her arm, her shoulder suddenly flaring with pain. Lord Ancrum let her go at once and stepped back, appearing horrified that he had done something that she found evidently so improper.

“Oh no, please,” Lydia protested, managing a tight smile as her pain began to ebb away. “It is merely that I have had something of a fall and my shoulder and head ache somewhat.”

Lord Ancrum stared at her, his face beginning to drain of color until he was a terrible, ashen grey. His grey eyes were wide, swirling with confusion and then apparent realization as she looked back at him, wondering what it was that he was thinking.

“You had a fall, Miss Whitaker?” he said, so softly that she struggled to hear him. “Was it of your own doing?”

Confused, she shook her head slowly, a light beginning to dawn as she looked back into his face. “No, no, it was not,” she replied hoarsely, seeing the horror in his face. “A gentleman was in such haste that he bumped into me most severely and I—”

“I had an urgent note,” Lord Ancrum whispered, closing his eyes for a moment before shaking his head and rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. “I should have ensured that you were all right but I saw that another gentleman had come to your aid and such was the urgency of my errand that I had no time to turn back to you.” He groaned aloud and closed his eyes again. “Goodness, Miss Whitaker, what must you think of me?”

Lydia drew in a long, shuddering breath that ran straight through her. A rush of cold water seemed to crash over her head and run all over her, as she suddenly recalled the gentleman who had bumped into her and realized, all at once, that it had been Lord Ancrum. Such had been the shock of her fall that she had believed herself not to know who the gentleman was but now that she knew the truth, it all became very clear.

“You walked away from me,” she breathed, blinking furiously to attempt to keep her composure. “I was knocked to the ground, Lord Ancrum!”

“I know, I know,” he replied, his expression dark and twisted. “It is no excuse but there was a great urgency in my errand. A matter of severity, truly.”

Lydia did not know what to say. Lord Ancrum appeared quite contrite, but the truth of the matter was, he had treated her terribly and had then continued on his way as though she mattered nothing to him.

“I shall make it up to you, Miss Whitaker,” Lord Ancrum pleaded, his full attention now solely fixed upon her and only her. “I know you must think of me as nothing more than an idiotic gentleman, selfish and arrogant, but I will prove otherwise to you, should you permit me.” He swallowed hard, his jaw working hard for a moment. “I know you are aware of my reputation, but I would not have you believe that I am still that sort of gentleman. Believe me, I am doing all I can to change society’s perception of me and I would include you in that in a much more personal fashion, should you allow me.”

Lydia considered for a long moment, looking at Lord Ancrum and letting her mind work through all that he had said. She wanted to rail at him, wanted to be angry with him and explain to him, quite clearly, just how badly he had hurt her with both his treatment of her and his disregard for what had occurred thereafter. However, as she regarded him, she allowed herself to consider what it was that she herself was pursuing and whether or not Lord Ancrum could aid her with that.

Taking in three full breaths, Lydia settled her shoulders and lifted her chin a notch.

“Lord Ancrum, I shall be honest with you,” she began, seeing how his gaze grew in intensity as he focused entirely on her. “My parents, Lord and Lady Templeton, care very little for me. They come to London to enjoy the Season for themselves and do not show much consideration for what it is I do.” She took in a steadying breath, having never considered just how difficult it might be to speak so openly to another about what had long been her own personal struggles. “For some years, I have done my utmost to behave with propriety and without fault, but given that my parents do not care whether I wed or not, I have ended up lingering in the shadows and standing with the wallflowers.” She saw a flicker of a frown cross his forehead, perhaps remembering how she had been the first time they had met. “Therefore, having grown tired of such a thing, I decided to change my manner within society which comes by how we were first introduced.”

Lord Ancrum’s expression cleared, nodding in understanding. “I find that to be very saddening to hear, Miss Whitaker. To be so disregarded by one’s own parents must be difficult to endure.”

Lydia’s smile tightened. “Indeed,” she replied, not wanting to linger on the matter. “However, if you are as eager as you say to improve my consideration of you, then mayhap you could aid me in my endeavors.”

Lord Ancrum nodded fervently, as if he were beginning to understand what she meant.

“I would ask you to help me within society, aid me with introductions and the like, and mayhap…” She took in a quick breath, tension rolling about in her stomach. “Show me some particular attention—although nothing too obvious, of course.” A rueful smile caught her mouth. “I should not like to have others consider that there is something more between us than there truly is.”

Lord Ancrum did not hesitate for a moment. “After what I have done and how I have treated you, this is the very least of what I can do, Miss Whitaker. I should be glad to do all that you ask and more, should you need it from me.” He managed a small smile, looking deeply relieved. “I thank you for your willingness to give me a second opportunity to prove myself.”

“I think you are much too concerned, Lord Ancrum,” she told him, beginning to feel a good deal of happiness over what was to now pass between them. “If I thought poorly of you, then I hardly think that anyone within society should care to listen to my considerations.”

He shook his head, looking suddenly embarrassed. “But I should care deeply,” he replied softly. “I am very glad to know that you will not think poorly of me—or at least allow me to prove that you need not think me a rake or a rogue. I know I have done very little to evidence this, but I have every intention of proving that I am reformed and determined not to behave so foolishly again. Might I suggest that I call upon you tomorrow afternoon? Mayhap a walk in the park?”

“That would be very pleasing, Lord Ancrum,” she replied, her heart suddenly fluttering with a new anticipation. “I look forward to seeing you then.”

“As do I,” he answered, with evident enthusiasm.

Tilting her head to one side, Lydia regarded Lord Ancrum with fresh eyes, seeing the earnestness that had been there the first time she had met him. Do be careful, she told herself, as he bowed and took his leave of her. You might very easily fall in love with such a gentleman and that would not do you any good whatsoever. He is willing to help you become more known within society and that is all. Do not allow your heart to become involved.

But yet, even though she gave herself a stern talking to and decided firmly that she would not allow her heart to be affected in any way, Lydia could not quite quell the excitement that came with the knowledge that tomorrow, she would be out walking on the arm of the Earl of Ancrum.

5

The knowledge that he had hurt Miss Whitaker bored into Joseph’s mind, making him wince every time he thought of it. He had known at the time that he had behaved badly, but he had justified it with the knowledge that Lady Starling required his presence most desperately. He had also seen a gentleman hurrying towards the fallen lady and so had continued on his way, his thoughts centered solely on Lady Starling.

Now, however, he was to have two tasks instead of just the one. Yes, he would help Lady Starling and yes, he would also ensure that Miss Whitaker was given the introduction into society that she had long required.

Glancing up at the imposing townhouse, Joseph silently wondered whether Lord Templeton would even know that Miss Whitaker would be accompanying him on a walk in the park. Would Lady Templeton ensure that Miss Whitaker had a chaperone, or would she still be abed and expect Miss Whitaker to do such a thing for herself? He shook his head to himself sadly and rapped loudly at the door, feeling a sadness for Miss Whitaker’s circumstances that grasped at his heart. He was grateful for her honesty and glad that she had been able to share with him the troubles that bound her so. Privately, Joseph wondered if she had ever spoken of such things to anyone before, or if he was the first. A slow smile crept across his face as he considered the matter, beginning to feel that same sense of pride in his heart that had first begun when Lady Starling had begged for his help.

“Good afternoon, my lord.”

The door was opened by the butler, who stood to Joseph’s left, evidently waiting for him to come in.

Joseph cleared his throat. “Is Miss Whitaker ready to accompany me?” he asked the butler, only taking two small steps over the threshold. The butler frowned, then glanced up the stairs as though he expected Miss Whitaker to appear at any moment. “Lord Ancrum,” Joseph added, realizing the butler might not know who he was. “Miss Whitaker is to walk with me in the park.”

“I shall send someone for her at once,” he replied, making Joseph’s smile fade. “If you will give me but a moment, Lord Ancrum.”

Joseph had no other choice but to remain where he stood, his hat in his hands as the butler hurried away. There was barely a sound coming from the rest of the house. It was deathly silent and a small shiver ran over Joseph’s frame. The house seemed so unwelcoming, with an almost hostile air. Was that to do with those who lived within the four walls? Or was it just his imagination?

The sound of heavy footsteps caught Joseph’s attention and he turned his head to see an older gentleman walking from one room to the staircase, although he did not seem to notice Joseph. His thin, grey hair was matted and dank, pressed to the gentleman’s head as if he had been out in a rainstorm. He was not properly dressed but was only in his shirt and pantaloons, the former of which was pulled out from the pantaloons with the sleeves dangling, unbuttoned, over the gentleman’s hands. A button was missing and the gentleman’s rotund stomach was protruding through the gap, with the shirt itself stained and dirty. The man’s eyes were haggard, his lips loose and muttering something incomprehensible. It was only when the fellow grasped the rail to help him climb the stairs that he seemed to realize that he was no longer alone.

The hand left the rail as the man turned around.

“Who might you be?”

Joseph blinked at the unfriendliness of his tone. “I am the Earl of Ancrum,” he replied, as calmly and clearly as he could. “I am come to take Miss Whitaker for a walk in the park.”

The gentleman said nothing for some moments, his gaze resting on Joseph although his eyelids were beginning to droop already. Joseph did not know what to do or say, seeing how the man swayed a little as he continued to survey Joseph. Was this Miss Whitaker’s father, Lord Templeton?

“She is not worth your time.”

The words stunned Joseph, who stared down at Lord Templeton in shock.

“Spend your time on someone who is worth something,” the man continued, shaking one large, pudgy finger in Joseph’s direction. “That girl is plain, uninteresting, and—”

“I should not say so.”

It was rather improper for Joseph to interrupt a gentleman when he spoke and certainly more than a little rude to entirely contradict what was being said, but the more Lord Templeton spoke of Miss Whitaker, the more Joseph found himself growing angry with his sheer disregard for her.

Lord Templeton stared back into Joseph’s face for a moment or two, his jaw slack—and then, he began to laugh. His jowls shook as he shook his head, clearly believing that Joseph was nothing more than a fool.

“You cannot truly have consideration for her,” he told Joseph, his eyes narrowing. “She is nothing to anyone, aside from myself and her mother.” He rolled his eyes to express just how poorly he felt Miss Whitaker did as his daughter. “We must show her some consideration, I suppose, given that we are her family, but there is no need for you to pretend, Lord Ancrum.”

A ripple of anger ran up Joseph’s spine, his hands slowly clenching into fists. He did not even know Miss Whitaker particularly well, but the way her own father spoke of her was rousing in him such anger that he did not know what to do with it. He wanted to verbally lash out, to tell Lord Templeton that he ought not to speak of Miss Whitaker in such a way and that she was of more significance than he gave her credit for, but if he were to speak such things, he doubted that Lord Templeton would even listen. It was clear that he already had formed a strong opinion of his daughter, one that would not be shaken from him.

“I will state this only once, Lord Templeton,” Joseph said clearly, taking a small step closer to Miss Whitaker’s father and looking down at him, for the man was a full head shorter than he. “I do not come to call on Miss Whitaker out of anything other than a true desire to do so. I do not think as little of her as you, it seems, and for that I am both grateful and sorrowful.”

Lord Templeton’s mouth lifted in a sneer. “You do not know her particularly well, then, if you think she has any exceptional worth. She is nothing more than a wallflower and is, I am certain of it, destined to remain as such.” He chuckled darkly, one eyebrow lifted. “There will be no seeking to court my daughter, Lord Ancrum. You will not wish to wed her and make her your bride.”

Joseph’s jaw set hard. He knew that he did not have any intention of truly courting Miss Whitaker and that his time with her was simply to encourage society to take notice of her so that she might find happiness with another more suited to her, but her father did not need to know such a thing.

“I have every intention of bringing Miss Whitaker a good deal of happiness,” he told Lord Templeton, hating how the gentleman rolled his eyes again, his sneer leaching across his face. “And I shall not be prevented from doing so. You claim that she is nothing more than a wisp who fades from everyone’s sight, but I can assure you that she has not fallen out of my gaze.”

Lord Templeton’s smile grew ugly and he opened his mouth to say more, only for the sound of a loud, audible gasp to catch their attention. Miss Whitaker herself was standing at the top of the staircase, her eyes wide and one hand pressed to her mouth. Joseph did not know how long she had been standing there, nor just how much she had overheard, but from the look on her face, she was utterly ashamed of her father’s conduct and appearance.

“Enjoy your time with my daughter, Lord Ancrum,” Lord Templeton muttered, his sarcasm pouring through every word. “I do not expect to see you here again.”

“Then you are mistaken,” Joseph replied firmly, growing defensive of Miss Whitaker and keeping his eyes fixed on Lord Templeton. “As I have said, I intend to bring Miss Whitaker as much happiness as I can.”

Lord Templeton snorted in disdain, shook his head as if to suggest that Joseph were nothing more than a fool, and then turned to climb the staircase.

“Your mother is still abed, I believe,” Joseph heard Lord Templeton say, as he drew near his daughter. “That is just as well.”

Miss Whitaker closed her eyes tightly, her hand white as she gripped the rail, before she took in a shaking breath and then continued down the staircase to meet him.

“I am so terribly sorry,” she whispered hoarsely, looking up at him with glistening eyes. “I did not know that he…” She shook her head and a single tear fell onto her cheek. Miss Whitaker brushed it away almost immediately, clearly embarrassed to have been seen weeping. “I thought my father was still abed, Lord Ancrum. I did not know that he had awoken else I should not have been tardy.” Her light blue eyes caught his, their color seeming darker now that she battled her tears. “My mother required me, else I should have been waiting for you.”

His heart ached for her. He did not know what her mother had asked her to do, but it was clear that Lady Templeton cared nothing for the fact that her daughter was to go to walking with a gentleman, else she would have ensured that Miss Whitaker was ready and prepared instead of demanding her time.

“Please,” he said gently, not wanting to embarrass her further. “Please, Miss Whitaker, do not worry about what has occurred. It means nothing to me, truly.”

She held his gaze for a long moment, her throat working furiously as she fought back her tears. Joseph could only look back at her, putting a light smile on his face and praying that she would find some reassurance in that.

“You defended me to my father,” Miss Whitaker whispered, her lips trembling as she spoke. “You did not need to do such a thing.”

“I could not allow him to speak so ill of you, Miss Whitaker,” Joseph replied at once, reaching out on instinct and taking her hand in his. “It was deeply troubling to me to hear him speak so of you and therefore, I could not allow his words to stand without contradiction.”

“But you had no need to do so,” Miss Whitaker said again, her eyes still swimming with tears. “You do not know me particularly well and since this arrangement is to be solely to introduce me to society, you have no need to promise anything more to me.”

Joseph frowned, not understanding what she meant, before realizing that it was to do with his promise to Lord Templeton that he would bring a good deal of happiness to Miss Whitaker, whether Lord Templeton would believe it or not. “I fully intend to do all I can to ensure your future is one filled with joy and contentment, Miss Whitaker,” he said, finding that his heart echoed the very same sentiment. These were not just words he spoke to encourage her, but rather, they were the truth that flowed from his heart and out towards her. “You need not feel any embarrassment over what I have promised to your father or what your father has said to me. I do not pity you, but rather I feel anger over what you have endured for so long. It is not something I can understand, for my own mother and father were very kind to both myself and my younger sister, and I do wish that it was so for you also.”

Miss Whitaker looked away, her head turned so that she might keep her composure. Joseph said nothing, seeing how color began to come back to her cheeks and finding himself eager to give her the most wonderful of afternoons. His eyes drifted to their joined hands, surprised to realize that he was not only still holding her hand in his, but that it felt right that it should be there. A flicker of a frown marred his brow as he allowed the sensation to take a hold of him, growing slowly aware of just how strongly he felt about Miss Whitaker.

It is merely a desire to bring her happiness in what is a deeply unpleasant situation, he told himself, seeing her turn back to him and putting a broad smile on his face. That is all.

“Shall we go for our walk, Miss Whitaker?” he asked her, setting her hand back by her side and then offering her his arm. “The afternoon is most pleasant and it shall soon be the fashionable hour.”

“And we do not want to be in the park for the fashionable hour, I presume?” she asked, no sarcasm in her voice but rather the expectation that he would not want to be seen walking with her when almost the entirety of London society would be watching. “Of course, we must hurry, then.”

“No, you quite misunderstand me.” Reaching out, Joseph gently caught her arm, bringing her attention back solely onto him. Miss Whitaker’s eyes flared in surprise as she looked back at him, her cheeks now a delicate shade of pink. Joseph smiled at her, thinking to himself that, in her own way, Miss Whitaker did indeed have a beauty all of her own. “I wish us to walk in the park during the fashionable hour,” he told her, seeing the astonishment jump into her eyes. “For how else am I to introduce you to all of society?” He chuckled at the way her mouth fell open for a moment, amused by how she then caught herself and began to stammer an apology. “You need not fear, Miss Whitaker. I shall be your guide through this swirling world of London society and, together, we shall find a way to the other side.”

Miss Whitaker dropped her gaze but a smile tugged at her lips regardless. “I thank you, Lord Ancrum,” she said, sounding a good deal more at ease than she had been before. “Your defense of me to my father and now your desire to walk with me during the fashionable hour has already quite convinced me that you are a gentleman with a kind heart.” She smiled at him, happiness now emanating from her expression. “You say that your past behavior as regards Miss Grey was nothing more than foolishness and that you seek to put it as far behind you as you can.”

“Yes,” he agreed firmly. “That is so.”

Miss Whitaker’s smile softened. “Then I believe that you have done just that, Lord Ancrum,” she told him, bringing a broad smile to his face. “For what it is worth, I believe that you have proven yourself to me already.”

Joseph chuckled, offering her his arm again and glad when she took it without hesitation. “And could, therefore, pretend that my duty towards you is at an end, but I shall not do so, Miss Whitaker.” He laughed as she smiled and shook her head in mock dismay. “We have many delightful events to attend together and I shall continue to attempt to prove myself to you. Now…” He waited until she had pulled on her bonnet and tied the ribbons before she took his arm again, seeing how the butler seemed to reappear within a moment, ready to open the door for them. “Let us go to the park so that I might show you off to all and sundry.” Grinning at her flushed cheeks, he patted her hand as the door was opened for them both. “And I shall ensure that you discover a happiness that you have never before experienced, Miss Whitaker, for it is now my sole aim.”

6

“Good evening, Lord Ancrum.”

Lydia’s smile was immediate upon seeing Lord Ancrum approaching her. They were, it seemed, attending the same ball and she could not help but feel elated upon seeing him again. It had now been three days since they had first taken a walk in Hyde Park together, and since that day, Lydia had found herself quite caught up with Lord Ancrum. It was, of course, simply because he was the one introducing her to society and the only gentleman she had ever known before who seemed to truly have some consideration of her and certainly not for any other reason.

Why could you not consider him?

The thought stole her breath, forcing her to drag in air just as Lord Ancrum bowed in front of her in greeting. Curtsying quickly so as to cover her gasp, Lydia lifted her head and saw that Lord Ancrum was watching her with a broad smile on his face, making his grey eyes appear lighter than she remembered them.

“Your dance card, if I may be so bold as to ask for it?” he said, his eyes twinkling. “What say you to two dances?”

She blushed furiously, hating that his question had evoked such a strong reaction. “I would say, Lord Ancrum, that you are most kind,” she replied, unlooping the dance card from her wrist and then holding it out to him so that he might write his name where he chose. “I am quite certain that by the end of this… matter,” she began, not quite certain how to explain what it was between them, “your reputation shall be pristine and you may look upon society with fresh eyes, considering which of the young ladies present you wish to court.” She tried to laugh but the sound would not come from her lips, as though the very thought of Lord Ancrum courting another young lady was deeply painful, even though it ought not to be anything of the sort.

“Then we shall both have been of aid to each other, shall we not, Miss Whitaker?” he asked, grinning down at her before dropping his gaze to her dance card. Lydia remained entirely silent, wondering which dances he would choose.

“The quadrille first, I think,” Lord Ancrum said, glancing up at her. “And then, mayhap the supper dance?”

A rush of excitement caught at her heart and she nodded eagerly, seeing him grin before he wrote his name down. The supper dance was the last dance of the evening and was an event where a gentleman might, after dancing with her, accompany her to where the refreshments were waiting and sit with her, furthering their acquaintance still more. Of course, most of the ton would watch with careful eyes as to who sat with whom, which meant that everyone would know that Lord Ancrum had chosen to sit with her.

“Good,” he said, and, looking up at her, reached out for her hand. “If I may be so bold, Miss Whitaker.”

She looked back at him, not truly understanding what it was he wanted, only to realize that he sought her hand. Giving it to him at once, Lydia felt her chest constrict as he placed the dance card back over her hand to allow it to dangle from her wrist. Then, he took her hand a little more firmly and bowed over it, his lips brushing the back of her hand.

It was attention indeed and most likely would be noted by all those about her.

“You must be careful, Lord Ancrum, that you do not draw too much attention to yourself,” she told him, trying to keep her voice light despite the furious quickening of her heart. “You know how the gossip mongers like to chew over the smallest titbit they can find.”

Lord Ancrum merely shrugged, letting go of her hand. “If the beau monde believes that I find you quite delightful, then I see no harm in such a rumor, for there is nothing but truth in it.” His eyes flickered with something that she could not quite make out, his expression suddenly serious. “We may have only been acquainted for a short time, but I find that, in furthering our acquaintance, you are already making a marked impression upon me.” His smile was slow but spread across his face, his eyes almost glowing with intensity as he continued to look at her. “And there can be nothing wrong with that impression being given to the ton, for I am certain that you can make the very same impression on as many gentlemen as I can introduce you to.”

Lydia’s smile became fixed, her heartbeat slowing down as she looked into his eyes and saw the foolishness of her own thoughts reflected there. This was why she ought not to allow her heart to consider him. This was why she had to remain entirely unattached to Lord Ancrum. He did not think of her as a potential bride. Rather, he was doing this merely to prove himself to her and to ensure that his reputation amongst society was much improved from last Season. She was doing this in order to give herself the opportunity to meet and hopefully become betrothed to a gentleman who, at the very least, would have a fondness for her. Lord Ancrum was not to be that gentleman. She could not allow her heart to run after him when he clearly did not even consider viewing her in such a way as that.

“I should leave you now,” he said, with a glance over her right shoulder. “It appears another gentleman is come to seek you out, although I do not know his name.”

Unable to help herself, Lydia threw a glance over her shoulder and, much to her surprise, saw the gentleman who had helped her from the ground the day Lord Ancrum had knocked into her. “Oh,” she replied, seeing Lord Ancrum’s evident interest. “This is the gentleman who came to my aid when I fell to the ground.”

Lord Ancrum’s eyes caught hers at once, a slight shame evidencing itself in his expression. “I see.”

“You do not know him?”

“No,” Lord Ancrum shook his head. “No, I do not. What is his name?”

Lydia hesitated, trying to remember. “Lord Paulson, I believe,” she said slowly, her brow furrowing as she tried to recollect whether this was correct. “Viscount Paulson.” She lifted her eyes to Lord Ancrum, only to see him staring at her, his expression one of utter astonishment. There was no reason for such a thing, not as far as she was aware, and therefore Lydia could not account for his surprise. She could not ask him why he appeared so astonished, for the gentleman in question came about to face her and, with a deep bow, enquired as to how she was.

“Lord Paulson, good evening,” Lydia stammered, aware that Lord Paulson had stood directly in front of Lord Ancrum, who had not yet moved out of the way. “I am much recovered, I thank you.”

Lord Paulson’s eyes glowed with evident satisfaction. “I am glad to hear you have recovered,” he said, sounding most sincere. “I have been concerned for your well-being.” He chuckled and shook his head ruefully. “Of course, you will ask me why I have not come to call upon you nor written to you as to enquire after your health, but, as you may recall, when I left you with Lady Irwin, I quite forgot to ask after your family.”

Understanding crashed over her at once. “My father is Lord Templeton,” she told him, seeing Lord Paulson nod and smile. “Both my mother and father are present this evening. Although you need not be too concerned on my behalf, Lord Paulson. As you can see, I am quite all right.”

“Indeed you are,” he replied, a flicker in his eyes as he took her in—and the look brought a flush of color to Lydia’s cheeks. She was not quite certain that she liked being regarded in such a way, for the obviousness of his attention as it roved up and down her frame brought her more embarrassment than pleasure. She cleared her throat delicately and looked away, which evidently seemed to bring Lord Paulson up short.

“Might I dance with you, Miss Whitaker?” he asked, spotting her dance card. “I do hope your spaces have not yet been entirely filled by eager gentlemen.”

She could not help but laugh at this, although it was somewhat rueful. “You would be the second gentleman only to enquire after my dance card, Lord Paulson,” she admitted, handing him her card. “But I would be glad to dance with you.”

He grinned at her before letting his gaze fall to the card. “How glad I am to see that you have another waltz free, Miss Whitaker,” he murmured, hurriedly writing his name there. “And mayhap the cotillion.”

A smile settled on her face as he handed her back the dance card. “I thank you, Lord Paulson. That sounds quite delightful.”

Inclining his head, Lord Paulson surprised her by offering her his arm. “Might I escort you to the other side of the ballroom?” he asked, one eyebrow lifted in question. “I have some dear friends I should like to introduce you to.”

Lydia hesitated, recalling how she was meant to be standing and conversing with Lord Ancrum, for it was with him that she had the agreement. This evening, Lord Ancrum was to be the one to introduce her to as many of his acquaintances as he could and, being an earl, he had a good many of them. However, given that Lord Paulson seemed so eager and that she found him, for the most part, fairly amiable and charming, there did not seem to be anything particularly wrong with accepting such an offer.

“I shall bring no harm to you,” Lord Paulson promised, showing a slight touch of frustration at her delay. “Besides which, you have no particular chaperone, Miss Whitaker. That means your judgment can be trusted.”

It means that my mother cares nothing for me, Lydia thought sadly, but the thought then served to remind her that she was to behave vastly differently this Season than she had done before. Besides which, had she not just reminded herself that Lord Ancrum was not to become of particular interest to her?

“I think that would be quite delightful, Lord Paulson,” she replied, glancing over his shoulder and realizing that Lord Ancrum was still standing there, but for some reason now glowering furiously at Lord Paulson. She hesitated, wondering if she had insulted him by accepting Lord Paulson’s invitation or if he was displeased with her for not introducing him to Lord Paulson, but before she could say anything more or change her mind, Lord Paulson had taken her hand, placed it on his arm, and pulled her away.

Although Lydia had been a little irritated with Lord Paulson’s manner, she soon found herself enjoying his company and had been delighted to be introduced to his acquaintances. Her social circle increased by almost double within the first half hour of her time with Lord Paulson and she soon found that, as Lord Paulson had predicted, her dance card was filled to the brim. Lydia was not quite sure what to make of Lord Paulson, however. He was cheerful and amiable, with a ready smile and a teasing laugh that seemed to be directed at each of his acquaintances in turn, although Lydia noted that not everyone returned his smiles.

Studying him for a moment as he spoke to another gentleman, Lydia took in his boyish face, round cheeks, his thicket of fair hair that did not seem to fall in any one direction, and his deep green eyes that were constantly moving, as though he wanted to take everything in whilst still in conversation with another. She did not know him particularly well at all, of course, but there was something about him that intrigued her. Besides which, Lydia recalled, he had been more than kind to her in stopping to help her stand after her fall and accompanying her to Lady Irwin’s door.

“Do not be so ridiculous, Davidson,” she heard him say, slapping the other gentleman on the back. “You will have to come to White’s with us after this ball is at an end. I absolutely insist upon it.”

The other gentleman looked about him uncomfortably. “I—I do not think I should wish to, Lord Paulson,” he replied, although there was no particular firmness to his voice. “As I have said, I am rather fatigued already and I—”

“Nonsense!” Lord Paulson interrupted loudly. “You may think that I have forgotten, Lord Davidson, but I assure you, I have not.” Glancing about him for a moment and perhaps realizing that others could hear him, Lord Paulson chuckled. “It is your round, is it not?” he asked jokingly. “Do you not recall, Lord Davidson, how you promised to buy each of us here a glass of the finest French brandy the next time we met at White’s? Surely you cannot have forgotten!”

Lydia frowned, seeing how Lord Davidson dropped his gaze to the floor and then shrugged, wordlessly.

“You shall come to White’s after all, I think,” Lord Paulson finished, with a broad grin at the other gentlemen. “I have been looking forward to that brandy for some time, I confess.”

Someone else murmured something that sounded as though it were an agreement with Lord Paulson, and it seemed all Lord Davidson could do was agree.

“But of course,” he muttered, so quietly that Lydia could barely hear him. “The brandy. I quite forgot. Of course I shall attend White’s once this ball has come to an end. You need have no doubt of my intentions now, Lord Paulson.”

Lord Paulson grinned, a look of triumph in his eyes. “Capital!” he boomed, clearly now well aware that he had an audience and that it was not only Lord Davidson to whom he spoke. “Do you hear that, all? Lord Davidson has remembered his dues and will buy us all the finest brandy White’s has to offer this evening!”

A small yet dulled cheer went up from some of the other gentlemen, whilst the ladies amongst them simply turned their faces away from Lord Paulson. Lydia’s frown remained unchanged, looking at Lord Paulson and finding that she could not quite make him out. She did not know what sort of character he truly was, for it seemed as though he had somehow shamed Lord Davidson into doing what was asked, although Lydia could not quite work out how he had done such a thing. Her frown lifted somewhat as she considered that mayhap a promise of buying brandy for those about you was of great importance to gentlemen, which was something she could not really know for certain given that she had very little experience of the goings on within gentlemen’s clubs.

“Miss Whitaker.”

She turned, seeing Lord Ancrum standing a little behind her, his hands clasped tightly behind his back.

“Oh, Lord Ancrum,” she said, trying to smile and wondering if he was still displeased with her in some way since he did not look as if he had enjoyed any part of the evening thus far. “Is it to be our dance?”

He nodded, not looking anywhere but her face. “Yes, indeed,” he said, offering her his arm. “Might you attend with me, Miss Whitaker?”

Excusing herself from her new acquaintances, Lydia allowed Lord Ancrum to lead her to the dance floor, feeling a tension radiate from him that she could not quite understand.

“I am sorry if I have done you wrong in some way,” she said, suddenly feeling the urge to apologize even though she had no particular reason to do so. “You appear to be upset over something and I must wonder if I am to blame.”

Lord Ancrum swallowed hard but said nothing. Instead, he led her to her place with the rest of the set and then stepped back into his own position. The music began and Lydia was forced to drop her attention from the questions burrowing into her mind and instead focus on ensuring that she danced every step correctly without putting a foot wrong. Lord Ancrum remained tight-lipped throughout, not smiling at her nor showing any sort of enjoyment. A flare of shame burned her cheeks, realizing that this would surely then become a piece of gossip for the beau monde to chew upon. For a gentleman to show no pleasure in dancing with a lady suggested that he did not particularly enjoy her company and that was mortification indeed.

The music came to its torturous end after some time and Lydia wanted to hurry away from Lord Ancrum almost at once, but propriety forced her to remain by his side as he escorted her from the floor. Her mortification was so great that she could barely find the courage to speak openly to him, fighting the urge to once more slip into the shadows and remain there until the ball came to an end.

“You seek me to beg forgiveness from you, Lord Ancrum, is that what you wish?” she asked in a hard whisper. “I do not know what it is I have done to wrong you, so how can I plead forgiveness?”

“You quite mistake the situation, Miss Whitaker,” came the sharp reply. “It is not you that I am frustrated with but rather your awareness of one Lord Paulson.” He shot her a dark look, sending a shiver through Lydia’s frame. “You have been introduced to him before, I believe.”

She nodded. “In a most peculiar fashion, I will admit,” she replied slowly, not understanding his evident anger. “He stopped to help me when you did not.” She arched one eyebrow in his direction and saw Lord Ancrum begin to slump, his shoulders falling about his ears. “Lord Paulson is the sort of gentleman a lady might depend on when a difficult situation arises,” she continued, feeling her own irritation begin to burn to anger at his attitude. “He came to my aid, ensured I could stand without swaying, and insisted on accompanying me to Lady Irwin’s townhouse, where he did not stay for tea despite my urging.” Blowing out her breath, Lydia tried to contain her frustration. “That is how I am acquainted with him, Lord Ancrum, and I can see no reason for you to think poorly of that.”

Lord Ancrum said nothing for some minutes as emotions surged across his face one at a time. He first appeared to be regretting his behavior, then grew angry with either himself or her and then closed his eyes tightly and let out a quiet groan. Lydia watched all this quietly, feeling her own irritation begin to fade away and being replaced with tumbling questions as to why Lord Ancrum seemed to dislike Lord Paulson so.

“I am sorry for my clear irritation,” Lord Ancrum muttered eventually, passing a hand over his eyes as though he could not look at her, such was his embarrassment. “I must confuse you greatly with my behavior as changeable as it is.”

“I just would like to know your reasons for appearing so disturbed by the presence of Lord Paulson,” Lydia replied evenly. “I did not think, from your reaction, that you were very well acquainted with him.”

“I knew of his name but had never been introduced,” came the confusing reply. “Do not go near that fellow again.”

A surge of irritation forced Lydia to draw herself up, glaring indignantly at Lord Ancrum. “You have no right to tell me what I should or should not do, Lord Ancrum,” she stated, her voice growing louder with every word she said. “You may be assisting me but this is not the expectation I had. I did not once think that you would allow yourself to speak so decisively and in such an authoritative a manner towards me, especially when I have not asked you to do so.” She sniffed and lifted her chin again, turning her head away. “You are quite right to state that your behavior confuses me greatly, Lord Ancrum, for that is precisely what you are doing. One moment I think you one of the kindest gentlemen I have ever had the opportunity to be acquainted with, and the next I discover you still have the arrogance and pride that provoked you to behave so intolerably towards Miss Grey last Season.” She heard him mutter something under his breath but did not look at him. “If you will excuse me, Lord Ancrum, I feel the need to remove myself from your presence for a time, so that I might regain my composure.” Without giving him a moment to respond, without demanding that he explain to her the reasons for his dislike of Lord Paulson, Lydia made her way past Lord Ancrum and back into the crowd, suddenly feeling more confused than ever before.”

7

“Shall we take the carriage, Lord Ancrum? It is a fine day, I know, but I am somewhat weary after last evening’s enchanting ball.”

Joseph blinked, his thoughts having been pulled in an entirely different direction and rendering him quite deaf to whatever Lady Starling had said.

“I—”

“Oh good, I am so glad you agree,” Lady Starling said, putting a hand on his arm and squeezing it gently. “The carriage is already prepared. Come, let us depart.”

She flashed him a bright smile and then hurried past him, making her way to the door and clearly expecting him to simply follow her thereafter. Not quite realizing what it was he had agreed to, Joseph went after her at once, realizing that there was very little else he could do. Lady Starling was already waiting for him by the front door, her bonnet tied carefully and her gloves already on. Clearing his throat and thinking that Lady Starling seemed to be in a much better frame of mind than when he had last called upon her, Joseph put a smile on his face and followed her out to the carriage.

“If you would oblige me, Lord Ancrum?” she cooed, holding out her hand as the steps to the carriage were set in place. Joseph offered his hand to her at once, a slight heat catching him as he spotted one or two onlookers staring at not only himself but at Lady Starling. Most likely they knew precisely who the lady was and would surmise that, since he was to accompany her in the carriage, they had something of an understanding. Even though that was not the case—and could never be so—Joseph felt himself a little embarrassed at the attention that was being drawn to them.

Hastily climbing inside, he sat back against the squabs and ensured that he sat opposite and a little away from Lady Starling, so that not a single part of them came into contact.

Lady Starling laughed softly, as if she were aware of what he was doing, and then rapped on the carriage roof for them to depart.

The carriage rolled away almost at once, heading directly towards Hyde Park. They made slow progress, for the fashionable hour was soon to be upon them and all those eager to be seen were moving in one direction. Without intention, a vision of Miss Whitaker appeared in Joseph’s mind, recalling how she had thought they would not be attending Hyde Park during the fashionable hour, expecting that he would not want to be seen with her. His heart twisted in his chest, reminding him of how foolishly he had behaved towards her at the ball last evening. Their supper dance had not gone well either, for it had been a quiet, stilted affair and he had been forced to seat Miss Whitaker next to another two couples so that there would, at the very least, be some conversation. He had not meant to order her about, to insist that she stay away from Lord Paulson, but a furious fear had captured him when he had realized who the gentleman was and he had found himself demanding that she do as he ask.

“You are lost in thought, Lord Ancrum,” came Lady Starling’s teasing voice, her eyes roving about his face. “I do hope they are centered on me.”

Joseph cleared his throat, knowing full well that his thoughts had not strayed to Lady Starling in some time. He had spent the last few days considering what he might do in order to protect her, yes, but had not come to any particular conclusion. He had also attempted to seek out Lord Paulson with great discretion, but had become somewhat distracted with Miss Whitaker in the process. He sighed heavily. He had two weighty affairs to deal with at the same time and it was becoming rather burdensome.

“I have discovered Lord Paulson,” he told Lady Starling, seeing her smile fade almost at once. “I have not made myself known to him as yet, but I know his appearance.” He leaned forward, his jaw working for a moment as he recalled the arrogance of the fellow. “Has he come to you again?”

Lady Starling sighed heavily and nodded, looking out of the carriage window instead of into his face.

“Why did you not inform me at once?” he asked, a trifle surprised that she had not done so.

She sighed again, pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve, and dabbed at her eyes. “I have troubled you enough already,” she told him softly. “Besides which, it was only more of the same requests and threats as before.”

Joseph let out a long breath and shook his head. “He seeks money from you.”

“Money which I have given him,” she said miserably, not looking at him. “I could do nothing else. I had no choice.”

Closing his eyes in frustration and anger, Joseph felt his heart go out to Lady Starling. On the outside, she appeared to be a vision of beauty, confident and determined in her own right. However, he had no doubt that she was now feeling afraid and alone, with no one present to help her. He was grateful that she had thought to come to him for assistance, although as yet, he still did not know what to do.

“It will not be the last amount he demands, of course,” Lady Starling insisted, looking at him now with a degree of desperation in her eyes. “What he will say next is that I am to give him even more, for the threat remains the same.”

“He will tell society of the truth of your husband’s death,” Joseph replied, recalling what Lady Starling had said. “I must ask you, Lady Starling, would that be so terrible an ordeal to bear? I know that you would struggle initially, but the gossip would soon die down, would it not?”

Lady Starling dropped her head, her shoulders beginning to shake. “No, Lord Ancrum, it would not be something I could endure,” she said brokenly. “My acquaintances would turn from me, my friends pretending they never were close to me.” She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes again, her grief evident. “What should I do then? I must have companions if I am to survive in this society.”

Joseph hesitated, wondering if she spoke of also having the protection of a gentleman, who would, of course, lavish her with expensive gifts and trinkets so that she would give her affections to him alone.

“Do not ask me to endure such a thing, Lord Ancrum,” she finished, looking up at him with glistening eyes. “I could not bear it.”

“No,” Joseph agreed, trying to comfort her. “No, that was a foolish suggestion for me to make.” He tried to smile at her reassuringly and, thankfully, Lady Starling managed to smile back, albeit a watery one. “Then mayhap I might reason with the fellow.”

Lady Starling let out a harsh laugh. “I doubt that such a thing would make any difference,” she replied sadly. “It may even quicken his demand for more funds from myself, given that he is not a tolerant gentleman.”

Joseph grimaced. “I would not make things worse for you,” he admitted determinedly. “But we must find a way to stop Lord Paulson from continuing on in this way. Not just for your sake, of course. If only I could think of something that might—”

Lady Starling gasped audibly, her eyes widening. “I have it!”

Blinking in surprise, Joseph waited for her to continue, finding himself a tad irritated that, apparently, Lady Starling had come up with a solution without his assistance.

“Lord Paulson himself must have some sort of secret, surely,” Lady Starling said, her words firing out of her mouth with such haste that Joseph had to fix every iota of his attention upon her. “Therefore, you must discover it and use the very same threat that he has used on others to threaten Lord Paulson himself!” She gazed at him triumphantly, sitting back against the squabs and looking at him as though waiting for his immediate approval.

Joseph, however, felt no instinct to clap and cheer with the delight and expectation that he could do as Lady Starling suggested. Instead, he felt almost nauseous at the thought of trying to dig into another gentleman’s past in order to find even a scrap of indiscretion that he might use against him. He already had so much else to contend with, what with restoring his own reputation and somehow improving his acquaintance with Miss Whitaker, on top of which he had also hoped to find a potential bride for himself this Season. How was he to ensure that he did all of those things as well as trying to spy on Lord Paulson?

“Could we not instead try to find those who are also struggling against Lord Paulson’s cruelty and ask them to join us in our quest to prevent him from doing so any longer?” he asked, thinking quickly. “Perhaps if there are a few of us combined together, then we might be able to prevent Lord Paulson from continuing.”

The excitement that had been in Lady Starling’s eyes began to fade almost immediately as she slumped back into her seat. “I do not think that anyone would be willing to speak to me about such matters, Lord Ancrum,” she told him dully. “I have already suggested such a thing to one or two of my acquaintances who I know for certain are struggling against him, but they have refused for fear that what he knows will be spread throughout all of London.”

Joseph closed his eyes, feeling himself being pushed in a direction he did not want to take. “If there is any other suggestion you might have, Lady Starling, then I shall be glad to consider it,” he said softly. “Otherwise it may appear that the only option open to us is the one you have suggested.”

Lady Starling pressed her handkerchief to her eyes and held it there, making Joseph grow more and more uncomfortable as silence grew between them. He did not want to go prying into Lord Paulson’s affairs, especially given what it might do to his reputation, should he be discovered. But he had promised to come to Lady Starling’s aid, he recalled, and he could not merely stand by and do nothing.

“Of course, now that I have reflected upon it, I can see that it is the best solution offered to us both,” he finished heavily as Lady Starling finally lifted her head. “You are quite right, Lady Starling. It is the only idea that has any merit, I must admit.”

Lady Starling gave him a watery smile, although Joseph wondered whether the gleam in her eye was, in fact, a sense of satisfaction with her victory.

“I have the most wonderful idea,” Lady Starling said, as the carriage turned into Hyde Park. “I have heard that Lord Paulson is to throw a musical soiree in a week’s time.” She tipped her head and looked at him. “Have you been invited?”

Shaking his head, Joseph frowned. “When did you say you learned about this event?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “Lord Paulson spoke of the event. It seems he wishes me to attend and having not yet any means by which I might refuse him, I did, of course, accept.” Her sigh was long and pained. “Mayhap there is a way where you might find yourself in attendance also. I could take you along with me, I suppose. Lord Paulson should have no reason to object to that.”

Joseph’s frown deepened, not truly understanding what Lady Starling meant. “But why should I wish to go to his residence to take part in a musical soiree?”

“Because,” Lady Starling replied, looking out of the carriage window eagerly, ready to greet those she knew and catch the eyes of those she did not, “if we both attend together, then we should have ample opportunity to try and find something to use against the rascal.”

Realizing what she meant, Joseph felt his heart slam into his chest as a warning rose in his mind. He ought to refuse, ought to walk away and state that such a thing could bring far too much scandal with it for him to even think of accepting, but such was the expectation in Lady Starling’s eyes that Joseph found himself quite mute.

“Oh, I feel a good deal better now that we have a plan in mind,” Lady Starling continued, not allowing him even a moment to protest. “How wonderful, Lord Ancrum! We shall soon find ourselves free of Lord Paulson’s torment and what delights shall we share then.” She glanced back at him, throwing him a quick yet flirtatious look that, to Joseph’s dismay, brought a swirl of anticipation to his stomach. He could not tell whether it was the idea of searching Lord Paulson’s home that caught him so, or if it was the look Lady Starling had given him.

“Perhaps then my reputation will have been well enough restored that I might begin to seek out a bride,” he said slowly, wanting Lady Starling to realize that he had meant what he had said the first time she had suggested sharing her affections with him. “That was to be my sole purpose this Season and may so be again.”

Lady Starling sighed, but this time she appeared quite contented. “But of course, Lord Ancrum, I quite understand. You are so wonderful, so delightful, and so patient that I must believe that I have been blessed by God in heaven to have known you as my friend.”

Joseph’s confusion and doubt began to fade as Lady Starling continued praising him, although he did attempt to tell her that she was doing it up much too brown. Lady Starling protested at once, claiming that he was not used to accepting a compliment or two and that she, therefore, would have to make certain that he was aware of his true worth, and that any young lady thereafter whom he set his gaze upon should also be caught up with his good heart and his considerate behavior. This made Joseph blush furiously, his heart aching suddenly as he looked back at Lady Starling and felt himself questioning whether Miss Whitaker had any thought as regarded his supposedly ‘good’ heart. She knew the measure of him, did she not? She had seen his disregard, his stupidity, his foolishness as well as how he had tried to defend her in front of her father. What did she think of him?

Letting out a heavy breath, Joseph settled his head in his hands for a moment whilst Lady Starling, disregarding him completely, began to wave and coo out of the window as though she were the prize performer and her acquaintances the adoring crowd. There was something about Lady Starling that Joseph was beginning to dislike. Yes, she was beautiful, but he feared that she had used that beauty to manipulate him somewhat. On top of which, Joseph feared that he had agreed to something he did not particularly wish to do. He did not want to go through Lord Paulson’s belongings in search of some papers or the like, for he had very little idea of what he might discover that would shame Lord Paulson in the same way that he had brought shame to others. But somehow, he had agreed to it, and now it seemed there was nothing else for him to do but go on as Lady Starling had planned.

Lifting his head, Joseph let his gaze settle on the view from the carriage window. The park was crowded and the carriage moved slowly, so that they might take everyone in. He tried to put himself in Lady Starling’s place, considering just how fearful she must have been when Lord Paulson had first approached her. Given that she had satisfied his first demand for money, it was more than likely that Lord Paulson would demand more from her whenever he wished, meaning that she was going to be entirely unable to untangle herself from his clutches unless they did something. No wonder she appeared so contented and happy now. She had finally found some hope that she might be freed from her torment, which could well be the first hope she had felt in some time. Joseph nodded to himself, realizing that he had come across as a trifle selfish with his first consideration. He should be glad to help her in any way he could, as any true gentleman might. He would not accept any of her warm embraces by way of thanks, however, for he knew full well that Lady Starling might well offer them to him even though he had made himself quite clear that he would be doing nothing more than seeking a wife once his reputation was fully restored.

Just then, his gaze snagged on one particular face. A shudder ran through him as he saw Miss Whitaker gazing at him, her eyes a little narrowed. Closing his eyes, Joseph let out a slight groan, knowing precisely what Miss Whitaker must think of him riding with Lady Starling. Had he not promised that he was doing all he could to attempt to reform himself? And had he not already proven himself to be something of a fool in his lack of consideration for her and his attitude towards her when they had spoken of Lord Paulson? Just how little she would think of him now.

Forcing his eyes open, he looked back at the lady and saw how she frowned, her face still turned towards the slow-moving carriage. A strong desire began to build within him—a desire to sort matters out between them so that he could continue to do as he had promised. It was meant to be his way of making amends for his complete lack of disregard for knocking her down in the street, and thus far, he had managed to drive a strong wedge between them with his poor attitude and his frustration.

“Is something the matter, Lord Ancrum?”

Lady Starling’s singsong voice held no concern whatsoever and Joseph managed a grim smile in her direction, shaking his head. “No, indeed not, Lady Starling. Do forgive me if I have disturbed you from your conversation.” He could see a gentleman walking alongside the carriage who looked a trifle frustrated that Lady Starling had turned her attention to Joseph instead of remaining on him, and so he gestured back towards the fellow. “I am quite contented in my own thoughts, I assure you.”

My own troubling thoughts, he mused to himself, as Lady Starling gave him another cursory glance before turning back to the other gentleman. Stifling yet another groan, Joseph turned his head back towards the window and let the weight of his thoughts bring another deep heaviness to his soul. He had made a muddle of almost everything he had put his mind to. Having knocked Miss Whitaker over, he had sought to make amends so that she would not spread her story amongst the ton and, in doing so, smear his reputation still more. However, he had only managed to make her believe he was an arrogant, rude sort who cared nothing for her own thoughts and determinations. Now, he feared that she might speak of what she knew to her many new acquaintances, meaning that he would be entirely lost. He had wanted to help Lady Starling in some way but had ended up agreeing to something that was a good deal more serious than he had intended where a lot could go wrong and he could find himself at the edge of scandal once more. Goodness, he was not making things particularly easy for himself.

“I will explain all, Miss Whitaker,” he murmured, finding that it was she and not Lady Starling that held the bulk of his thoughts. “And I pray that, once again, you will forgive my foolishness and permit me another chance to show you the sort of gentleman I wish to be.”

8

It had surprised Lydia just how much she had felt upon seeing Lord Ancrum in the carriage with Lady Starling. Of course, she had told herself, it should not matter one iota what Lord Ancrum did or who he chose to spend his time with, but somehow the sight of him seated opposite from Lady Starling—well known to be a warm and welcoming young widow—had quite torn at her heart.

It ought to have simply confirmed to her that she had made a mistake in believing that Lord Ancrum had wanted to regain his respectability in its entirety, but instead of being practically minded about it, she had felt a deep, unrelenting sorrow that had not left her in the last two days.

However, she told herself, as the carriage drew up to Lord Paulson’s townhouse, she ought to be grateful that some good had come her way. Lord Paulson had seemed fairly eager to further his acquaintance with her and had invited her to his musical soiree—along with her mother, of course. Had it not been for the fact that Lord Paulson had sent Lady Templeton her own individual invitation, with an additional private note that had seemed to flatter the lady in some way, Lydia was not quite certain that Lady Templeton would have been willing to attend with her. However, as things stood, they were about to go in together to what Lydia hoped would be an enjoyable evening.

“This Lord Paulson has taken a bit of a fancy to you, has he?” Lady Templeton asked, her voice a little shrill. “I must say, I am surprised.”

Lydia said nothing, hearing the hardness of her mother’s voice and letting the snide remark pass without further comment.

“He seems most amiable, however,” Lady Templeton continued, as the carriage steps were set down and the door opened. “I must hope that you do not set any store by his attentions, Lydia. He is, from what I have learned, something of a flirt. He seems to have a great many acquaintances and they all care for him deeply.” She threw a questioning look towards Lydia, who kept her face impassive. “You do not stand out in any way, dear girl. Do not expect him to fall over himself in an attempt to court you.”

Lydia, who had not even permitted herself a single thought about Lord Paulson and the possibility of matrimony, merely shrugged and waited for her mother to climb down from the carriage. She considered Lord Paulson to be a gentleman with excellent conversation and a warm manner, but thereafter, Lydia was not quite certain what to make of him. There was, on occasion, a hardness about his eyes that frightened her, although it had never once been directed towards her.

Climbing out of the carriage, Lydia set her shoulders and walked up the stone steps towards the front door, which was opened for them before they had reached the top step.

“How lovely,” Lady Templeton said warmly as she walked into the townhouse and looked all about her. “Lord Paulson seems to be quite refined in his tastes.”

Lydia opened her mouth to say that the décor was not that different to their own abode, but before she could say a word, the voice of Lord Paulson himself could be heard.

“Indeed I am, Lady Templeton,” he said, striding from one room towards them. A murmur of voices and laughter could be heard as he gestured for them both to come into what Lydia presumed was the parlor. “I thank you for your consideration.” His eyes caught Lydia’s, who gave him a quick smile which was returned. Lord Paulson cleared his throat, standing by the door and inclining his head. “I am very glad to see you both. Good evening, Lady Templeton. Good evening, Miss Whitaker.”

“Good evening, Lord Paulson,” Lydia replied, glancing up at him before she walked through the door and into one of the largest drawing rooms she had ever seen.

It was lavish. There were candelabras in every corner, and more wherever they could be safely placed, lending a brightness to the room that was so often lacking in other homes. There hung large paintings on the wall and plush rugs hugged the thick carpet which lay on the floor at her feet. They were so thick that Lydia could feel her feet sinking into them as she escorted her mother to a seat by the small fire that seemed quite unnecessary in a room so filled with candles. She glanced up to see a large tapestry on one wall, the reflection of which was in the ornate mirror above the fireplace. All in all, it gave the impression that Lord Paulson was both wealthy and refined in ways that many could not boast of.

“I am so very glad you were able to attend,” Lord Paulson said, coming up behind Lydia and making her shiver with his sudden nearness—although it was a shiver that spoke of an aversion of his closeness to her. Recalling how she had seen him speak to others of his acquaintance, Lydia feared that he might now seek to make her behave as they did in giving him whatever he wished, no matter how much they did not want to.

“Thank you for your invitation,” she replied calmly, turning about to face him. “And what is it that we are to listen to this evening?”

Lord Paulson grinned. “I have four different performances prepared from four different groups of performers,” he replied, making her aware of just how much he seemed to revel in doing more than any other gentleman might. “And thereafter, some of my acquaintances have prepared a piece to perform for us. I know that they will not fail to bring great delight to all who hear them.”

Lydia tried to look interested, whilst inwardly wondering if any of them had been told, rather than encouraged, to do as Lord Paulson wished. “It sounds quite remarkable,” she told him, seeing him smile and turn his head to one side, as though she might think better of him if she regarded him from this particular angle. “I look forward to it, Lord Paulson.”

“As do I,” he replied with a sudden, swift bow that made her catch her breath in surprise. “And I do hope to converse with you again later this evening, Miss Whitaker.”

Before Lydia could say another word, Lord Paulson had left her side and had moved to speak to someone new. He was the most extraordinary of gentlemen and she still had very little idea as to the truth of his character. It was as though he hid himself behind a façade that never once seemed to crack. Lydia did not much like the feeling that she did not know the true Lord Paulson and, therefore, decided inwardly that she did not care much for the fellow himself.

“I did tell you, Lydia.”

Her mother came near to her, shaking her head solemnly, but Lydia took no particular notice.

“I did warn you that, from what I have heard, Lord Paulson likes to show attention to a good number of ladies, which is, as you now see, precisely what he is doing.”

Lydia sighed inwardly and glanced towards Lord Paulson, only to stop and stare at the lady in question. She was none other than Lady Starling and, much to her shock, she saw Lord Ancrum standing with the lady. Her stomach turned over. She had thought that Lord Ancrum would wish to ensure that his reputation remained spotless, given that he had stated such a thing clearly to her on more than one occasion, but now here he was standing with a lady who was known to be free with her favors. A rush of anger mixed with pain bit at her heart, before settling as a tight ball in her stomach. Trying to tell herself that she cared nothing for Lord Ancrum and that she was more displeased with him than anything else, she could not quite pretend that his presence here meant nothing to her. Beside her, her mother droned on about how Lydia would be best to simply give up her ideas of any gentleman showing her any sort of attention and resign herself to the fact that she would be a spinster set to continue her life as it was at present—which was nothing more than doing as her mother bade her whenever the mood took Lady Templeton to behave so.

“Do be silent, Mother!”

Whirling about, Lydia felt her fists clench as anger began to climb through every part of her being.

“I have had enough of hearing how I am not good enough for either you or father or for any gentleman I might be lucky enough to make the acquaintance of,” she hissed, keeping her voice low for the sake of her own reputation. “You have no consideration for me, Mother, other than to consider how I might be used in order to satisfy your whims.”

Lady Templeton opened her mouth as though to speak, her face slowly turning white, but Lydia held up one hand, ready to stop her. She had never spoken in such a way to her mother before, but the sight of Lord Ancrum and Lady Starling together, yet again, had set alight her long-held fury towards her mother’s treatment of her.

“I do not need to know how poorly you believe my chances of securing a happy marriage to be, Mother, for I am well able to see such a thing for myself. However, I have come to realize that my lack of success thus far has been solely down to your lack of interest in aiding me in such a thing. I have been resigned to the shadows, ensuring that I behave with propriety at all times, but I have come to see that you care nothing for my behavior, just so long as I do not become mired in scandal. You have, mayhap, used my quietness and my lack of determination to aid you in your hope that I shall remain as I am now, unwed and solely at your disposal.” She drew in a long breath, closing her eyes and feeling herself tremble all over with all that was pouring out of her. “But no more, Mother. I need to hear no more of it from you. I shall do as I please and go about society as I wish in the hope that I might, eventually, find someone who will consider me.”

Lady Templeton snorted, lifting her chin and looking away from Lydia, but not before Lydia saw the trembling of her mother’s chin. Clearly Lydia had more than shocked her.

“And what makes you think, you ungrateful girl, that I shall permit this?” Lady Templeton asked, still not looking at Lydia. “Once I have spoken to your father—”

“If you attempt to curtail my social outings, Mother, then I shall ensure that Father knows of your latest… difficulties.”

Lady Templeton frowned, her smirk disappearing from her face. “I am quite certain that I do not know what you refer to, Lydia,” she told her stiffly. “I—”

“But you told me, Mother, that you owed a good deal after your game of cards some days ago,” Lydia interrupted, the words tasting foul in her mouth as she fought to keep her guilt at bay. She did not want to blackmail her mother, but she did not want to remain living with her mother and father either, forced to care for them as age began to catch their limbs. That future was nothing but darkness, whereas her one chance to escape it now lay before her. “I am quite certain that Father would not be pleased to hear of such a thing.”

Lady Templeton went puce, staring at Lydia as though she did not know who she was.

“I shall no longer be at your beck and call, Mother,” Lydia continued, finding her courage rising up within her as her mother remained silent and completely still. “I have determined that I shall seek out a life of my own, with or without your help. And I shall not be held back from it.” Without waiting for her mother to speak, Lydia whirled around and made her way to the door, not knowing where she was going, but feeling as though she needed to escape from her mother’s presence completely for a time.

Out in the hallway, Lydia felt herself begin to shake. The shock of what she had done began to wash over her, her eyes widening as she recalled precisely what she had said to her mother. It had come from a strength that she had not known she had, and whilst she did not regret saying any of it, she disliked that she had had to use such means to forge her own path.

The urge to sit down and catch her breath took a tight hold and Lydia began to move forward quickly, not having any particular idea of where she was going, but knowing that she needed to find solace somewhere. One door was ajar and she pushed it open carefully, peering inside and finding it to be entirely empty. It was a small parlor, which had a warm fire blazing, and Lydia hurried towards it gratefully. Sitting down in a comfortable seat, she closed her eyes and concentrated on drawing in long, slow breaths, telling herself that everything would be quite all right. Her mind turned back to Lord Ancrum, but Lydia continued to force him from her mind, not allowing herself to think on him. It was most peculiar to keep considering him, even though they had not had a long acquaintance, and certainly very strange to have had such a strong reaction to his presence here with Lady Starling.

“You are being utterly foolish,” she told herself aloud, leaning her head back against the chair and, without having any intention of doing so, falling into a gentle sleep.

Lydia awoke with a start. Looking all about her, she tried to get her bearings and for some moments, could not quite recollect where she was. Her heart beat frantically as she tried to think clearly, recalling with a sudden relief that she was at Lord Paulson’s townhouse and meant to be enjoying a musical soiree. Of course, falling asleep in the parlor was not what a young lady was meant to do. Getting to her feet quickly and muttering darkly to herself, Lydia brushed down her skirts as best as she could, hoping that they were not noticeably creased.

Walking to the door, she took in a long breath, set her shoulders, and walked out calmly. No one else was present, which made Lydia fear that she had spent much too long in the parlor. Surely her mother would not have left without her?

It was with relief that she heard the sound of music coming from the room which she had left some time ago. Not wanting to step inside and interrupt the performance, Lydia decided to wait outside the door until a more opportune moment.

Sighing to herself, she moved aimlessly along the hallway, wondering how long the performance would take to come to a close, only to hear the sound of a loud exclamation.

She froze, her skin prickling with a sudden fear. She had no idea as to where the sound had come from, but the sound itself had frightened her terribly. It had sounded as though someone had been caught off guard, horrified by what they had seen or done. Dare she seek out the sound? Dare she discover what was occurring somewhere within Lord Paulson’s townhouse? He was, as she recalled, a rather peculiar gentleman and if she sought out the noise, she might find some of her questions answered.

But no. Shaking her head to herself and realizing that she would be quite foolish to do such a thing, Lydia hurried back towards the door and made to push it open, only for a loud slam to catch her by surprise. Whirling around, one hand pressed to her heart in fright, she saw none other than Lord Ancrum staggering out of another room a little further up the hallway.

“Lord Ancrum,” she gasped, seeing his pale features and wondering what had occurred. “Is something the matter?” She could barely put one foot in front of the other, but somehow managed to draw closer to him, seeing how he still clung to the door handle, his eyes wide and staring. Was he the one who had made such a loud exclamation? And just what had he been doing or what had he seen that had frightened him so?

“Lord Ancrum,” she said, trying to make him focus on her presence instead of staring wildly about him. “What…”

Her words died on her lips as she turned her head to glance into the room. What she saw stole her breath from her, a silent scream lodging in her throat as she turned her head in horror to stare into Lord Ancrum’s haunted eyes.

Lord Paulson was lying on the floor, his eyes wide and staring. She did not need to see the blood pooling underneath him to know that he was dead. One look into his pale face and unblinking eyes told her that.

And it looked like Lord Ancrum had killed him.

9

“What is that?”

Joseph was standing in the middle of Lord Paulson’s library, his eyes trying to focus on what the dark shape on the floor might be. His heart was pounding furiously and the urge to depart the room without discovering the truth was growing steadily, but he knew he could not show so little strength. Mayhap this was what Lady Starling would need to help free her from Lord Paulson’s clutches, which would then allow him to return his attention to Miss Whitaker.

Joseph had seen Miss Whitaker the moment she walked into the room just behind her mother. The way she had looked up into Lord Paulson’s face had given him hope that she was beginning to get the measure of the man. She certainly seemed intelligent and considered in her thoughts and he had to pray that she would not decide to grow closer to the fellow.

Lady Starling, of course, had not so much as given Miss Whitaker a cursory glance, for her attention had been solely fixed on Lord Paulson. Lord Paulson had come to speak to them both but had not said particularly much to either of them. Instead, he had merely informed them about how much they could expect from this evening and what delightful entertainments he had planned. Joseph had realized that he was meant to be impressed by this and, despite his dislike of the gentleman, had nodded and murmured something about how he was looking forward to it. He had also had to thank Lord Paulson for allowing him to accompany Lady Starling to this evening’s soiree, especially since they had not been formally introduced since that very evening, but Lord Paulson had only laughed and stated that he did not care for such formalities and that Lady Starling was allowed to bring anyone she wished to his events.

He then commented on Lady Starling’s choice of dark green gown, stating, with what appeared to be delight, that she was almost a precise match to one Miss Preston and that he might mistake the two of them were Lady Starling not clearly more beautiful that Miss Preston. Whether or not this had been meant to embarrass Lady Starling, Joseph had not been sure, although he had found the remark rather displeasing. What made it all the worse was that this remark had been followed by a broad wink towards Lady Starling before, mercifully, Lord Paulson had taken his leave, which had brought a flush of embarrassment to the lady’s cheeks.

Joseph had decided, there and then, that Lady Starling’s intention to search Lord Paulson’s house for evidence of a misdemeanor they might use against him was, in fact, the correct course of action. A gentleman who behaved in such a fashion as that did not deserve to continue on as he did. His blackmailing had to be stopped one way or the other.

However, when the time had come to slip from the room and begin his search, Joseph had not known where to start. Thankfully, the drawing room had been rather dimly lit, with the front of the room holding the greatest amount of light so that attention would be given solely to the performers, so it had been easy enough to slip from the room without being seen. Lady Starling had stated that she would wait behind for a few minutes before following his lead, leaving him to go first. Just precisely when she would leave the room was an entirely different matter, for she would have to make sure that she was not seen or, if she was, that she was able to give a simple excuse. Standing in the hallway, he had heard nothing but his breathing, blood roaring in his ears as he had looked all about him and wondered where to go.

His first foray into Lord Paulson’s townhouse had led him into the dining room. That had done him no good whatsoever, although his second attempt, a little further down the hallway, had opened up the study to his delighted eyes. It was a trifle unusual for a gentleman to leave the study door unlocked, but then he had recalled what he knew of Lord Paulson from Lady Starling’s description and realized that an arrogant, proud, and overly confident gentleman such as Lord Paulson would not have even considered that someone might begin to pry into his personal belongings.

Unfortunately, even though he had searched through the room with the greatest of deliberation, his heart pounding for fear that he would be discovered, nothing had caught his attention. The correspondence that he had read had merely been Lord Paulson’s unfinished letter crowing over some accomplishment or other, and letters received praising Lord Paulson or thanking him for his kind invitation or the like. All rather uninteresting and certainly not what he was seeking.

Therefore, he had stepped back into the hallway and had pushed open another door tentatively. Hearing no one within, he had walked inside without hesitation only to see the room had been encased in darkness, with no fire nor candles lit. He had gone back into the study to find a candle or two he might take with him, had successfully found his quarry, and walked back into the other room—which he soon had realized was a library.

However, it was only when he had lit a few more candles all about the room that he had seen the dark shape on the floor.

Now, standing there in the room alone, Joseph felt his heart quickening with a sudden surge of anxiety. He swallowed hard, finding a candelabra and lighting it. Now with five lit flames, he drew near the dark shape, beginning to bend down toward it—only for a horror-filled exclamation to leave his lips.

“No, no!” he whispered, one hand pressed against his heart as his eyes tried to focus on what he was seeing. “That cannot be! He was with the other guests…” His words trailed off, dying on his lips as he struggled to breathe deeply, knowing that this would calm him, but finding himself quite unable to do so. Just what was he to do?

Steadying himself as best he could, Joseph bent down again and set the candelabra near the body of Lord Paulson. The man’s face was as pale as chalk, his eyes wide and staring, facing towards the door from which Joseph had just entered. It was as though his last breaths had been taken as he had watched the person who had killed him walk out of the room.

It was a horrific thought and one that did nothing to aid Joseph’s frame of mind. He closed his eyes tightly, able to suddenly smell the blood that he had spotted pooling from Lord Paulson’s fallen body. The stench became too much to bear, his stomach roiling, and unable to remain where he was, Joseph threw himself to his feet and staggered towards the door.

It flew backwards, hitting the wall hard. He leaned hard against it, one hand holding tightly to the door handle as he swallowed gulps of air, trying to work out what it was he was meant to do next.

It was then that he noticed Miss Whitaker. She was staring at him with wide eyes, one hand pressed against her heart and her face ashen.

And then, she was beside him, her hand pressed against his chest and her eyes searching his face. He could barely look at her, his breath shaking in and out of him as he heard her speak but could not comprehend what she said.

A gasp ripped from Miss Whitaker’s lips as she looked past him into the room, seeing the candelabra light spreading out towards Lord Paulson. She looked up at him, taking a few steps back and letting her hand drop from his chest.

“What did you do?” she whispered, her hand shaking as she pressed it against her lips, her light blue eyes flared with horror. “What did you do, Lord Ancrum?”

“I—I did not do this,” he managed to say, his voice hoarse. “I swear to you that I did nothing, Miss Whitaker.”

Miss Whitaker shook her head and stumbled back, her hand dropping to her side as she moved away from him. He wanted to call out to her, wanted to say that she was mistaken to think that he had anything to do with Lord Paulson’s death, but nothing came from his mouth other than a strangled exhalation. Realizing that his hand was still gripping the door handle tightly, he closed his eyes and forced himself to take in a long breath, letting it go carefully and trying to stand without support. Miss Whitaker continued to back away until she stood at the door to the drawing room, poised to go inside.

“No, Miss Whitaker! Wait, if you please!” His legs were shaking, but he managed to move forward, the door to Lord Paulson’s library swinging closed behind him. “If you alert the guests, then pandemonium will follow.”

Miss Whitaker closed her eyes tightly, one hand pointing out towards him, her whole body shaking. “You…”

His measure of strength was recovering itself quickly now that the shock was beginning to wear off. Now what filled him was the urgency to contain what he had seen so that the guests would not begin to spread the news all across London. With that came the realization that if Miss Whitaker believed him to be the man responsible for the death of Lord Paulson, then it might soon be that the entirety of London society would believe him a murderer. There had to be a way to contain this matter whilst discovering the truth about who had done such a terrible thing.

“I did not kill Lord Paulson,” he said, as firmly as he could. “I was merely in the library for…” He stopped, giving a quick shake of his head, aware that should he confess to the particulars of what he had been doing, then most likely Miss Whitaker would think him all the more guilty. “I came for a brief moment of respite and discovered him here.”

Miss Whitaker had gone a shade of grey that worried Joseph, fearing that she might collapse.

“Come, Miss Whitaker, I must have you—”

“Do not come near me, Lord Ancrum!” She pulled her arm away from him, slamming it hard into the door and letting out a cry of pain. Joseph made to go near her again, only for the door behind her to open suddenly and Lady Templeton to be seen framed in the doorway.

A hush seemed to come over the entire house. There was no music, no singing, laughter, nor conversation, and the tension seemed to heighten all the more.

“Lady Templeton,” Joseph croaked, seeing the flash in Lady Templeton’s eyes. “I just came across your daughter when—”

“If this is what you meant when you said you should make your own decisions and behave as you choose, Lydia, then I must say I am more than disappointed with you.” Lady Templeton’s voice filled the hallway, bouncing off the walls and making Joseph cringe with mortification. “I must say that I—”

Joseph could not bear to see Miss Whitaker so shamed in front of not only her mother but the other assembled guests within the drawing room who, of course, would be listening to every word that came from her mouth. He knew that this was not at all what he had intended, knew full well that Miss Whitaker might refuse to go along with what he was about to do and instead choose to reveal him as the murderer of Lord Paulson even though he was not, but it was the only option left to him.

“I was, at this very moment, offering your daughter my hand in marriage,” he said loudly, cutting Lady Templeton off entirely. “She has not yet given me her answer but I must hope that she will accept me.” Excited murmurings made their way from behind Lady Templeton towards both himself and Miss Whitaker, revealing that the guests of Lord Paulson were, in fact, listening to everything that was being said. He saw Lady Templeton jerk back in surprise, her eyes narrowing and her expression becoming grim. She had obviously wanted to shame her daughter, perhaps in the hope that she would return to the shadowy wallflower that Miss Whitaker was trying so hard to escape from, but Joseph’s sudden interruption had brought an end to all that.

Joseph turned his gaze back to Miss Whitaker, seeing her as ashen as she had been before. She was blinking rapidly, her eyes filled with tears and her hands clenching tightly together as she held them in front of her. Joseph looked deeply into her eyes, his heart thundering furiously as he waited for her response. If she refused him, then she would ruin herself with scandal, although it could be somewhat relieved if she revealed what it was she had seen and placed the blame solely on his shoulders. However, if she accepted him, then he had the hope that she might be able to consider him in a different light. She might be able to trust that, whilst he had faults, he was not the sort to kill a man. Their engagement could easily be brought to a quiet end when the time was right, such as when another scandal eclipsed all else and could hide the ending of their betrothal. His eyes fastened to hers, silently begging her to believe that he was not the killer of Lord Paulson and that, should she give him the chance, he would discover the truth of the matter.

Miss Whitaker closed her eyes and a single tear slipped down her cheek.

“Lydia?”

Lady Templeton’s voice was high and tight, her gaze sliding towards her daughter as she held her head lifted.

“You have not answered Lord Ancrum as yet, I believe,” Lady Templeton continued, her irritation becoming apparent. “Do decide so that we might all return to our business. The performance is not yet at a close.”

“I hardly think performers are of more importance than your daughter’s decision about her future,” Joseph found himself saying, yet again seeing the evidence of how poorly Miss Whitaker was treated by her parents. “For myself, I shall wait for as long as it takes Miss Whitaker to make her decision and I shall not hold anything against her if she refuses me.” He saw Lady Templeton’s eyes narrow all the more but, ignoring her, looked back at Miss Whitaker, who had pressed her clasped hands to her mouth, her eyes bright with tears as she looked back at him. Joseph felt the weight of this very moment sinking down upon him, pushing him into the floor. He could not blame Miss Whitaker if she chose to refuse him. She would have every right to step away from this incident and from him. He had not managed to gain her trust as yet.

“I… I…” Miss Whitaker closed her eyes again and let out a shaking breath. “Thank you, Lord Ancrum,” she said, her voice tremulous. “I should be glad to accept you.”

Joseph felt such relief that he practically sank to his knees, stumbling just a little as he took a few steps closer to Miss Whitaker, although he dared not touch her. “I am truly grateful, Miss Whitaker,” he said, realizing that he, too, was still shaking. “Thank you.” He could say nothing else. “Thank you.”

Lady Templeton sniffed in evident disinterest. “Well, if you are both satisfied, perhaps the three of us might attend the rest of the performance.” She turned about and walked into the drawing room, leaving both Joseph and Miss Whitaker standing together. There was no time to say more, no time to explain, for they were expected inside at once.

“Lean on me, Miss Whitaker,” he whispered, seeing her shake her head fervently. “You must. We must make the appearance of contentedness until there is a chance to explain.”

Miss Whitaker swallowed hard, looked as though she would refuse, only to grasp his arm so tightly that it was a touch painful. “What of the… Lord Paulson?” she asked, as he pushed the door open.

“I shall deal with the matter,” Joseph replied, even though he had very little idea as to what he was going to do. “And tomorrow, we shall speak of it all. Might you be strong enough until then?”

He walked into the room and saw every face turned to them. He could not make out any expressions due to the dimness of the room and so began to move forward at once, pasting a bright smile on his face that he did not feel in the least.

“It seems I shall have to be, Lord Ancrum,” he heard Miss Whitaker say, as he cleared his throat gruffly and attempted to smile, all too aware that behind him in the library lay the cold, dead body of Lord Paulson.

“I presume you have all heard that I am now betrothed to the lovely Miss Whitaker,” he said, feeling Miss Whitaker’s hand tighten even more on his arm as he moved closer and saw the first few faces become clearer. “Thank you for your congratulations, all of you.”

A light spattering of applause met his words, although the dark expression on Lady Templeton’s face did not bode well. Somehow, Joseph managed to seat Miss Whitaker before sitting down beside her. The performers, seated at the front of the room with their cello, violins, and violas, seemingly understanding that they were to start again, began to play and a peace descended upon the room once more.

Joseph felt no such peace. Instead, he was barely able to put his thoughts into coherent order, looking across to see Miss Whitaker staring blankly ahead, her hands clasped together tightly. He could not imagine what must be going through her mind, wishing that he could find some way to comfort her but finding nothing to say.

Shaking his head, Joseph resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands and instead forced himself to remain seated and appear as calm as he could. It was only after some moments that he began to recall that it had not only been he who had gone in search of some sort of evidence of Lord Paulson’s wrongdoings. Lady Starling had been meant to follow him some minutes later, although where she might have gone, he had very little idea. He had not seen her and, indeed, had forgotten all about her when he had seen Lord Paulson’s body. Jerking in his seat, he began to look all about for her, fearing that he would hear her scream and that all would be lost.

It was only then that he saw her sitting in the very seat that he had left her in. She was looking over her shoulder at him, her face milk white but her eyes narrowed with anger. Joseph could not understand why she was looking at him so, why her anger was so evident when he had not done anything wrong.

And then, the truth hit him right between the eyes. Lady Starling had not yet left the room. Perhaps she had not intended to. After all, had he not felt as though she was manipulating him somewhat? And now, she did not know of Lord Paulson’s death and had only heard that he was now betrothed to Miss Whitaker. She did not understand what had occurred and therefore thought that he had turned his back on her and instead pursued Miss Whitaker.

The only thing he could do was shake his head carefully, seeing her eyes narrow a little more although some of the anger left her expression. He closed his eyes briefly, feeling as though yet more weight was being settled on his shoulders as the evening’s events began to settle on his mind. What was he to do now? He would have to pretend that Lord Paulson had been taken ill and see the guests from the house and, thereafter, decide what he was to do with the shock of Lord Paulson’s death. Somehow, he would have to explain to Lady Starling what had occurred and ensure that he spent time with Miss Whitaker, so that he might explain how she had come across him only a few minutes after he had discovered Lord Paulson’s dead body.

Looking all about him, another startling realization crashed into Joseph’s mind. He would have to speak to the staff, but he presumed that none of the guests had been seen to leave. Nor would there have been anyone unknown or uninvited allowed into the townhouse—which meant that, if his considerations were correct, someone present this evening had been responsible for Lord Paulson’s death.

He just did not know who such a person might be.

10

Lydia had not been able to sleep until the early hours of the morning, when the crack of light coming through a chink in her drapes had given her the reassurance she needed in order to rest. The staff would, by now, be up and about and she need not fear that the person responsible for Lord Paulson’s death would now attack her also.

It was a most ridiculous fear, she knew, but it was a fear that had captured her ever since she had seen the lifeless body of Lord Paulson staring at her from the library floor. Her horror had grown steadily as she had felt herself withdraw from Lord Ancrum, thinking that he had been the one to kill the gentleman.

Lord Ancrum had, of course, insisted that he was not the man responsible, but she had not been able to accept that from him. After all, she had seen him stumble out of the room, had seen him look at her with those wild eyes as he had clung to the door handle, and no one else had been about either.

What had made matters worse had been the arrival of her mother and Lord Ancrum’s sole offer of aid. His proposal of marriage had been an additional shock and she had not known what to say. The tears had come to her eyes, her heart beating so quickly that she thought she might go into a panic—and then her mother had mocked her silence and made out that her only wish was to hear the rest of the musical performances. It had been another attempt to ensure that Lydia knew just how little she meant to her mother and, with the shock of what had already occurred, she had felt herself break a little more.

Lord Ancrum had not, it seemed, been able to remain silent. He had spoken directly to Lady Templeton, had derided her for her lack of interest in Lydia and what Lady Templeton was meant to believe was a moment of great importance to her, and in that moment, something had shifted in Lydia’s mind.

She knew precisely what Lord Ancrum was asking her to do. He was asking her to believe him. To believe that he was not the sort of man to murder another, to leave him lying there alone with his lifeblood escaping from him. She had let her mind return to what she had seen when Lord Ancrum had first thrown himself from the room, seeing that she might have been mistaken with her first impression of him and what he might have done.

The wild eyes she had seen might have been flared with the horror of what he had seen. The way he had clung to the door could have been his utter shock, forcing himself to stay standing by leaning back against it.

And then, she had recalled the candelabra that had been sitting on the floor by Lord Paulson’s body, the light spreading across the room towards his frozen features. It would not have been the murderer who would have set the candles there, surely? She did not understand all that had occurred and certainly was not convinced that Lord Ancrum had not been involved in some fashion, for she could not understand why he had quit the drawing room and what he had been doing in the library with Lord Paulson, but the desperation in his eyes had convinced her that she must, at the very least, give him the opportunity to tell her all.

That had meant that she was required to accept him, to state that she would be his bride, and those words had come to her lips with more difficulty than she had ever expected. Her mother had shown no discernible interest, although she had evidently been frustrated that she had been unable to shame her daughter in the way she had intended, mayhap as punishment for how Lydia had dared speak to her earlier that evening.

But now, Lydia realized, she would have to wed Lord Ancrum. She was a betrothed lady now, and she closed her eyes tightly as though she might be able to hide the truth from herself if she did so. Her mother and father would care very little, of course, although her father might be displeased with having to part from her dowry, but it seemed to be quite inevitable. To break away from one’s engagement was to bring scandal down upon one’s good name and even one’s family, and Lydia had no intention of doing such a thing. If she did that, then her only choice would be to live as a spinster with her parents, no doubt forced to do every single thing they required without question or delay. She would have to marry Lord Ancrum.

“Unless,” she whispered to herself, a single tear tracking down her cheek and dripping into her hair, “he is proven to be a murderer, in which case, I cannot allow myself to do what has been set in place.” She would not marry a gentleman willing to take the life of another, recalling with a sudden chill how he had glared at Lord Paulson at the ball some time ago, and how he had demanded that she stay far away from Lord Paulson herself. Why had he been at Lord Paulson’s soiree if he cared so little for the fellow? Had he intentions of seeking out Lord Paulson at the first opportunity to talk about something particularly weighty, only for their discussion to grow heated? Mayhap it had been an accident and he had—

“No.”

Pushing herself up from where she lay in her bed, Lydia took in a long breath and swung her legs from the blankets, so that she might rise and prepare herself for Lord Ancrum’s visit, which she was to expect later that afternoon. She would not begin to allow various thoughts about what might have occurred to fill her mind, would not guess what might have occurred. She had to allow Lord Ancrum to explain, and upon hearing it, would make certain to consider it all before choosing whether or not to trust him.

Lord Ancrum was indeed a very confusing gentleman, for she felt as though she did not know him in any way even though they had spent a good deal of time together over the last sennight. He had been so eager to improve his reputation, had been so fearful that she would reveal to the ton what he had done in knocking her to the ground and hurrying on without regard, but only a short time later had berated her with such force that she had been quite insulted. Then to see him with Lady Starling had only furthered her disappointment, finding that her heart was sorrowful upon the sight of his face next to the rich widow’s. Now, it seemed she was to start preparing for her marriage—marriage to a gentleman whom she did not really know.

Tears began to burn in her eyes, but Lydia pushed them back with an effort. She could not permit herself to be weak now. She had to discover the truth, whether it be from Lord Ancrum’s lips or in finding the true culprit, else scandal would be all that waited for her. Her stomach tightened with anxiety as she rose from her bed and made her way to the dressing table, tugging the bell pull for her maid to come help her prepare. A pale, wan face looked back at her, holding none of the confidence that she had exuded only yesterday when she had first attended Lord Paulson’s soiree. Would the news of his death have become known by now? Would it have been passed through the rumor mills already? And what would the ton make of it? Lord Ancrum had ushered them all from the house last evening, stating that a footman had informed him that Lord Paulson had been taken unwell and thus had been unable to return to bid them all farewell, and, much to her relief, the guests had merely accepted this and left the townhouse without even a murmur of concern.

“Miss Whitaker.”

The maid came in with a tray, a cup of chocolate waiting for Lydia as well as some hot, buttered toast. Lydia’s stomach turned over but she accepted the cup of chocolate regardless.

“I must prepare for Lord Ancrum’s arrival,” she told her maid, her voice thin and weak. “Dress my hair and then lay out my best day gown.”

The maid nodded and stepped away, leaving Lydia to try and build up her courage within so that she would be fully prepared to meet with her betrothed in only a few hours’ time.

“Lord Ancrum, Miss Whitaker.”

Hating that her legs were shaking, Lydia rose a little unsteadily as Lord Ancrum came into the room. Finding it hard to consider this gentleman her betrothed, the one who had confused her terribly with his behavior both good and ill, Lydia could not quite force a smile to her face and instead simply held Lord Ancrum’s gaze.

A rush of fear ran down her spine. Had he been the one to instigate Lord Paulson’s death? Or was it that he had been as shocked as he had appeared? For all she knew, he might very well be playacting, for had she not felt that she did not truly know him at all?

“Miss Whitaker.”

Lord Ancrum’s voice was soft, his tone gentle as his eyes lowered to the floor at her feet. “I have no doubt you must be greatly confused by all that has gone on.”

“I am,” Lydia replied clearly, despite the fact that her hands, held in front of her, were now tightly clenched together. “I do not know what to think, Lord Ancrum.”

He lifted his gaze to hers again. “And yet you agreed to our betrothal.” There was a small flicker of hope in his eyes, a hope she could not instantly quench.

“I—I wanted to trust that there was some explanation,” she told him carefully, choosing her words with precision. “I have wondered at your reaction and have chosen to believe that you were as shocked and as horrified as you appeared.”

Lord Ancrum took a hasty step forward, his eyes widening and his hands spreading wide as though to declare his innocence. “I am no actor, Miss Whitaker!” he exclaimed, sounding greatly distressed by the fact that she had even considered him to be guilty. “When I saw Lord Paulson, my senses left me entirely. I did not know what to do.” He shook his head and closed his eyes tightly, his expression a mask of pain. “Even now, I am not certain…”

“What did you do?” Lydia asked, seating herself before she lost her balance due to the trembling in her limbs. “What was it that you did with Lord Paulson’s body?”

Lord Ancrum opened his eyes and looked at her and, although Lydia gestured for him to sit down, he merely continued to hold her gaze.

“I informed the staff of what I had found,” he said softly, his head falling forward onto his chest. “A Bow Street Runner was sent for and the matter is now with them, although what they can do in order to assist in finding the culprit, I have very little idea.”

Lydia blinked rapidly. The Bow Street Runners, set up by Sir John Fielding, were the only men who might be able to come to some conclusion of the matter of Lord Paulson’s death, although if the culprit was someone of high standing, then consequences would be few and far between. A title bore a good deal of weight, even in criminal matters.

“I am to visit Covent Garden later this afternoon, once I have finished calling upon you,” Lord Ancrum said, beginning to pace up and down the room. “I have to speak about what it is I discovered last evening and give a full account of it. The rumors have been quelled merely by the fact that Lord Paulson’s staff have been warned in the strongest terms to be discreet, and thus far, it has been kept from the eager ears of the ton.”

Lydia closed her eyes tightly, trying not to allow the memory of what she had seen to come back to her again. If she allowed it to, then the scent of the blood, the pallor of Lord Paulson’s face, and the sound of her own gasping breath would overcome her.

“But the ton do not matter to me, Lydia.”

Lord Ancrum was looking at her now with such decisiveness in his expression that, as Lydia opened her eyes to look back at him, she could almost feel his expectant hope.

“I must know whether you believe me a murderer,” he said quietly. “If you believe that I have done the foulest of deeds, then I shall leave this place at once and never return. I shall declare to all who ask that our betrothal has come to an end, due to my own selfishness, and bear the blame and the guilt and the mockery that shall come thereafter. In short, Miss Whitaker, I shall do all I can to release you from this dreadful situation as best I can, should you wish it. All you need to do is say that you do not wish to wed me.”

Lydia took in a long breath, her chest constricting as she considered what it was that Lord Ancrum asked of her. Did she believe that he was the one guilty of Lord Paulson’s murder? Yes, he had confused her with his behaviors prior to last evening, but she did not think, in the depths of her heart, that he had killed another man.

“No, Lord Ancrum,” she said slowly, seeing him sinking into a chair at her words, clearly overcome with relief. “No, I cannot believe or accept that you were the one to kill Lord Paulson. However,” she continued, lifting her chin and letting her breath out slowly, “I must know the truth about what you were doing at Lord Paulson’s home. There is no explanation for why you were in his library alone, especially when the guests were meant to be listening to the musicians.” She tilted her head and regarded him closely. “What is your explanation?”

He let out a sigh, leaned forward, and set his head in his hands. “It is a truth that is not only mine to share, Miss Whitaker.”

A quiver of anger ran through her. “I will not allow that to stand, Lord Ancrum,” she stated firmly. “You must speak the truth, for you cannot expect me merely to sit here quietly, not after all that has occurred!” She pinned him with a sharp gaze, despite her thumping heart. “What was your purpose in leaving the musical performance last evening?”

Lord Ancrum sat up, his hair now slightly askew from where he had thrust his hands through it. His eyes were heavy but his jaw held a firmness that told her his resolve was still steady.

“I was looking for something,” he told her, his voice solemn. “I did not seek to injure nor harm Lord Paulson in any way. In fact, the only reason I removed myself from the musical performance was because I believed Lord Paulson to be within the room with his guests.”

Lydia frowned, her brows knotting together as she considered this.

“You yourself did not see Lord Paulson leave?” Lord Ancrum asked, his eyes searching her face. “Can you recall if he was in the room with you before you left?”

Shaking her head, Lydia bit her lip before she answered. “I was somewhat distracted,” she replied honestly. “My mother and I…” She trailed off, not wanting to answer further. “No, I do not recall either seeing Lord Paulson in the room or leaving the room last evening.”

Lord Ancrum let out a long, slow breath and then ran one hand over his face. He was clearly upset and deeply distracted by thoughts of Lord Paulson and what had occurred last evening and, for a moment, Lydia felt her heart swell with sympathy for him. She believed him to be innocent of Lord Paulson’s death and the horror of what he had seen must be overwhelming him.

“But I did fall asleep for some time,” she added, seeing his gaze jerk back to her. “It may well be that Lord Paulson left when I was resting.”

Lord Ancrum sighed again and shook his head. “I do not know who did such a thing. I was searching the house for some time and it was not until I lit candles in the library that I realized that…”

“And just what were you searching for?” Lydia asked softly, leaning forward in her chair and holding his gaze with a gentle intensity. “Please. If we are to be betrothed, if we are to continue on into matrimony, then we must begin our path together in trust and understanding.”

A look of surprise crossed Lord Ancrum’s face, his eyes alight for a moment. “You—you expect to continue towards matrimony, Miss Whitaker? Even though I—”

“I believe you innocent and, as such, can see no reason to shame either myself or you by bringing an end to our betrothal,” Lydia interrupted, suddenly feeling a good deal more certainty than she had before. “Therefore, I would beg you again to speak to me honestly with the truth of what it was you were doing last evening.”

Lord Ancrum closed his eyes tightly, his expression conflicted for a long moment. Lydia held her breath, not quite certain what he was going to say. Would he trust her enough to tell her the truth? Or would he keep her in the dark?

“Blackmail.”

The word came out slowly, prolonging its weight as it came to rest in her mind.

“Blackmail,” Lord Ancrum said again, looking at her with a clear expression as he spoke. “I sought to find something with which I might blackmail Lord Paulson.” He winced and looked away, appearing a little ashamed. “I cannot give you the specific reasons as to why I was doing such a thing, but there is the truth of it.”

“You sought to find something to blackmail him with?” Lydia repeated, her eyes flaring wide. “What was it he had over you?”

“Nothing, nothing!” Lord Ancrum said, spreading his hands wide. “I sought to aid a friend, that is all.”

Lydia let out her breath and felt her anxiety begin to build all over again. She wanted to ask who this friend might be, but realized that this was not the time to do so. That particular fact was of little importance. “Then might not the guilt of Lord Paulson’s death easily fall upon your shoulders if it becomes known that this is what you were doing last evening?” she asked, her fingers clasping tightly together as she looked at him. “Might you not be blamed?” She saw his cheeks pale just a little, as if he had not thought of such a thing before, and her heart began to sink in her chest. What was it he intended to do? The Bow Street Runners were often particularly thorough in their investigations and if they discovered what Lord Ancrum had been doing, then would they not consider him guilty, just as she had done?

“I—I had not considered such an outcome,” Lord Ancrum murmured, closing his eyes tightly and rubbing his eyes with a curled fist. “I—”

Lydia let out a long breath and got to her feet, looking at Lord Ancrum’s pale face and feeling her heart reach out to him. He looked up at her, seeing her extended hand and yet not moving even an inch. And then, slowly, he got to his feet and reached out his hand to hers and took it, their fingers touching for the first time. Lydia’s arm jolted with a flush of heat which only steadied her resolve.

“We shall find a way through this together, Lord Ancrum,” she told him decisively. “You shall not go on any longer alone. We are betrothed and as such, I intend to remain by your side and ensure that you do not hold the blame for Lord Paulson’s death.”

Lord Ancrum let out a breath and smiled at her, his sadness and fear lifting for a moment. “You are quite remarkable, Miss Whitaker,” he replied, somewhat gruffly as though hiding the truth of his emotions. “I have not behaved well towards you, I know, but yet you have decided to remain with me and do all you can to aid me.” He shook his head and passed a hand over his eyes, as though he could not quite believe she was to do such a thing. “I do not know what to say.”

Lydia pressed his hand lightly, her chin lifting as she looked up into his eyes, finding her heart quickening for a moment. “I believe we shall have to draw closer together if we are to solve this mystery,” she replied firmly. “And in the meantime, we must continue to court and begin to prepare for our wedding.” A wry smile tugged at her lips. “A strange start indeed to a courtship, I must say.”

“And yet, in the midst of such confusion and upset, it appears I have found the very best of ladies,” Lord Ancrum replied, bringing a warmth to Lydia’s cheeks. “I am grateful to you in more ways than I can express. I must now hasten to Covent Garden, but might I call upon you again tomorrow? There will be more to say, I am certain of it.”

Lydia smiled and let go of his hand, taking a small step back. She felt more settled within herself now, with a sense of direction deep within her soul. “Indeed, Lord Ancrum, I should be glad to see you. A walk, mayhap?”

“That would be greatly enjoyable,” he replied with a deep bow. “I look forward to being in your company once more.”

Her smile remained on her lips. “As do I,” she replied, before dropping into a quick curtsy as he stepped towards the door.

11

“It is a fine afternoon indeed, Miss Whitaker.”

Joseph felt his heart lift in his chest as Miss Whitaker lifted her face to his, a light smile spread upon her lips. The events of the last few days had thrust him from despondency to joy and back again, but now that he knew Miss Whitaker trusted him to be innocent of Lord Paulson’s death, Joseph felt himself somewhat more settled than he had been before.

“I—I am glad to be with you,” he told her, stammering awkwardly as he tried to put into words what he felt. The urge to be honest with her had begun to wind its way into his heart, which made it all the more difficult for him that he had not as yet told her that it had been Lady Starling who had begged for his help with Lord Paulson. There was no reason not to tell her, of course, for he was quite sure that Miss Whitaker would understand, but at the same time, Joseph did not want to see the flare of disappointment in her eyes that he was certain would be there. He did not want Miss Whitaker to think that he had been aiding someone like Lady Starling, for, no doubt, she might then think that he had been receiving back from her a reward of a most intimate nature. It would be quite an understandable thought, given the nature of Lady Starling’s character, but he did not want even the thought to enter Miss Whitaker’s mind. There was no reason to inform her about Lady Starling, he reasoned with himself, as they continued to walk. That particular fact could remain unspoken.

“That is most kind of you to say, Lord Ancrum,” Miss Whitaker replied, her cheeks a little flushed. “I will admit that I am unused to garnering so much attention from those that pass by, so you must excuse my blushes.”

Joseph arched a brow, having not been aware of how those who walked past them looked directly at first himself and then at Miss Whitaker. He had been much too caught up with Miss Whitaker herself as well as his own thoughts.

“The news of our betrothal will have gone through London by now,” he told her, thinking quietly that her flushed cheeks were somewhat becoming. “The news will soon be overtaken by another scrap of gossip or someone else’s engagement, I am quite certain.” He tried to smile encouragingly and was gratified when Miss Whitaker’s eyes darted up to his and then returned to the path, whilst her smile lingered on her lips. Apparently, he had managed to reassure her.

“How did you fare at Covent Garden?”

Her question tugged the air from his lungs for a moment, forcing him to recall the hours he had spent explaining what he had found. The Bow Street Runners were thorough, just as he had suspected, and it had wearied him greatly to have to repeat all that had gone on over and over again.

“I had to speak the truth,” he replied carefully. “I told them the truth of what had occurred and I believe that they accepted it.”

Miss Whitaker shot him a glance that told Joseph she was a little surprised at this. “You told them all?”

He nodded. “I did,” he replied truthfully. “I saw no good reason to hold anything back, even though you are quite right to state that the blame must then easily fall onto my shoulders.” He winced, knowing that there had been suspicion in the eyes of the fellow who had spoken to him only yesterday. “I told them that Lord Paulson was known to be a blackmailer and that, in seeking to come to the aid of a friend, I was searching for something with which I might, in turn, use against him. This was in order to prevent him from continuing to have such a tight hold on those whom he thought to blackmail.” A small shrug lifted his shoulder. “But ultimately, I did not come to any satisfactory conclusion other than to discover Lord Paulson dead.”

Miss Whitaker pressed her lips together tightly, her eyes now trained on his as he looked down at her. Their steps were slow, taking their time as they walked through Hyde Park. Joseph did not know what else to say, guessing that Miss Whitaker wanted to speak her thoughts but held herself back from doing so until she had given them consideration. He appreciated that about her.

Eventually, she spoke.

“And then might I surmise that you are considered to be the possible murderer, Lord Ancrum?”

He sighed. “I must hope that my honesty will serve me in good stead, Miss Whitaker. As I have said, I saw no good reason to lie. If it was discovered that I had held the truth from them, would I not then appear to be even more under suspicion than I am at present?” Rubbing his forehead for a moment, he accidentally dislodged his hat, which he had to jam a little more tightly onto his head. The strain of the last two days began to weigh down heavily upon his soul and had it not been for Miss Whitaker’s presence beside him and the knowledge that she would support him, Joseph feared he might have given into despair.

“I think that was wise of you,” Miss Whitaker replied, her voice filled with a gentle admiration. “However, if we are to ensure that you are not given the blame, we must attempt to discover who it was that killed Lord Paulson.” Her voice shook for a moment but she dragged in a long breath and, much to his surprise, reached up and settled her hand on his arm. Heat ran through him, making him catch his breath, as though the smallest of touches had set him alight. Miss Whitaker cleared her throat, evidently regaining her composure. “It must, therefore, have been someone within the house.”

Joseph took a moment before he replied, not wanting to reveal to Miss Whitaker just how much her hand on his arm had affected him. “Indeed,” he replied, a trifle too gruffly. “The staff assured me that no one else entered the house. The doors were secured at all times.”

Miss Whitaker sighed and shook her head. “Then, as unwilling as I am to do so, we must consider the guests,” she replied, looking up at him with a grave expression. “I do not know many of them, however.”

“I know some,” he replied, a little uneasily. “But how are we to discover the motive of the person behind such a cruel act?”

Much to his surprise, Miss Whitaker let out a small chuckle, as though he were being truly ridiculous. “Is it not apparent?” she asked, tossing her head. “If Lord Paulson was blackmailing some of the ton, then surely that is the only explicable motive?” She frowned, her eyes back on the path ahead of them. “Someone must have left the room in order to seek out Lord Paulson, who had already quit the room for some reason.” Throwing him a quick glance, a rueful smile touched her lips. “Although I have very little thought as to how to discover such a thing.”

Joseph’s brow furrowed. He could easily ask Lady Starling, for surely she would be aware of when Lord Paulson had quit the room and who else might have left. A small, nagging doubt began to push its way into his mind, making him wonder whether or not Lady Starling herself could have had anything to do with Lord Paulson’s death, but he swiftly pushed that thought away.

The Bow Street Runner who had come to see Lord Paulson’s body had stated quite clearly that the person responsible for the man’s death would certainly have had some blood on their person. In addition, he had stated that it would have taken a good deal of force to push the knife so deeply into Lord Paulson’s chest, and Lady Starling was a small sort of creature with very little strength. Besides which, had he not seen her when he had stepped back into the drawing room with his newly engaged Miss Whitaker by his side? She had been sitting in the very seat he had last seen her and had not yet followed him from the room, as had been planned.

Joseph realized that he had not as yet spoken to Lady Starling about what had occurred, feeling almost guilty that he had not done so. However, he told himself, his priority had been Miss Whitaker and therefore, he needed not feel any sort of guilt over what he had done. Miss Whitaker was to be his first consideration from this moment on. After all, she was to be his wife.

“I have one or two acquaintances who were present that evening,” he stated, seeing Miss Whitaker nod slowly. “I might ask them who left the room, or who even merely rose from their chair, if you think that would help?”

“And I might ask my mother,” Miss Whitaker replied with a slight heaviness to her tone. “Perhaps then we might see similarities in what we discover, which would then lead us to the truth of it.”

“A wise thought indeed,” Joseph replied, seeing how Miss Whitaker smiled up at him and feeling his own heart lift in his chest. “You are to be a great blessing to me. I am quite certain of it.”

“You are too kind,” Miss Whitaker replied, although her eyes searched his face questioningly. “Although pray do not feel the need to flatter me. I am not the sort of lady who lives upon such things.”

He stopped her then, turning to face her so that she had no choice but to look up into his face, their walk coming to a sudden end. The urge to speak the truth that had begun to settle in his heart began to grow steadily, until he could not prevent the words coming from his lips.

“You mistake me, Miss Whitaker,” he told her firmly, not looking to the right or to the left as others walked past them. “I do not say such things in order to garner your favor, but rather because that is the truth of what is in my heart.” His lips tugged upwards, seeing how she looked away with either embarrassment or gentle delight. “I know that I have confused you with my past behavior, but the truth of it is, I sought to keep you from Lord Paulson simply because I wished to protect you. I know I spoke forcibly and that I came across as demanding and harsh instead of explaining myself, but it came from a desire to do you good instead of allowing you to walk into Lord Paulson’s clutches.”

Miss Whitaker lowered her eyes demurely, although Joseph was certain he saw a small smile on her face.

“I quite understand,” she replied quietly, although Joseph was aware this explanation did not make up for everything he had said or done of late. His presence with Lady Starling in her carriage, for example, was not something he wished to speak of. “I should not have doubted your words.”

“Everything I say to you is both honest and sincere,” he told her, growing almost desperate to have her eyes lift to his. He leaned forward slightly and saw her do just as he had hoped, his heart rising with a sudden, swift pleasure. “I am not despondent over our engagement. I truly believe that I am a gentleman who is to be considered one of the luckiest in all of England.”

“Now you are doing it up much too brown, Lord Ancrum,” Miss Whitaker replied, tilting her head and laughing up at him. “But I thank you for it.” She held out her hand again. “Might we—oh!”

He turned swiftly, only to see two young ladies hurrying towards them both, catching Miss Whitaker’s attention.

“Friends of yours?” he asked, seeing how the young ladies’ eyes were fixed upon Miss Whitaker. “They come to congratulate you, I think.”

“Acquaintances only,” Miss Whitaker replied, flushing. “Yet I believe they come to discover just as much as they can about my engagement.”

He chuckled, aware that this was not something Miss Whitaker was well used to. “Then I shall allow you to speak without my presence,” he replied, not wanting to add to her obvious embarrassment. “I see some of my own acquaintances just over there.” Indicating with a pointed finger, he saw Miss Whitaker nod. “Do come and seek me out when your conversation is at an end.”

Miss Whitaker gave him a grateful smile, before returning her gaze to the ladies who were now only a few steps away. Not wanting to have to stay to introduce himself, Joseph hurried away and left his betrothed to speak to her evidently curious acquaintances, a grin spreading across his face.

A grin that disappeared the moment Lady Starling stepped out from amongst those beginning to fill the park and moved swiftly towards him. His heart leapt up into his throat, anxiety filling him as he looked at her angry eyes and felt his whole body tighten with tension. This was not the best place to speak of what had occurred, but it seemed that he was to have no choice.

“You are here with your betrothed, Lord Ancrum.”

Lady Starling’s voice was hard, her blue eyes piercing as she looked up at him.

“I am,” he replied, wondering at her ire. “I am sorry that I have not yet come to speak to you, Lady Starling, but matters have taken a turn for the worse.”

Lady Starling narrowed her eyes all the more. “We go to Lord Paulson’s home in order to seek out some information with which you might aid me, only for you to then seek out Miss Whitaker so that you might propose!” A deep red began to pervade her cheeks. “And this all before I had even found the opportunity to leave my seat!”

Joseph closed his eyes for a moment, taking in a long breath. News of Lord Paulson’s death had not, it seemed, made its way into the beau monde, although it would have to become known soon enough. He did not wish to frighten Lady Starling in any way but she had to know the truth.

“Lord Paulson is dead,” he said gruffly, opening his eyes to see how Lady Starling suddenly seemed to recoil from him, the color draining from her face. “The Bow Street Runners are seeking to discover the culprit, but I cannot be certain that they will do so.”

Lady Starling said nothing for some moments, her eyes wide and fixed on his. One hand was pressed against her chest, her throat working furiously.

“I—I did not mean…” Her words were whispered, her breathing ragged. “When I said that I wished to be freed from him, I—”

Realizing what she thought, Joseph shook his head frantically, horror washing over him. “I did not kill him,” he told her swiftly, seeing how she let out her breath slowly. “I discovered the scene and, thereafter, Miss Whitaker came upon me.” He saw Lady Starling close her eyes as a small tinge of color came back into her cheeks. “Her mother then discovered the two of us together and, therefore, I had no other choice but to propose.”

Lady Starling nodded slowly, although Joseph noted the slight tremble that ran through her frame.

“I am sorry to have to be the one to inform you of this,” he said softly, hoping that the lady was not about to faint. “I did want to do so at my earliest convenience, but I found that I had to speak to Miss Whitaker at the first, to ensure that she believed me to be innocent of the crime.”

“But of course you are!” Lady Starling protested, taking a step forward and resting her hand on his arm. “You are entirely without guilt! I cannot believe what has occurred. I…” She trailed off, her eyes fixed on something beyond him, although her expression was a little vacant, clearly overcome by shock.

“At least you are free from your difficulties,” Joseph said gently, not quite certain whether this was reassuring in any way. “I must ask you, Lady Starling, were you present the entire evening? You say you had not the opportunity to quit the room.”

Lady Starling’s gaze slowly refocused on Joseph, color beginning to come back to her cheeks. “Indeed,” she replied hoarsely. “I—I had not yet found a way to quit the room without drawing attention.”

“And you saw none leave the room?” he asked, pressing her for an answer. “Did you see Lord Paulson leave?”

Lady Starling’s face crumpled and it was all Joseph could do not to reach out to her, seeing just how much this news had broken her.

“I saw Lord Paulson leave, yes,” she whispered, tears sparkling in her eyes. “A servant came to speak to him and, some minutes later, he quietly slipped from the room.” She shook her head and a tear slipped onto her cheek. “I did not think anything of it, for I became distracted by the performance. And you know how the room was somewhat dark.”

Joseph frowned, having not recalled such a fact before. Lord Paulson had ensured a good deal of light had been around the performers whilst leaving the rest of the room cast in shadow. It was, Joseph presumed, a way to ensure that the attention of the guests was entirely on the musicians themselves, but it had also given the murderer an easy way to move from the room.

“I am sorry that you have found yourself in such a situation,” Lady Starling whispered, her hand reaching up to press his arm again. “I did not ever think that when I asked for your help, you would find yourself so troubled.”

Thinking that Lady Starling spoke of Lord Paulson and the possible blame that now lay upon his shoulders, Joseph let out a long breath but tried to smile reassuringly.

“I am certain it will all come aright in the end,” he told her with as much firmness as he could muster. “There is nothing you need worry about, Lady Starling.”

Lady Starling let go of his arm and pulled out a small handkerchief, which she used to dab at her eyes. “You are a stalwart,” she told him, her compliment bringing a slight sense of pride to Joseph. “I do not know what I should do without you, Lord Ancrum.”

“I do not think you shall have to,” Joseph replied, silently determined that he would not accept the blame for Lord Paulson’s death. “Now, if you are quite all right, Lady Starling, I should return to my betrothed.”

Lady Starling sighed but nodded. “You will call upon me soon, will you not?”

“But of course,” Joseph replied without thinking, for his attention was now returning fully to Miss Whitaker. “Do excuse me, Lady Starling. And do try not to worry.” He gave her an encouraging smile and was glad to see her return it, albeit a somewhat wobbly one.

“I shall not allow it to overcome me,” she promised, a glimmer of strength in her gaze. “Good afternoon, Lord Ancrum. I look forward to seeing you again very soon.”

12

“I have very little of your dowry left.”

Lydia tried not to bristle at her father’s harsh words and the way that he appeared to look down at her with an apparent disdain.

“Do you think your supposed husband-to-be will still accept you when he knows there is very little money to go with you?”

“I am certain of it,” Lydia replied decisively, hating that her parents were doing all they could to bring an end to her engagement. They were doing it solely so that they might keep Lydia at home with them, of course, for their selfishness knew no bounds. It had been easy for them to believe that such a thing would occur when Lydia had been nothing but an easily ignored wallflower, but now that she was so suddenly engaged, it appeared that her parents did not know what to do in order to prevent it.

“I could have refused him, of course,” her father continued darkly, “especially given that he asked you to marry him before he so much as spoke to me!”

“But you did not refuse him, Father,” Lydia replied, growing tired of this. “And we are to be wed. Dowry or not, I am quite certain that Lord Ancrum will not turn from me nor break our engagement.”

Her mother, who had remained silent thus far, sighed dramatically. “And so you will turn from us.”

Lydia closed her eyes, her hands curling into tight fists as she fought to keep her temper. “You have a multitude of servants, Mother,” she replied, seeing how Lady Templeton sighed again. “You have no need of me.” This appeared to silence both her mother and her father, for her father got up abruptly from his seat and stalked to the window, his hands clasped behind his back, whilst her mother simply sighed again.

Lydia, seeing the opportunity, grasped it without hesitation despite her own frustration with her parents.

“Might I ask, Mother, whether or not you recall if anyone else quit the room the night that Lord Ancrum and I became engaged?” she asked, not caring whether her mother thought this a strange question. “I know you came out in search of me, but—”

“In search of you?” her mother interrupted, a cruel laugh running through her words. “I did not come out in search of you, you foolish girl. I merely sought the powder room, that is all.”

This was meant to be harsh and cruel, Lydia knew, and despite the knowledge of this, she found that she could not easily overcome the sting of her mother’s words. “Regardless,” she said, as steadily as she could in the face of her mother’s hardness, “do you recall if anyone else left the room during the performances, even for a short time?”

Lady Templeton sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes. “I cannot recall,” she said, waving a hand. “I was not at all interested in the performance and found my mind drifting to other matters.”

“Lord Paulson himself,” Lydia persisted, whilst her father muttered something under his breath and strode to the door, evidently frustrated that he had not been able to convince Lydia to break her engagement. “Did you see him leave the room?”

Lady Templeton’s gaze narrowed slightly as she looked back at Lydia. “Why does such a thing matter?” she asked, her eyes now flickering with curiosity. “Who is it that you seek?”

Lydia hesitated, wondering whether she ought to explain. It had been five days now since Lord Paulson’s death and it had only been yesterday that Lord Ancrum had told her that the news of his passing had begun to trickle out. She did not want to give her mother even the slightest hint, however, that Lord Ancrum feared for his own involvement in this matter and so she resolved to choose her words with great care.

“Lord Paulson was a friend of my betrothed,” she lied, holding her mother’s gaze with unwavering firmness. “And to hear of his death has stunned him. Therefore, I am doing all I can to aid him in his search for the truth.”

This seemed to shock Lady Templeton greatly, for her smirk dropped from her face as her cheeks began to pale.

“Did you see anyone, Mother?” Lydia asked again, searching her mother’s face and wondering why she appeared so pale. “You must tell me if you did so. It is of vital importance.”

Lady Templeton drew in a long breath, sat a little more upright, and turned her gaze back to Lydia.

“I am glad to hear Lord Paulson is gone from this world,” she stated with far too much vehemence in her voice. “He had so many people over a barrel that his death has freed us all from his grasp.”

Lydia blinked rapidly, looking at her mother with utter astonishment.

“I saw only two people leave the room, although both came back rather quickly,” Lady Templeton continued, quite calmly. “A lady in light pink satin—and then another in a green gown some time later. As for Lord Paulson…” She shrugged. “I cannot recall seeing him quit the room at all, but the room was rather dark and, as I have said, I was somewhat bored.”

Lydia did not know what to say to this, for her astonishment has risen up in her so swiftly that it had robbed her of speech. The look in her mother’s eyes and the anger in her voice told Lydia more than any words her mother might have said. Recalling how Lord Ancrum had told her that Lord Paulson had been blackmailing a friend of his, Lydia suddenly began to wonder just how widespread Lord Paulson’s reach had been.

“Lord Paulson had blackmailed you also, Mother?” she asked, not looking away when her mother’s gaze hit her hard. “You were not the first, I believe.”

Lady Templeton said nothing for some minutes, although her eyes flashed and her lips thinned into a cruel line. Lydia said nothing more, holding her mother’s gaze and willing her to speak. She had to know the truth of the matter, for it might aid Lord Ancrum.

“Lord Paulson discovered something that was meant to be hidden,” Lady Templeton replied stiffly, looking away from her daughter. “I was, of course, mortified, but he was no gentleman. He demanded money for his silence.” She sniffed. “The first payment was to be given to him the evening of his musical soiree.”

Lydia looked down at her hands, trying to steady her breathing. She did not want to know what her mother had been caught doing, but to know that Lord Paulson had been attempting to blackmail Lady Templeton only added to her awareness that a good many people might have wanted the fellow dead. Surely her mother could not have been the one involved?

“I did not manage to give it to him, of course,” Lady Templeton replied dryly. “And no, you need not think that I was the one who sought him out, Lydia. I remained within the drawing room until I left to find the powder room. Which is when I found you and Lord Ancrum in an entirely improper situation.”

Aware that her mother was attempting to remove some of Lydia’s shock and dismay by reminding her of her own indiscretions, Lydia simply ignored this remark and attempted to focus on what had been disclosed. “Do you think, Mother, that some of the other guests present that night were also involved with Lord Paulson and his attempts to blackmail?”

Lady Templeton laughed cruelly and waved a hand. “No doubt most of them were,” she replied with a slight shrug. “I was given no choice but to attend, Lydia. If I did not, then Lord Paulson would not have continued to hold his silence. I am certain that I was not the only one cajoled in such a way.”

The air grew thick about her and Lydia rose from her chair, suddenly desperate to get out of the house and into the fresh air. She felt clammy and hot, the shock of knowing that her mother, too, had been involved with Lord Paulson overwhelming her. The realization that any of the guests present at his musical soiree could have been the one to take a knife to Lord Paulson’s heart slammed into her again and again, making a yawning chasm open up before her. There might be no easy way to prove who had done such a dreadful thing, since there could be so many suspects, which meant that in order to secure an easy conviction, the Bow Street Runners could turn their eyes to Lord Ancrum alone. Her breathing became ragged, her feet unsteady as she hurried from the room. Lady Templeton made no attempt to stop her, merely sitting back in her chair with a small, grim smile on her face.

It was at least one hour before Lydia managed to get some semblance of composure back. She had thrown on her bonnet and gloves and hurried out of doors, taking a somewhat surprised maid with her, and had walked aimlessly through London for some time. Her thoughts had become heavy, her worries growing steadily as she considered what her mother had said.

Lord Ancrum could not be guilty. She knew that for certain, for there was no doubt within her mind now. She had spent a good deal of time with him these last few days and had found her thoughts turning to him a little more often than she had expected. She did not want him to be found guilty of something he had not done. That was her greatest fear, especially now that she felt as though she were crawling through the ether of confusion and doubt. With so many possibilities as to who might have killed Lord Paulson, what hope was there that they might discover the guilty party?

A lady in a green gown and another in light pink satin.

Lydia stopped dead, her maid making a small exclamation of surprise behind her. Such had been her shock at hearing of her mother’s involvement with Lord Paulson that, until this moment, she had quite forgotten what had been said. Her mother had recalled two persons leaving the room—one lady in a green gown and another who wore pink satin. That gave her a little hope, did it not? It allowed both herself and Lord Ancrum the opportunity to try and discover these people and thereafter, attempt to discover what it was they had been doing when they left the room. Thus encouraged, Lydia lifted her chin and began to walk once more, although this time her stride held a lot more purpose. Attempting to get her bearings, she soon realized that she was some distance from home, although the beau monde were all about her still. Turning around, she made to go back where she had come from with the intent of writing to Lord Ancrum at once, only for a voice to stop her.

“Miss Whitaker, is it?”

She turned, recognizing the lady at once. Lady Starling stood before her, almost regal in her stance. Her eyes were cold as she regarded Lydia, her chin lifted in what appeared to be arrogance and a hint of disdain.

“Lady Starling,” Lydia replied, curtsying as though they were already acquainted. “Yes, you are quite correct. I am Miss Whitaker.”

“Recently engaged to Lord Ancrum.”

A faint blush caught Lydia’s cheeks but she did not look away. “Yes, that is quite right,” she stated unequivocally. “The first banns will be called this coming Sunday, I believe.”

Lady Starling jerked as though she were utterly astonished by this news—although Lydia could not understand why. It was quite natural for a betrothed couple to ensure that the banns were called as soon as possible after their engagement.

“You have contrived this,” Lady Starling hissed, taking a small step forward as her eyes narrowed all the more. “You cannot hide this from me, Miss Whitaker. I know that you have sought Lord Ancrum’s attentions and, when that failed completely, you then attempted to secure him by force. That is why you went out after him that evening, was it not?”

Lydia went cold all over, her skin prickling with unease. She did not know what to say, seeing the ice in Lady Starling’s eyes and wondering at it. She had done no wrong to the lady in question and certainly had given no impression to the beau monde that she had somehow tricked Lord Ancrum into matrimony.

“If you recall, Lady Starling,” she replied, a flush of anger beginning to streak up her spine, “I was gone from the room at the first. I believe it was Lord Ancrum who then came after me.” This, she saw, displeased Lady Starling greatly, although Lydia did not hold herself back because of it. “I have never once considered trying to secure a gentleman’s affections by force, Lady Starling, and am greatly upset by the suggestion. No, I have done none of what you attempt to lay at my feet.” She turned her head, making to move away from the lady. “If you will excuse me, Lady Starling. I can see no reason to continue this conversation.”

Much to Lydia’s shock, Lady Starling’s hand shot out and grasped her arm tightly. It was quite painful and Lydia had to force herself not to cry out.

“You will remove yourself from him, Miss Whitaker,” Lady Starling spat, her face very close to Lydia’s. “You will leave him free to make his own decisions as to whom he seeks for a bride. Do you understand me?”

Going white, Lydia turned her head away from Lady Starling, not quite certain what to say. The lady was clearly displeased with the news that Lydia and Lord Ancrum were to wed, but to demand something such as this was quite extraordinary. It felt as though she were expected to simply agree and obey, just as she had so often done with her own parents—but this time, Lydia felt her anger continue to burn through her. It did not dissipate but rather began to settle within her, setting her resolve alight.

“You have no right to demand such a thing from me, Lady Starling,” she replied hotly. “Remove your hand from me this instant.” She kept her face turned away and waited steadily until Lady Starling finally did as she asked, fully aware that there would be some watching this interaction with interest. The last thing she needed was for gossip to begin to spread about her. “Lord Ancrum and I intend to wed, Lady Starling, and I have no intention of doing as you ask.”

Lady Starling’s face darkened, her expression one of cold fury. “Then it shall be on your own head,” she replied, speaking of consequences that Lydia could not even begin to fathom. “I have warned you, Miss Whitaker, and you cannot hold what follows against me.” She stepped back, mockingly bobbing a curtsy. “Good afternoon.”

Lydia turned on her heel and stepped away at once, holding her head high despite the furious trembling that overtook her. She wanted to take a few minutes to regain her composure, to remove the shaking from her frame, but could not allow herself to do so. Her heart was beating so furiously that she was certain the sound of it echoed throughout the London streets, her hands clasped tightly together in front of her. Waving frantically at a hackney, she swallowed hard as it began to slow, her mind filling with only one person. She had to see him. She had to speak to him about what had just occurred for she could make no sense of it.

“Lord Ancrum’s townhouse, if you please,” she said hastily, climbing inside. “And just as quickly as you can.” Her maid climbed in beside her, remaining entirely silent although she stared at her mistress with clear concern.

“At once, miss,” came the gruff reply, and Lydia sank back into her seat, closing her eyes tightly and allowing the shock of the last few minutes to wash over her completely.

13

“Miss Whitaker!”

Joseph got up from his seat at once as a harried-looking Miss Whitaker hurried into the room. Her face was white, her bonnet a little askew, and her curtsy was less than proper. He had never seen her in such a state before.

“I must beg your forgiveness for coming to you without invitation or expectation,” she said breathlessly, approaching him with outstretched hands. “It is only that I have had such a strange encounter that I could not imagine returning home without speaking to you first.”

Joseph grasped her hands at once, aware of just how cold they were. “You were right to come to me, of course,” he reassured her, wondering what had occurred. “Is it to do with Lord Paulson?”

She shook her head and whilst he gestured for her to sit down, she remained standing and simply held his hands tightly. Her eyes searched his face, their lightness seeming to be gone from them completely. “It is not to do with Lord Paulson, but rather with our engagement,” she said, suddenly letting go of his hands and reaching up to untie her bonnet ribbons. It was most unusual for a lady not to even take off her bonnet before she made her way into a house and it was this that made Joseph wonder all the more what had occurred.

“You—you are not thinking of ending it, I hope,” he asked, his brow suddenly furrowing at the thought. “I confess that my heart now holds a certain fondness for you and—”

He stopped dead, seeing her eyes widen at what had just been revealed from his lips. He had not meant to say such a thing, he realized, the words seeming to echo around the room as he looked down at her astonished expression. But he could not deny them. Nor could he take them back from her and hide them within himself again. He had spent a good deal of time with her of late and her shrewd mind, trusting nature, and kindness of spirit had begun to draw him ever closer to her. It was as though he were slowly being bewitched by her and if it were not for this disturbing affair with Lord Paulson’s death, Joseph was quite certain that his heart would have become all the more engaged with her.

“After what has just occurred, I must say that I am glad to hear such a thing from your lips,” Miss Whitaker whispered, her eyes suddenly bright with tears. “I had thought that… it was foolish to think it, of course, but Lady Starling sounded so convincing that a moment of doubt did catch me by surprise.”

A jolt ran through him at the sound of Lady Starling’s name. “I do not understand, Miss Whitaker.”

She smiled at him, her expression softening. “Lydia, please.”

“Lydia,” he replied, a trifle more gently, realizing the intimacy now growing between them. “Lydia, what is it that has occurred with Lady Starling? I do not quite understand.”

Slowly, Miss Whitaker began to explain. Her voice was soft, her expression troubled as she told him what had happened. Joseph’s gut twisted as he listened. He could not understand what Lady Starling was doing, for she had no reason to speak to Miss Whitaker in such a way. It was not as though there was any sort of understanding between himself and Lady Starling, for he had never once even suggested that there might be anything of importance between them. Why, then, would she attempt to warn Miss Whitaker away from him? He did not want his engagement to come to an end and he certainly had no feelings for Lady Starling. His hands tightened on Miss Whitaker’s, seeing the slight glistening in her eyes and fearing that she was about to break down in tears.

“I have no knowledge of why Lady Starling might do such a thing,” he told her when she had finished. “I am truly sorry for what has occurred, Lydia. I do wish that I would have been there so that I might intervene in some way.” Seeing her close her eyes against her tears, he felt his gut twist as a spike of anger burned through his heart. “I will speak to Lady Starling about this matter.”

“No, please, you need not do so,” Miss Whitaker said at once, suddenly even closer to him, her expression almost pleading. “There is no need for you to intervene. I beg of you, please do not speak to her of it. I do not want any more gossip or whispers chasing either myself or you, Lord Ancrum. Please, do nothing.”

Joseph bit his lip, hesitating. He did not want any harm to come to Miss Whitaker and certainly did not want Lady Starling to follow through with any supposed threats, but the look in Miss Whitaker’s eyes forced him to reconsider.

“If she speaks to you again, Lydia, then you will tell me,” he said slowly, seeing how she nodded fervently. “I must protect you as best I can, especially since we are already mixed up in a grave matter.” Letting out a long breath, he let go of her hand and, unable to help himself, reached up to brush the back of his fingers across her cheek. “I would still prove myself to you, Lydia. You do believe me that I have had nothing to do with Lady Starling’s demands that we bring our engagement to an end?”

Miss Whitaker blushed furiously but did not turn away from him. “I do believe you, yes,” she murmured, her eyes widening as she realized just how close they stood together. “I have news which I must also share with you as regards the matter over Lord Paulson.” She cleared her throat gently as though trying to remember what it was she had come to say. “And I must hope that this will give us an avenue to explore.”

A flare lit up his heart. “What is it?”

“My mother,” Miss Whitaker began, looking a little embarrassed. “She told me that she was glad to hear of Lord Paulson’s passing because she herself has been involved with the blackmail that ailed your… friend.” This word held a good deal of emphasis, reminding Joseph none too gently that, as yet, he had not told her the truth about Lady Starling. The shame of admitting that it was that particular lady whom he had been trying to help burned in his heart all over again, growing all the worse now that he knew just how cruel Lady Starling had been to Miss Whitaker.

“She also recalled that there were two ladies who quit the room during the performance. One wore a light pink gown,” Miss Whitaker continued, when he said nothing. “The other wore a gown of dark green.” Her eyes fastened onto his, clearly searching for some kind of hope within his own expression. “Does this not give us something to explore?”

Joseph nodded slowly, feeling his heart begin to fill with the very hope that Miss Whitaker had just spoken of. “I believe that does give us some direction, yes,” he agreed, feeling her fingers press his. “You have done very well.”

Unfortunately, this did not seem to encourage Miss Whitaker, for she frowned deeply, a line cutting into her forehead. “I must admit, I am somewhat despondent in the knowledge that my mother has been involved, along with the suggestion that there may very well have been others under Lord Paulson’s control present that night.”

“We cannot worry about that now,” Joseph replied decisively, aware that if he considered such a possibility for too long, they might begin to feel lost in despondency. “We must search for these two ladies. You have done very well, Lydia.” His voice softened, his gut beginning to tighten at the look of delight in her eyes. A slow desire began to grow within him, fervent and unrestrained. Joseph did not know what it was, could not give it a name, but felt it burning within him with an ever-increasing strength. The air seemed to grow thick about them both, his breathing quickening in time with hers.

“Lord Ancrum, I—”

She was cut off by the gentle press of his lips against hers. He had not intended to kiss her, but the look in her eyes, the softness of her skin, and the gentle press of her hand in his had washed over him, capturing him entirely. It was as though he were in a dream, for all he could see was Miss Whitaker, all he could think of was her. She had come to him in the midst of her trouble, thinking immediately and only of him and believing that he could protect her. Her one desire had been to speak to him of what had occurred, almost immediately after it had happened. Did that not speak of her trust in him? Did that not show just how much she thought of him? There was no doubt in his mind that she believed him to be innocent of Lord Paulson’s death, and her determination to help him only drew him closer to her. His heart had become engaged so swiftly and yet it was the most unusual occurrence that had ever happened to him.

And then, he realized what he was doing. Yes, they were engaged and yes, it seemed they would wed, but he realized that he had taken her in his arms and kissed her before even knowing whether or not she wished it. In all of this he was attempting to prove to her that he was a sincere and good-hearted gentleman, trying to forget his past indiscretions, and now he had, once more, shown her entirely the opposite.

“Lydia… Miss Whitaker, I…” He closed his eyes tightly, stepping back from her and letting her go swiftly. “I did not mean to—I should not have…” His words died away as he opened his eyes to see her looking up at him, almost dazed in her expression. She was blinking rapidly, her eyes fixed upon his whilst her face bloomed with color. Silence reigned for some moments, until finally, Miss Whitaker spoke.

“You kissed me.”

Her voice was wispy, her cheeks still pink. She touched her lips with one finger, as though making certain that this was what had occurred, and Joseph felt his stomach twist, still uncertain as to her reaction.

“I am sorry,” he replied, dropping his gaze to the floor. “I should not have given in to my urgent desire. It was a moment of poor consideration and I—”

“I have never been kissed before,” Miss Whitaker interrupted, her eyes searching his face. She looked at him for some moments until, finally, a small smile began to spread across her face. Joseph let out his breath slowly, utterly relieved that she was smiling at him and not reaching out to slap him hard across the face.

“You have not disappointed me,” she said gently, moving slowly towards him. “Nor have you made me believe that you are an improper gentleman, as I know you must now be thinking.”

“I am grateful to you for your consideration,” he stammered, not quite certain what else to say. “I will admit that I have never felt such emotions as this, Miss Whitaker.”

“Lydia,” she reminded him with a soft smile. “You speak the truth, Lord Ancrum?”

He drew near her again, his heart beginning to hammer furiously in his chest. “I do, Lydia,” he replied honestly. “It may have been only a few days since we have found ourselves engaged, but I must admit to you that my heart has begun to fill with you. We have spent so many hours together that when we are apart, I look forward to seeing you again. You came to me when you needed help, trusted me to be able to bring you the aid you needed, and as our intimacy has increased, my heart has begun to hold a fondness for you that I cannot deny.”

Miss Whitaker’s smile remained, her eyes softening. “I did not expect such a thing to ever happen to me,” she breathed, coming closer to him and settling her hand on his chest, sending sparks all through him. “This is quite remarkable, I must say.”

There was such curiosity in her eyes that Joseph could not help but chuckle, his hands capturing hers all over again. Finally, there appeared to be a touch of light, of hope, in the middle of his troubles. A hope that he might find a true happiness with Miss Whitaker, a happiness that could not be taken from either of them. All they had to do was find the person responsible for the death of Lord Paulson, so that he would no longer carry the weight of fear that he might be assigned the blame he did not deserve.

“I am glad you find it so, Lydia,” he replied, seeing her laugh back up into his face with delight. “I do hope you will continue to find me so remarkable in the times to come, once we are free of this trouble.”

“I am certain I shall,” she replied softly, her smile fading to a look of tenderness which he could not help but respond to, astonishing her all over again.

14

“So, what have we to look for?”

Lydia smiled up at Lord Ancrum, feeling her heart lifting. “We have two guests who left the room during the musical performance,” she said quickly. “One with a green gown and another with a pink satin gown.”

Lord Ancrum nodded, evidently recalling what they had discussed a sennight ago. They had met on various occasions prior to this afternoon’s walk, but as yet had not had the opportunity to discuss any progress made in detail.

“I have managed to discover the identity of the young lady with the pink satin gown,” he told her, bringing a rush of excitement to Lydia’s heart. “She is Miss Brinkley. I remember her attending, and in discussion with some others, was able to confirm that my memory was correct. From what I have discovered, Miss Brinkley returned to the room rather quickly, having only gone to the powder room. She was alone, however.”

“That is exciting indeed!” Lydia replied, feeling truly delighted that he knew at least one of the two. “So, we know the first. Do you know the second?”

A shadow seemed to cross over Lord Ancrum’s face, making Lydia’s smile fade. “I have been trying to remember but my mind has failed me,” he replied, sounding frustrated. “I recall Lord Paulson making a comment about a lady in a green gown, but as hard as I try, I cannot remember who he referred to.”

“That is not to be considered a failing, however,” Lydia replied, wanting to encourage him. “You have done very well, Lord Ancrum.”

His face split with a smile and Lydia felt her heart warm. There was such an obvious mutual affection now that neither of them could turn from it – and this brought Lydia more delight than she had ever thought possible.

“Thank you, Lydia,” he murmured, speaking her name quietly as they turned into St James’ Park. “You are a great encouragement, truly.” A dark look entered his eyes. “The Bow Street Runners have come to my door again, however. They have spoken to me at length about what I discovered the night of Lord Paulson’s death and I will confess that the manner of their questions has made me somewhat concerned.”

Lydia swallowed hard, her smile fading quickly. If the Bow Street Runners had returned to speak to Lord Ancrum, then that must mean that they considered him to have a strong motive for killing Lord Paulson. A cloud settled over her mind, but with an effort, Lydia thrust it aside. No good could come from giving into despondency. They had to continue with their own efforts in the hope that something would become clear.

“I am certain they were just making further enquiries,” she said, trying to put a smile on her face. “We need not concern ourselves overly much. We must instead concentrate on discovering who this lady with the green gown might be.”

“And speaking to Miss Brinkley so as to discover if she saw anything or to discern if she, too, was being blackmailed by Lord Paulson,” Lydia added quietly, her hand now settling on Lord Ancrum’s arm. She tried not to let herself think about what might happen if Miss Brinkley had, in fact, simply gone to the powder room and if they could not discover the identity of the lady in the green gown, knowing that they would be left without any sort of hope if such a thing were to occur. Instead, she tried to let herself be encouraged, to let herself hope. Her fingers tightened on Lord Ancrum’s arm, making him glance down at her with a look of concern in his eyes.

“You have not heard from Lady Starling again, I hope?” he said, clearly worried that she was holding something back from him. “She has not spoken to you in this last week?”

“No, indeed not,” Lydia replied honestly. “I have seen nothing of her nor have any consequences come tumbling over my head, as she promised.” A wry smile tipped her lips. “Mayhap she knows that she spoke foolishly and the matter is now at an end.”

Lord Ancrum did not look convinced. “Mayhap,” he murmured, his brows lowered. “There is still something about that incident that…” He trailed off, his footsteps becoming slower until they had both come to a complete stop. Lydia stared up at him, her heart suddenly thundering furiously within her chest as she watched him. The color was slowly draining from his face, his eyes widening with apparent terror, and Lydia could do nothing but wait for him to speak.

Lord Ancrum let out a gasping breath and then ran one hand down over his face.

“It cannot be,” she heard him say hoarsely. “It cannot be.” He looked at her with a blank expression, clearly overcome with something that he had only just realized.

“What is it, Lord Ancrum?” she asked softly, hardly daring to breathe, such was the obvious weight of the moment. “Has something begun to trouble you?”

Lord Ancrum rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, shaking his head in a confused fashion. “I—I have recalled what Lord Paulson said to me the evening I stood with Lady Starling,” he replied slowly, looking into her eyes. “It was Lady Starling who had asked me to aid her in finding a way to remove her from Lord Paulson’s grasp.”

Lydia blinked rapidly, trying to accept this new information without any sort of outward reaction. Lady Starling had been the one whom Lord Ancrum had sought to help, and yet he had hidden that from her. He had not told her the truth. Closing her eyes, Lydia took in a long breath, recalling the day she had seen Lord Ancrum and Lady Starling driving through the park in a carriage together. Her stomach had turned over at the sight, her heart aching furiously—and that had been before she had allowed herself to admit that she was rather caught up with the gentleman.

“Why did you not speak to me of this before?” she asked, her voice hard. “Why did you not tell me from the start that it was Lady Starling?”

Lord Ancrum groaned and shook his head. “I was ashamed,” he admitted, his face coloring a little. “I did not want you to think ill of me and I know the reputation that Lady Starling has. Therefore, I—”

“Therefore, you chose to hide the truth from me for fear of what I would think of you,” she interrupted, aware that this was, most likely, the truth in all its entirety, but finding that she was still quite angry with him for keeping it from her. “You were trying your utmost to prove to me that you were a gentleman of honor and you did not believe that your association with Lady Starling would show that. Is that not so?”

“It is.” He was looking at her now with a grave expression, as though he realized just how upset she was and yet was praying that she would understand. Lydia wanted to be rational, wanted to accept that he had simply made a mistake, but all she could feel was anger and frustration.

“Then is there a reason that Lady Starling came to me in order to force an end to our engagement?” she asked, a little too harshly. “Mayhap there is something you are hiding from me, Lord Ancrum?”

As she fixed him with her gaze, Lydia saw the color drain from Lord Ancrum’s face and felt her stomach twist with a sudden guilt. She should not have suggested such a thing and yet, before she could retract her question, Lord Ancrum had begun to speak. His brows were lowered, his eyes filled with anger and his expression one of sheer fury.

“I have never drawn near to Lady Starling, Lydia,” he hissed, taking a step closer. “I have never wanted to do so either. I am aware of her reputation, of course, but it has never been something that I have sought for myself. I made that clear to her from the beginning and in a way, she seemed glad of my friendship, for I did not behave as other gentlemen of her acquaintance did.”

Lydia swallowed hard, an ache building in her throat. “I see,” she said dully, but Lord Ancrum was not finished.

“When she told me of her difficulties with Lord Paulson, I could not simply turn around and walk away. I considered myself to be a gentleman willing to come to the aid of those who might need my assistance and, even though I knew I had to be careful, I offered to help extract her from Lord Paulson’s clutches.” His voice had grown a little louder now, drawing the attention of one or two passersby. “Mayhap it was foolish to do such a thing but that is the choice I made, Miss Whitaker. There was nothing more than friendship between myself and Lady Starling and I certainly do not condone what she said to you about our engagement. I cannot think where she had gotten such a notion, for as I have said, there was nothing of consequence between us.”

Feeling a little shaken by the volume and sharpness of Lord Ancrum’s voice, Lydia drew in a steadying breath and dropped her gaze to the ground. Lord Ancrum said nothing more, his voice dying away and the words being captured by the breeze. Nothing more was said between them for some minutes, leaving Lydia feeling confused and upset. She wanted to tell Lord Ancrum that she had not meant to speak in such an accusatory manner, and that she was upset and confused over his actions, but the words would not form on her tongue. Instead, they simply stood there for some minutes, with only the wind and the birdsong to interrupt them.

Eventually, Lord Ancrum cleared his throat and, daring a glance up at him, Lydia saw that he looked heartily ashamed of his behavior. His face was red, his eyes downcast, and his expression one of ruefulness.

“Miss Whitaker—Lydia, I—”

“There she is!”

Lydia whirled around, hearing a hard, angry voice speaking just behind her. Two men walked closer to her, their faces holding identical hard expressions. Stumbling forward, she felt herself enclosed by Lord Ancrum’s arms and clung to him, feeling as though he were her anchor in a dreadful storm.

“Miss Whitaker, I believe?” the first man said, looking at her with interest. “Daughter of Viscount Templeton?”

“I am,” Lydia replied, aware of the small crowd that was beginning to form around them. “Who are you, might I ask?” She took in the man, seeing his plain clothes but aware that he was not poorly dressed. All in all, he looked quite respectable.

“Jones, of the Bow Street Runners,” the man replied with a small bow. “We have need to speak to you, Miss Whitaker.”

“At once,” the second man replied, gesturing for her to walk with him, but Lydia only shook her head.

“I shall not go with you,” she stated firmly, her eyes beginning to search the crowd for the person who had directed the two men towards her. “Whatever it is you wish to ask, you may ask it here.”

The second man’s brows lowered, his expression growing irritated. “I am in no mood for games, Miss Whitaker. A mere conversation is all that is required at this present moment, although you will need to consider each and every answer you give us carefully. Only the truth will do, given that you have been accused.”

The color drained from Lydia’s face, her hands grasping tightly onto Lord Ancrum’s arm as his other hand slipped about her waist, steadying her. “Accused?” she repeated, aware that every eye was on her, every face turned towards hers with interest. “Of what, might I ask?” She felt her strength begin to fade away but forced herself to stand tall and speak with determination. “And who is it that accuses me?”

“You were seen leaving the room, Miss Whitaker.” The singsong voice of Lady Starling reached Lydia’s ears, and she turned her head to see the beautiful lady extract herself from the crowd and begin to slowly walk towards both Lydia and Lord Ancrum. “You did not return until after Lord Ancrum had found you. The poor fellow must have been so shocked to see Lord Paulson lying stabbed through the heart.” Her eyes flickered to Lord Ancrum, her expression appearing sympathetic. “And you are an excellent actress, I must say. Pretending to be shocked and horrified when you yourself were the one to kill him.”

A gasp rippled around the crowd and Lydia felt herself grow nauseous with a sudden fear. The Bow Street Runners were reaching for her, but Lydia shook her head, holding up one hand to them.

“I did not kill Lord Paulson,” she stated as firmly as she could. “I had nothing to do with his death.”

“If you would just come with us,” the first man said, as gently as he could. “We just need to speak to you, that’s all.”

Lady Starling’s eyes glittered, her hateful gaze fixed upon Lydia. “You tried to entangle Lord Ancrum in your little scheme,” she said loudly, so that not a single word would be missed by the gathered crowd. “You forced him to offer you his hand in marriage so that your reputation would not be disgraced—and in doing so, entrapped him forever.” She shook her head pityingly. “But not any longer, Miss Whitaker.”

“I had no reason to kill Lord Paulson,” Lydia stammered, ignoring Lady Starling’s visible dislike. “I had nothing to do with his death.”

Lady Starling tutted, as though Lydia were being deliberately untruthful. “You must not pretend that your mother’s difficulties were not a reason for you to wish Lord Paulson gone from this earth,” she replied softly, making a chill run down Lydia’s spine. “Lying will do you no good, Miss Whitaker. The Bow Street Runners will have the truth from you one way or the other.”

Lydia’s breath became ragged and she looked up into the face of Lord Ancrum, desperate to see some sort of reassurance, some sort of hope there. Lord Ancrum was looking fixedly at Lady Starling, his mouth pulled taught and his jaw set firm. Anger flashed in his eyes and seeing that look, Lydia was reassured that he felt nothing for Lady Starling and all that she offered.

“We will discuss this further at my townhouse.”

Lord Ancrum’s voice was loud and filled with authority and even the Bow Street Runners seemed to be aware of it, for they took a small step back from Lydia, with the second letting his outstretched hand fall back to his side.

“Lady Starling,” Lord Ancrum continued, his arm still protectively around Lydia, “you will accompany us also. I will not allow my betrothed to stand accused of something she did not do—and all of you present, I would ask you to wait before you make your own judgments that you will then, no doubt, spread throughout all of London.” The crowd muttered at this but Lord Ancrum silenced them with one swift motion of his hand. “I will not have rumors about my betrothed spread through the rumor mills,” he said angrily. “Hold your tongues until judgment has been served and the truth comes to light.”

“Your townhouse, then,” Lady Starling said smoothly, taking a step towards him and smiling up into his face, ignoring Lydia completely. “I should be glad to attend with you, Lord Ancrum.”

Lydia shuddered violently, the fear of what could happen to her taking a hold of her heart. Lord Ancrum said nothing more but gestured for Lady Starling to move away, and, much to her relief, the Bow Street Runners did the same.

“I believe I know the truth, Lydia,” Lord Ancrum whispered in her ear as they walked from the park. “You must trust me for what is to come.”

Lydia looked up at him, her hand snaking around under his arm, holding onto him for support. “I do trust you.”

“You may hear me say things that will seem to break your heart, but it is naught but a ploy,” he added, just as Lady Starling turned her head to look at them both. “It will all be nothing more than an act, as though I were a performer at the theatre.” His jaw clenched as he returned Lady Starling’s gaze, who smiled at him smugly before turning her head away. “And I will make certain this matter comes to an end.”

15

“I would have you seek her out and bring her here most urgently.”

Frantically, Joseph gave instructions to his butler, who frowned heavily at the dark expression on his master’s face. He told him precisely what he was to do and urged him to send as many footmen out as possible. The butler nodded quickly and hurried away, fully prepared to do his master’s bidding.

Clearing his throat, Joseph prepared himself for what he was to do next. It had only been earlier that afternoon that he had realized the truth, had come to see just how foolish he had been—and whilst everything, as yet, did not quite make sense, he was quite certain of where the guilt lay.

His thoughts returned to Lydia. She had been so terribly afraid, but in spite of this, had proven to him just how strong a character she had. In front of the small crowd and the gloating expression of Lady Starling, she had stood tall and declared herself innocent of any crime. It had only been when the Bow Street Runners had come to take her with them that she had turned to him for support.

Lady Starling was practically alive with the delight of what she had orchestrated. He had not understood why she had been so eager to separate both himself and Lydia but now, finally, he was beginning to see clearly the truth of the matter. No doubt Lady Starling believed herself to be doing something for which he would be grateful, but in that regard, she had entirely mistaken him.

Settling his shoulders, Joseph drew in a long breath and walked back along the corridor towards the drawing room. He had not wanted to leave Lydia sitting there alone, but he had not had any other choice, given that he had to speak to his butler about what was required. It also would, he hoped, give Lady Starling the impression that he was not particularly considerate of Lydia, which, whilst being entirely untrue, was what he wished her to think.

Pushing open the door, he cleared his throat and gestured to the two Bow Street Runners, who were standing by the empty fireplace.

“A drink, gentlemen?” he asked, the whisky and brandy to the left of the fireplace. “Please, help yourselves. I can see that my staff have been efficient enough to bring the ladies some tea, so please do ensure you have something to enjoy also.”

The two Bow Street Runners glanced at one another and, after another moment of hesitation, went to pour themselves something from the table. Joining them, Joseph poured a large measure of whisky into a glass and then returned to where he had been standing, able to see Lydia, the two Bow Street Runners, and Lady Starling. Lady Starling was sitting opposite Lydia, looking as calm and collected as he had ever seen her. She was looking towards Lydia, her eyes sharp and a tiny smile lifting the corners of her mouth, giving her a distinctly arrogant appearance. Joseph felt his stomach twist, his repugnance growing steadily, but he fought to keep such emotions from his expression.

“Now,” he began, as the two other men returned to where they had been standing. “You are to speak to Miss Whitaker about Lord Paulson’s death, I believe.” He gestured towards where Lydia sat. “You believe she is the one to have killed Lord Paulson, then?”

Mr. Jones, the first Bow Street Runner, cleared his throat gruffly but nodded. “It is possible,” he replied, ignoring Lydia’s swift intake of breath. “I would say we have good reason to believe it to be true as well. After all, Lady Starling here has told us that Miss Whitaker had left the room long before the musical performance even started and was only found by chance thereafter.”

Joseph, who thought this to be a rather unconvincing reason to place the blame solely on Lydia’s shoulders, shrugged.

“On top of which, Lady Starling was good enough to reveal to us that Lady Templeton, Miss Whitaker’s mother, was in debt to Lord Paulson. I will not go into specifics, but the incident that Lord Paulson threatened to reveal could have ruined the Templeton family. Miss Whitaker would have been ignored by all of society and thrust into a life of loneliness and isolation.”

“And so, you believe her to be guilty of killing Lord Paulson in order to protect herself and her mother?” Joseph asked, keeping his sigh of exasperation to himself. Seeing the two men nod, he shot a glance towards Lydia, who was staring up at him, white-faced and clearly afraid.

“I know that you were only forced to propose to Miss Whitaker because of what she saw,” Lady Starling murmured, getting to her feet and taking a few steps towards him. Her eyes were filled with sympathy, seeming to glow as she looked at him. “You were afraid that she would believe you to be the murderer and so, to protect yourself and her reputation, you had no choice but to propose marriage to her.”

Joseph, who knew this was, in fact, quite true, nodded slowly. “That is indeed the case, Lady Starling,” he admitted, not even glancing at Lydia. He forced a smile to his face as Lady Starling put her hand on his arm for a moment, as though in solidarity. “However, as much as I will admit that, I cannot pretend that such reasoning gives Miss Whitaker any particular guilt. No one saw her enter the room.”

“But she was the only one absent from the drawing room for a prolonged length of time,” the second Bow Street Runner said gruffly, as Lady Starling dropped her hand.

Lady Starling sighed heavily and looked back at Joseph, ignoring Lydia completely. “You are a kind man to try and protect Miss Whitaker, even though you care nothing for her,” she said softly. “But you need not do so any longer. No one will criticize you for bringing your engagement to a close now, Lord Ancrum. Allow justice to take its course. You will find yourself free once more.”

Joseph looked down into the face of Lady Starling and took in everything he saw there. She was beautiful, yes, but underneath that beauty lay a deep cruelty that bit out at everyone around her, at everyone who did her wrong. And it was up to him to reveal it.

“You want me to be free from my betrothal, do you not, Lady Starling?” he asked, putting his hand out and capturing hers with his fingers. “That is the truth of the matter. You have tried your utmost to discover a way to remove me from this betrothal.” He kept his voice quiet and gentle, hating how his fingers touched hers but forcing himself to do so regardless.

“I have always sought your best, Lord Ancrum,” she told him, her blue eyes fixed upon his and her words sweet and smooth as she spoke. “I know that this engagement must have been a torturous burden for you. You barely knew this creature and in spite of that, you were supposed to consider matrimony?” She sighed heavily and shook her head, clearly feeling a good deal of sorrow over what she considered to have been a terrible burden for him. “But you shall be free of it now and how much better for you that will be. You will be able to go about your life as you wish and take a bride of your choosing.”

“A bride of my own choice,” Joseph murmured, his heart twisting painfully as he heard Lydia gasp. “Someone whom I have come to know better than any other. Someone who has relied on me. Someone who has my trust. Someone who I must pray and hope will be able to turn her back on any other and look only to me.”

A slow smile began to spread across Lady Starling’s face and, as she looked up at him, Joseph felt a sense of triumph begin to flood him. This was going precisely as he had planned.

“You are much too generous, Lord Ancrum,” Lady Starling murmured, pressing his hand with hers. “But surely you must know that I would turn my back on all others should you offer me your hand. I have found our acquaintance growing into a deep intimacy that I would long to continue.”

Joseph’s jaw set, hearing the truth of what Lady Starling desired. It was as though a curtain was slowly begin pulled back to reveal what was hidden beneath it, letting him see the truth for what it was.

“You seek to blame my betrothed for the death of Lord Paulson so that you might take her place,” he said bluntly, tugging his hand out of hers and stepping back, his brows lowering in anger. Lady Starling’s eyes flared with surprise, her mouth falling ajar for a moment as he gestured wildly towards the Bow Street Runners. “You have taken these men in as you have done with so many others. You have tried to lay the guilt at Miss Whitaker’s feet when she has had nothing to do with it.”

“I am seeking only to protect you!” Lady Starling exclaimed, losing some of her decorum for a moment. “I am trying to ensure that you do not shoulder the blame.”

Joseph shook his head, a snort of disgust leaving his mouth. “That has always been your intention, has it not, Lady Starling? You did not want me to take the blame for Lord Paulson’s death, for then your plan would have come to naught.”

Mr. Jones, the Bow Street Runner, took a step forward and cleared his throat. “What plan, Lord Ancrum?” he asked, as Joseph moved towards Lydia, settling one hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently so as to reassure her. Lydia looked as though she were about to break down completely, tears filling her eyes as she glanced up at him.

“Lady Starling sought to push herself into my life in one way or another,” Joseph said firmly, seeing Lady Starling slowly sinking back down into her chair. “She knew that I was seeking to reclaim my good reputation and, thereafter, look for a wife.”

Lady Starling let out a harsh laugh. “You think I sought to marry you, Lord Ancrum?” She laughed again and waved a hand. “Do not be so absurd! All of society knows that I am not at all interested in such things.”

Joseph did not say anything for some moments but rather held Lady Starling’s gaze, seeing how she flinched at his unrelenting stare.

“What is it, Lady Starling?” he asked softly, his words seeming to light themselves with tension as they made their way towards Lady Starling. “What has occurred that you must now seek to marry? Have you no wealth left? Have your funds dried up?”

Lady Starling said nothing, but the way her eyes darted from place to place told Joseph that he had managed to come very close to the truth.

“Who was Lord Paulson to you, Lady Starling?” he continued quietly. “I know that you say he was a cruel fellow who was blackmailing you, but I cannot believe that to be true. I believe it was all a ruse, a pretense. What was it you sought to do?”

Mr. Jones took another step forward and Lady Starling looked up at him, although her chin lifted slightly as though to pretend she felt no fear.

“If there is any truth in what Lord Ancrum is saying, Lady Starling, then I would ask you to speak it now,” Mr. Jones said, his tone rather gruff. “It would be best for you if you did so rather than for us to have to investigate further.”

Lady Starling said nothing for some moments, looking from Mr. Jones to Joseph and back again. With her jaw set firm and her eyes flashing, Joseph felt as though she were trying to gather her strength, so that she could remain determined and strong in the face of her whole world collapsing about her.

“I should also mention that I have set my butler to the task of discovering the whereabouts of one Miss Preston,” Joseph added, before Lady Starling could speak. “When she arrives, I have no doubt she will tell us everything we need to know.” He arched one brow as Lady Starling’s face began to pale all over again, aware that he had finally brought Lady Starling’s defenses down. She was not to be victorious, as she had planned. Lydia would not bear the guilt and the shame of being the supposed murderer as Lady Starling had intended. No, the truth was about to be revealed and Joseph had every intention of hearing each word from Lady Starling’s lips.

Much to his astonishment, Lady Starling suddenly flung herself forward, her hands covering her face and her elbows burying themselves into her knees. She neither moved nor spoke for some time and, from a glance up towards Mr. Jones, it was clear to Joseph that the fellow had very little idea of what to do.

“The truth, Lady Starling.”

It was not Joseph that spoke, nor Mr. Jones nor the other Bow Street Runner. Instead, it was Lydia herself who spoke those words of authority, her voice not shaking and trembling as he had supposed. She was pale, her hands tight in her lap, but her strength was beginning to evidence itself once more.

“Speak, Lady Starling,” Lydia continued, when Lady Starling did not move or say a word. “You must know that you cannot hide any longer. The beginnings of your deceit have been revealed and there can be no escape.”

Silence reigned for some moments longer, until Lady Starling slowly began to sit up. Her face was ashen, her eyes dulled, yet her mouth was pulled into a thin, cruel line that could not be hidden from her expression. Her eyes narrowed as she looked back at Lydia, clearly angry in the midst of her defeat. Her mouth opened, ready to spit words of fury out at them all, only for the door to open and the butler to step inside.

“Miss Preston, Lord Ancrum,” he said clearly, ushering in a young lady who came into the room with hesitant and cautious steps. “And her mother, Lady Cuthbert.”

Joseph bowed quickly, seeing how Lady Starling stared at the young lady in horror, not even managing to get to her feet. His victory was certain now, and he suspected that Lady Starling knew it.

“Miss Preston, Lady Cuthbert,” he said, seeing the grey-haired older lady look at him in suspicion. “Thank you for attending and I must apologize for the way in which you were requested to come to my home. It is of the greatest urgency, I assure you.”

“What is it that you require of my daughter, Lord Ancrum?” Lady Cuthbert asked sharply. “I do not understand what has occurred that requires her presence.”

Joseph nodded, seeing how Miss Preston’s gaze was fixed on Lady Starling’s face, her cheeks paling. “We need the truth from her, Lady Cuthbert,” he said, as firmly as he could. “Before these men here, Miss Preston, might you tell us what Lady Starling required of you the evening of Lord Paulson’s musical soiree?” He saw the girl flinch as though his words had stung her, her eyes closing tightly for a moment. “You need have no fear,” he continued reassuringly. “Lady Starling cannot hold anything over you any longer and what you say will not leave this room.” He gave her a small, tight smile, which the young lady did not return. “Please, Miss Preston, do not hold anything back. The fate of my betrothed is at stake.”

Miss Preston drew in a long breath, looked at him steadily, and then nodded. “If you can assure me that nothing I say will be spoken to anyone else, then I shall do as you ask,” she said, her voice somewhat tremulous. With a glance up to her mother, she closed her eyes tightly, her breathing rattling out of her. “I am sorry, Mama.”

16

Lydia watched as the two ladies seated themselves opposite her, although Miss Preston made certain not to sit anywhere near Lady Starling. Lady Starling herself had gone a rather ugly shade of crimson, her hands clenched into fists in her lap as she glared furiously at Miss Preston, clearly trying to use her ire to prevent the girl from speaking.

Lord Ancrum came to sit down beside Lydia, his presence an overwhelming sense of security to her. She felt bolstered by it, emboldened to continue in strength and determination. Looking at Miss Preston, Lydia forced herself to remain outwardly calm, praying silently that the young lady would not restrain herself out of fear. Lady Starling was still directing all of her ire towards Miss Preston, who, clearly aware of it, was shifting in her seat in a most uncomfortable fashion. Lord Ancrum settled his hand over hers, drawing her attention towards him once more. He smiled at her, his eyes filled with confidence, and Lydia felt some of her tension leave her.

“If you would begin, Miss Preston,” Mr. Jones said, looking a little confused as he glanced towards Lord Ancrum. This had clearly taken an unexpected turn and the Bow Street Runners were, mayhap, a little taken aback at how Lord Ancrum had managed to turn their investigation around so quickly that they were no longer even considering her as the person responsible.

Miss Preston took in a long breath, lowered her head, and set her hands together in her lap.

“Lady Starling and I only became acquainted a little over a sennight ago,” she began, her voice so quiet that Lydia had to strain to hear her. “She discovered me in a rather… improper… situation and I—”

“Sophia!” Lady Cuthbert exclaimed, interrupting her. “When was this? And what precisely was it that—”

“If I might be so bold as to interrupt, Lady Cuthbert,” Lord Ancrum said loudly, getting to his feet. “I know that this may have come as a shock to you, but please be aware of just how grave this situation currently is. If you might permit your daughter to finish without interruption, I would be most grateful.”

Lady Cuthbert turned to Lord Ancrum wordlessly, her eyes wide and her hands shaking slightly as she settled them back in her lap. Her mouth closed tight and she nodded to her daughter to continue. Lydia could not help but feel a swell of sympathy in her chest for Miss Preston, aware of just how difficult this must be for her.

“I—I was foolish, Mama,” Miss Preston whispered, throwing the smallest of glances up to her mother before lowering her eyes again. “Lord Kingsley was most welcoming and sought to take a walk with me in the gardens and I…” She closed her eyes tightly, shaking her head slowly. “As I said, I was foolish. I thought that Lady Starling was there to come to my aid, to help me away from his grasping hands, but instead, she told me that I would have no other choice but to do as she asked. Else she would speak of my misdemeanor to all and sundry and thereafter, my reputation would be blighted forever.”

“How terrible,” Lydia murmured sympathetically, seeing just how the debutante had been taken in by a gentleman who was, most likely, well used to taking advantage of innocent young ladies such as Miss Preston. “And Lady Starling threatened to reveal all if you did not do as she asked?”

Miss Preston nodded miserably, looking across at Lydia. “I was to do her bidding whenever she wished it and without question.”

“I see,” Lydia said, slowly beginning to understand why Lord Ancrum had been so eager to have Miss Preston brought to the house. “That sounds most troubling, Miss Preston.”

Lord Ancrum cleared his throat gently, drawing the young girl’s attention. “And might I ask, Miss Preston, whether or not Lady Starling informed you as to the color of gown you would be wearing on the night of Lord Paulson’s musical soiree?”

Lydia’s heart slammed hard into her chest as Miss Preston nodded, the girl not daring to look anywhere but her hands as they lay in her lap. “Both the same cut and color,” Miss Preston whispered, as Lydia swallowed back the exclamation that fought to rush from her throat as she realized what Lord Ancrum meant by his question. There had never been any suggestion that Lady Starling had been the one to leave the room, for Lady Templeton would surely have recognized if such a well-known lady had risen from her chair. But, in the dimly lit room, would it not have been easy to make out the lady’s features as she quit the room? A lady in a green gown sitting in Lady Starling’s seat would have, of course, been thought to be none other than the lady herself—but what if that had not been the case? What if Miss Preston, being of the same height and slim build as Lady Starling, had worn the same gown so that she might take Lady Starling’s place for a time? Lydia’s eyes traveled towards Lady Starling, horror beginning to fill her heart as she saw how the lady’s expression was one of fierce, unrelenting anger. Lady Starling’s furious gaze was now settled upon Lord Ancrum, clearly furious that he had discovered the truth about her plans.

“You were the one to kill Lord Paulson,” Lydia whispered, her fingers wrapping around Lord Ancrum’s strong hand. “You had Miss Preston take your seat at the performance so that you might go about your business.”

Lady Starling lifted her head and looked directly back at Lydia and the coldness in her expression sent a flurry of fear through her heart. The lady showed no sign of remorse, no outward expression of sadness. Instead, she appeared to be angry that she had been discovered.

“Lord Paulson and I had a wonderful partnership,” Lady Starling said, her voice thin. “He and I made certain that certain members of the ton were obliged to pass on either money or favors to us.”

Lord Ancrum’s hand pressed Lydia’s hard for a moment. “You mean to say that you were both involved in blackmailing some of the beau monde?”

Lady Starling shrugged. “My fortune and wealth are not what they had once been,” she replied, as though this was to be expected. “Therefore, I had to find a way to supplement it. That is, until Lord Paulson decided that he would no longer participate in our arrangement.” Her eyes narrowed all the more, her gaze resting on the floor somewhere by Lydia’s feet as she thought of the late Lord Paulson. “He threatened me.”

“Threatened you?” Mr. Jones asked, making Lydia start in surprise at his gruff voice. She had been so caught up in all that Lady Starling was saying that she had quite forgotten the Bow Street Runners were there.

Lady Starling’s lip curled. “Lord Paulson was a cruel man,” she declared, as though to say that he was somehow much worse than she. “He took all the… particulars of our agreements so that I had nothing with which to continue bringing in money.”

Lydia shook her head, seeing the tangled web that Lady Starling was attempting to explain. “You mean to say that he took letters, written confessions and the like, so that you could no longer use them.”

Lady Starling closed her eyes, her jaw working for a moment. “Yes,” she grated, her eyes opening and fixing on Lydia, who, even though she wanted to hold the lady’s gaze, found she could not help but look away. “He did just that. Therefore, I had to find another reliable source of income so that I could continue to live as I pleased.”

A swift intake of breath by her side told Lydia that her betrothed had realized that the only thing he had ever meant to Lady Starling was money.

“Gentlemen do not want to marry a widow such as myself,” Lady Starling continued calmly. “I am known to care for my own pleasures and to choose them carefully—a gentleman of the ton does not want a wife who has once been a widow under other men’s protection. Yet, despite that, I thought that you, Lord Ancrum, might be the only one who could be convinced to do so.”

Lord Ancrum’s frame tightened visibly, making Lydia all too aware of the effect Lady Starling’s words were having upon him. She wanted to lean into him, to tell him that this was the end of their troubles and that he did not need to listen to Lady Starling if he did not wish to, but she knew she could not. This had to be said. It had to be understood, so that Lord Ancrum knew all. Only then could he have peace within his heart.

“You thought that, with my past indiscretions, the ton would not look upon me favorably,” Lord Ancrum said, his voice hard. “And you thought that if you approached me, you might encourage my affections to rise somewhat.”

Lady Starling laughed loudly, the sound brash and grating. “That is precisely what I hoped, yes,” she admitted, chuckling as though she had been playing some sort of mild trick on him. “You seemed quite amiable at first and then, of course, I garnered your sympathy by telling you the truth about Lord Paulson—although I neglected to share the entirety of the situation with you.”

Lord Ancrum shook his head, never lifting his eyes from Lady Starling. “You wanted me to find something incriminating so that you could take control yet again.”

“Of course,” Lady Starling replied blithely, waving a hand. “But I could not do it alone. Lord Paulson would be sure to notice if I quit the room without any reason to do so. Therefore, I had you go for me.”

Lydia frowned, her stomach roiling uncomfortably. “Then why state that Miss Preston had to wear the same cut and color of gown as you?” she asked, not fully understanding. “If your intention was to have Lord Ancrum seek out something with which to blackmail Lord Paulson, why did you need Miss Preston’s help at all?”

Lady Starling turned her gaze lazily onto Lydia, her color now returning to normal. Her anger seemed to have faded, for she had neither redness in her cheeks nor fire in her gaze. It was as if she had given up completely, realizing that her plan had crumbled to nothing.

“Because Lord Paulson was a trickster,” she answered, lifting one shoulder in a small shrug. “And because I did not trust him. When his invitation came for me to attend his musical soiree, I knew full well that there was something else underneath the invitation. And I was correct.”

Mr. Jones cleared his throat, his hands behind his back. “And might you explain what that was, Lady Starling?”

Rolling her eyes as if to state that Mr. Jones was nothing more than an incompetent fool, Lady Starling let out a long sigh and slid her gaze towards him. “Lord Paulson whispered in my ear that he knew what I was doing with Lord Ancrum,” she replied, gesturing towards the gentleman. “He stated that he would tell Lord Ancrum everything unless I was willing to give him a reason not to do so.” A small shudder ran through her. “I could not stand for such a demand.”

“And so you chose to kill him,” Mr. Jones stated, as Lady Starling held his gaze. “Is that it?”

Lady Starling nodded and then sat back in her chair. “I saw him leave the room, although I do not think he intended to do so prior to that evening. A footman came to him quietly, as I think I have told you before, Lord Ancrum.” She glanced at him but Lord Ancrum said nothing, his fingers now laced through Lydia’s. “Thereafter, I simply had to pray and hope that he would remain outside the room until Miss Preston came to seek me out.”

“I did,” Miss Preston admitted, tears beginning to run down her cheeks. “I rose to make my way to the powder room, looking towards Lady Starling as I had been instructed. She nodded and quickly, I slipped into her seat as she rose to leave. The performance was at its height and I cannot be certain that even the person who sat in the next chair even noticed what occurred, such was their interest in the performance.”

Lady Starling sighed and got to her feet, looking at Mr. Jones. Her shoulders slumped, the fight gone from her. “I did not mean to kill him,” she said, although Lydia did not know whether or not such a thing was true. “I had a small knife with me but that was only to protect myself should my discussion with Lord Paulson go awry.”

Lydia closed her eyes, recalling how she had seen Lord Paulson face down on the floor. “It went badly awry, then,” she murmured, making Lady Starling throw her a dark look.

“Indeed,” Lady Starling replied, a trifle tartly. “I threatened him and he merely laughed at me.” She lifted one shoulder. “I do not recall ever intending to push the knife into his heart.”

“You must have done so with a good deal of force,” the second Bow Street Runner said, his expression somewhat doubtful. “And there must have been some of his blood upon your person.”

For a moment, Lydia feared that the Bow Street Runner would not believe what Lady Starling said, but the first man, Mr. Jones, merely tipped his head and looked back at Lady Starling for her explanation.

“Anger gives one a good deal of strength, it seems,” Lady Starling said, her voice a little heavy. “The last thing I recall was seeing him fall to his knees. I believe his heavy landing on the floor pushed the knife in all the more.”

“And the dark green of our gowns would have hidden any marks of blood, I am quite certain,” Miss Preston added, as her mother handed her a fresh handkerchief. “That is the explanation you are searching for, I think.”

Lydia let out her breath silently, realizing that all the questions she had been wondering and thinking upon had finally been answered. Lady Starling had given herself up to the explanation of it, admitting her guilt and freeing both Lydia and Lord Ancrum from the matter entirely. She looked up at Lord Ancrum, seeing his expression fixed, his cheeks a little white. His eyes were focused on something on the other side of the room, although she doubted that he saw it. There was so much to take in, so much to consider, and she feared that it would take some time for them both to accept it.

“I think, Lady Starling, that we should continue this discussion in another place,” Mr. Jones said eventually, his low voice breaking the silence. “There will be consequences for what you have done, although I am quite certain you are aware of that.”

Lydia, aware of how difficult it would be to convict someone such as Lady Starling, who had both standing and wealth, closed her eyes and wondered silently what punishment would be offered. Lady Starling would not be hanged, as those in the lower classes would be, for such a thing would be entirely offensive to all of the beau monde. No, most likely Lady Starling would have to disappear entirely from London society. Where she would go, Lydia could not say, but they did not need to fear that she would ever again be a part of their lives.

“Very well,” Lady Starling replied quietly, gathering herself and then turning around, moving towards the door as the Bow Street Runners followed. “Good day to you all.”

Lydia rose to her feet alongside her betrothed, wondering at the strange manner of Lady Starling. It was as though she were merely saying goodbye after what had been a cordial visit, simply taking her leave of some acquaintances. She showed no sign of regret, did not ask Lord Ancrum to forgive her, and certainly did not want to make amends to Lydia. She had used them all to further herself, and now that it had all come crashing to the ground, there was nothing left for Lady Starling to cling to. Perhaps that was a punishment in itself.

“My thanks to you both.”

The door closed behind Lady Starling and Lord Ancrum turned to Lady Cuthbert and Miss Preston, who had finally finished weeping. “Without your courage, Miss Preston, I doubt we would have discovered the truth in its entirety. I hope you know just how courageous you have been.”

Miss Preston rose and gave him a watery smile. “I am glad to be free of it now,” she admitted hoarsely, as her mother drew herself up beside her. “And I know I can trust you to keep what I have said to yourselves.”

“As we must ask you also to do,” Lydia replied, giving Miss Preston a warm smile that she hoped would encourage her. “Thank you again, Miss Preston. You truly have saved us all.”

Epilogue

“You look resplendent this evening.”

Joseph smiled to himself as Lydia blushed furiously, although her eyes were aglow with happiness.

“Thank you, Lord Ancrum,” she replied softly, her hand already on his arm. “You look very dashing also.”

He chuckled at this, patting her hand and walking with her towards his theatre box. The play was meant to be one of the best to be performed this Season, but Joseph did not much care for that. All he wanted to do was to spend time with his betrothed, for now that the ugliness of the past few weeks was behind them, he was able to see just how wonderful his life was about to become.

“My mother is to attend with me,” Lydia reminded him with a rueful smile. “Although, she has not yet managed to tug herself away from her acquaintances, as you are able to see.”

Joseph looked over his shoulder and saw Lady Templeton gesturing wildly about some such thing to three other ladies, who were all agog with curiosity. He could not help but increase the speed of his steps, almost pulling Lydia along with him in his haste.

“She is telling everyone she knows about Lady Starling,” Lydia said, shaking her head as he led her into the box. “The truth has been suppressed as much as it can be, but it is well known now that Lady Starling has left for the continent. To leave England’s shores is significant indeed, especially without explanation.”

“And no explanation will ever be given,” Joseph replied, his jaw firm. “I should not want anything more to come to light than has already been made known.”

“No, indeed not,” Lydia concurred, “especially since we have agreed to protect Miss Preston.”

Joseph nodded, turning to her and seeing just how she bit her lip. He did not like to see her do such a thing, wanting her to be freed from worry. “Come now, my dear,” he murmured, forcing himself not to think any longer of what had passed. “We must put Lady Starling from our mind and look towards our future.” The box was wrapped in shadow and, unable to prevent himself from going to her, he stepped closer and gently tugged her into his arms.

A small gasp of surprise escaped her lips, although she looked up at him with obvious pleasure at their closeness.

“I did not ever think that I would be able to redeem myself in your eyes, Lydia,” Joseph told her, wanting to make the most of this moment, wanting to speak the words that had been growing in his heart for so long. “You must know that I admire you. You must be able to see just how grateful I am to consider you my bride.” He pressed one hand against his heart. “I do not feel as though I deserve someone as wonderful as you.”

“You have more than redeemed yourself, Ancrum,” she whispered, her hands reaching up around his neck as the shadows hid them from the ton’s watchful eyes. “Even from our first meeting, I found myself unable to remove you completely from my thoughts and now, as I stand here with you, I discover that I am unable to remove you from my heart.”

Joseph’s brows lifted, his heart swelling within him. He had wanted to speak these words first but it seemed that Lydia had managed to begin before him.

“I love you, Ancrum,” Lydia finished, her eyes searching his face as she spoke. “I do not think I could have kept myself silent any longer. It has been ten days since we last saw Lady Starling, and since that time, I have discovered that my heart has done nothing but yearn for you. It is filled with a love for you that I can barely find the words to express, but it is within me, nonetheless. And I have no doubt that it will grow all the more steadily with every day that passes.”

He let out his breath slowly, a smile spreading across his face as he tugged her closer. “You have spoken the very same words I sought to say to you this evening, my love,” he said to her, seeing her face light up as he began to lower his head. “You have been my constant. You have trusted me when there was no need to do so. You have shown me patience, have offered me understanding and now, you offer me your heart.” He captured her face with his hands, feeling the softness of her skin and finding his heart aching with all that he felt for her. “I love you, Lydia, and it is a love that shall never be taken from me.”

* * *

A Viscount to Remember

Brides of London

Prologue

She crept carefully towards the door, her feet barely making a sound. She was breathing rapidly, her heart beating with both pain and a desperate hope as she heard the murmuring of voices.

It had to be him. He was here now, within the house. He had said that he would speak to her guardian, had promised that he would do so just as soon as he could, and she had clung onto that promise with every bit of hope that she could muster. Her heart ached suddenly, her hands clasping together as she raised them to her mouth, closing her eyes where she stood and praying that he would be accepted.

Her breathing quickened. She could hear them now, speaking together. The truth was within her, desperate to be spoken, desperate to be let out, and yet she could not say it, would not say it, until she knew he had been given permission. The affection she had for him would not disappear merely because she had waited another day before speaking to him of it, but the desire to tell him the truth about her deep, unrelenting feelings for him was growing steadily. A smile crossed her face as she opened her eyes and leaned against the wall, next to the door. It would not be long now, would not be long until she could share with him the truth of her heart.

The door, being a little ajar, allowed her to hear what was being said without revealing herself. Surely there could be no reason for her guardian to refuse him. He was a kind, honest, and good gentleman, as far as she knew him, and would, she was certain, make an excellent husband. They would spend their years together in happiness, bound together by the cords of love.

“I am sorry, but no.”

Her heart stopped suddenly, forcing her to drag in a ragged breath. Her hands tightened together as a fist of ice gripped her heart.

“I do not consider you suitable,” she heard her guardian say, hardly able to believe that such a thing was being uttered. “You cannot court her.”

Her eyes slid shut, tears forming in them almost at once. She could hear the murmur of protest, could hear him trying to fight back against the determination, but knew her guardian well enough to know that there would be no reconsideration. He was a strong-willed man and once he had made a decision, there was nothing else for it. He had refused her the happiness she had been so desperate for, had refused to allow the only person she cared for to come any nearer to her.

Tears burned in her eyes as she turned around, leaning heavily against the wall for a long moment as she fought to gain her composure. She could not linger here, could not see him now. Nor did she want to see her guardian, for the pain of his judgment lay heavily on her soul. She could not understand him, could not even think of his reasons for refusing what could have been a joyous union. The pain in her heart grew so great that she had to press one hand to her mouth for fear of crying out, forcing her feet to move as she stumbled back along the hallway and towards the stairs that led to her bedchamber.

She was to be alone. She was not to be accepted into the arms of the man she loved. Her guardian had seen to that. He had ruined her one chance at happiness, for she would never feel such a thing for another, she was certain of it. His reasons did not matter, his thoughts did not interest her. All she felt was pain.

Tears poured down her cheeks like rivers as she staggered to the staircase. She could not linger here, not now. To continue to live in the same house as the man who had denied her so much was not something she could even consider. Her life had to change now but she knew that the pain would still linger. It would be something she carried with her throughout her life until, mayhap one day, she would finally be able to find a way to hide it from herself.

Her hope was gone, her heart was broken.

There was nothing left.

1

“You have not been successful.”

Miss Louisa Smallwood lifted her chin defiantly. “That is unfair, Father. You have given me no assistance in this matter.”

Her father, Baron Churston, was a slight man with a rotund middle, a round, unlikeable face with brows that were constantly furrowed, thin lips, and dark brown eyes that were, at the present, fixed entirely upon his daughter.

“That is not at all true!” the Baron exclaimed, throwing up one hand in evident disapproval. “I have aided you a great deal in finding a suitable gentleman, but no one has sought to court you and therefore, we are to return home.”

There was a slight look of guilt in Lord Churston’s eyes, however, for he did not look directly at Louisa as he spoke, turning to the left just a little as if he found her presence rather trying. Louisa, who was trying her very best to stand up for herself and, in turn, refused to accept her father’s verdict, noted this with a little satisfaction.

“That is not at all the case, Father, as well you know,” she stated with as much sternness as she could muster. “You have not introduced me to any gentlemen this Season. Not one. I have had to rely on my friend, Miss Grey, to do so.”

Her father’s expression darkened all the more. “I believe you mean Miss Grey, the lady who is now engaged to one Lord Marchmont.” An accusatory brow lifted, as though Louisa ought to have found a way to become engaged also.

“She is due to wed in a fortnight,” Louisa informed him. “But yes, it is she that I speak of. She has been the only one interested in encouraging my acquaintance with the gentlemen of the ton, whilst you, Father, have done nothing of the sort.” Louisa knew full well that without Miss Grey’s encouragement, she would never have found the confidence to speak to her father in terms such as these, having been somewhat quiet and accommodating in the months and years that had gone before. However, this year, her father had told her directly, and quite unexpectedly, that she was required to find a suitable gentleman and become engaged by the Season’s end, else she would never return to London again. Thereafter, he had commented that a gentleman near to his estate, one Sir Walton, might make her a suitable husband if she could not find someone with a better title and fortune.

The thought had turned her stomach. Sir Walton was not a young man and had, thus far, had three wives, all of whom had died from some malady or other, although quite what these maladies had been, Louisa did not know. Her father and Sir Walton were very great friends and, at various times, had done each other favors or offered help when there was none. Louisa strongly suspected that her father had made the suggestion that Louisa might be Sir Walton’s next wife once Lord Walton had completed his mourning period which, no doubt, Sir Walton would have agreed to at once. It would mean that her father would no longer have to look after her or be required to pay for her upkeep. It also meant that this, therefore, would be her very last Season, for Sir Walton would be completing his mourning period by the end of the year.

Louisa was not inclined to accept such a fate. She also suspected that her father had given her this final Season in the hope that she would be able to find a higher title and, therefore, a wealthier gentleman than Sir Walton but, having not held out a good deal of hope, had made very little effort to aid her.

“You have not helped me as you promised, Father,” she stated firmly. “Therefore, you cannot expect me to do as you ask. I will not willingly return home.”

Her father’s brows lowered. “You have never been so disagreeable before, Louisa,” he said disapprovingly. “When I tell you that your time in London is at an end, then you must obey.”

“I will not.”

Louisa drew in a ragged breath, steeling herself. Her father, clearly unused to his daughter being so disobedient and defiant, looked back at her in evident confusion, not at all certain what to do or say. Louisa knew she had to say more, had to state her case and demand that her father be of more assistance. Perhaps outright defiance was not the way to go about it, however. Mayhap she had to be a little more considered.

“Father,” she said, taking a few steps towards him. “You want me to be married and settled, which I well understand. However, do you not wish me to make a suitable match? To find a gentleman who will bring this family honor? And not to mention that there would be a good deal more wealth also. To have your daughter joined to… shall we say, a baronet, is decent, of course, but to have her married to a viscount or even an earl would be a good deal better, would it not?”

Her father’s brows lifted just a little.

“Yes,” he agreed slowly. “Yes, I believe it would. But Louisa, you have not shown any evidence of being able to capture the attentions of such a gentleman. I must therefore believe that a baronet or the like is all that you can achieve.”

Louisa shook her head firmly, her heart sinking within her as she realized that her suspicions had been correct. “But you have given me no aid, Father,” she answered, reminding him again of his failings. “That is unfair. You have left me to my own devices and to my friend, Miss Grey, whom I can no longer rely upon in the same way.”

Her father sighed heavily. “Mayhap I should find you a companion.”

The idea was not entirely to Louisa’s liking, but it was, at least, a good deal more improved than her father insisting that they leave London in the middle of the Season.

“It would certainly help me in my endeavors,” she replied cautiously, not quite certain whether her father was doing this for her benefit or for his. If he found a companion for her, then the onus would still not be on his shoulders when it came to finding her a suitable husband. “Have you someone in mind?”

Her father shook his head, clearly having decided to give into Louisa’s demand that they stay in London for the remainder of the Season. Louisa could not help but smile, finding it difficult to hide her emotion. She would have to write to Miss Grey at once and tell her that her encouragement to be bold and to stand up for what she wanted had done wonders. Lord Churston clearly had very little idea of what he was to do with his daughter when she behaved in such a fashion. This had led to Louisa managing to not only stay in London for the rest of the Season but also having a companion, which would give her more independence and certainly aid her as she attempted to circulate throughout society a little more.

“I am certain I can find someone very soon, however,” Lord Churston muttered, sitting down and slumping back in his chair, clearly no longer willing to try and fight his newly insolent daughter and betraying that singular lack of character that had been so often a part of his life. “We shall remain for the last two months of the Season, as you wish, Louisa. Thereafter, I think—”

“I shall be certain to find someone, of course,” Louisa replied hurriedly, hardly daring to believe that she had been successful in her endeavors as regarded her father. “You need not doubt that, with help from either yourself or my new companion, I shall be entirely successful.”

Her father passed a hand over his eyes, a small groan escaping from his mouth. He did not enjoy the Season, Louisa considered, although this was mostly due to the fact that he lost a lot of money playing cards and gambling when he ought not to do anything of the sort.

“Shall you search for a suitable companion for me, Father, or should I make some enquiries?” Louisa continued, when her father said nothing. She knew very little about how one went about finding a companion, but she was not about to let her father’s lack of decisiveness prevent her from succeeding. “We should go about it as quickly as possible, should we not?”

Lord Churston muttered something under his breath but then nodded, lifting his hand and looking at Louisa directly. “I shall take care of it, of course,” he replied, seeming now to be a little sullen. “Directly. You may go now, Louisa.”

Louisa, thrilled with the success of her endeavors, curtsied quickly and turned around, hurrying out of her father’s study for fear that he might stop her with a word and state that he had made a mistake. However, no such word came and Louisa was left with the delighted feeling that she had been completely and utterly successful. Clasping her hands together, she walked with quick, short steps, feeling as though she ought to write to Miss Grey immediately, to both thank her for her aid and her advice as well as to inform her that all was not lost, as she had first feared. She was to stay in London for the rest of the Season and now, it seemed, would have the correct sort of person beside her in order to improve and further her acquaintances. Surely there would be some gentleman from within the beau monde who might take an interest in her. Pausing for a moment, Louisa caught sight of her reflection in the mirror that hung in the hallway. She regarded herself, taking in her short, straight nose, her bright blue eyes, and dark hair that, today, had been pulled back into a simple chignon. Not overly pretty, mayhap, but what made things all the worse was the smattering of freckles that appeared over her nose and cheeks. Her lips twisted as she rubbed at one vainly, knowing that nothing she could do would remove them from her face. However, the way that she had conducted herself for the first few weeks of the Season had not been to her best advantage. She had been quiet and refrained, keeping back from the majority of the beau monde and feeling entirely uninteresting and rather dull. That had changed once she had met Miss Grey and for that, Louisa would be forever grateful.

A sigh left her lips as she turned away, climbing the staircase that led to her own bedchamber and, therein, her writing desk and quill. As she hurried within and shut the door behind her, Louisa felt some of her happiness return. She was about to embark on the next part of her Season refreshed and renewed. Who knew who she might encounter now? Her excitement began to grow as she seated herself and picked up her quill. She asked for neither love nor affection, but rather a practical companionship that would allow her to pass her years with genuine contentedness and, mayhap, a small fondness for the man she was to call husband. That was all she wished for, all that she hoped for. It would be more than enough for someone such as her, for a daughter of a baron—and one with freckles, at that—could not expect anything more.

2

A Sennight Later

“Well, Miss Smallwood, might I say that you look quite delightful.”

Louisa nodded, smiled, and looked across at her companion. “Thank you, Miss Martin,” she replied, thinking that this new companion of hers was certainly very complimentary, for this was now the fourth time she had commented on Louisa’s appearance. Miss Martin had only just left London, accompanying her prior charge, a Miss McBride, back to her father’s house, where the girl was soon to be married. This in itself was an excellent commendation and upon hearing of it from the girl’s father and his acquaintance, Viscount Whitaker, Baron Churston had hurriedly ensured that Miss Martin was immediately taken into his employ. She had, therefore, had to make her way back to London, having only just left it, but made no comment about her tiredness or the difficulties of such a long journey. Instead, she had been nothing but pleasant in her manner and most complimentary of Louisa. If things continued on as they were, then Louisa had no doubt that they would all rub along well enough together for the duration of the Season, and part of her prayed that whatever Miss Martin had done to aid Miss McBride in finding a husband, she might do the same for her.

Louisa turned her attention back to the full ballroom, feeling a slight pang of sadness over the loss of her dear friend, Miss Grey. “This is to be our first social outing together, is it not?”

Miss Martin nodded, although a light smile dusted her lips. “It is, indeed,” she replied calmly. “But you need not have any concern that I shall fail in my duties. I know precisely what is required of me.”

Louisa blinked, a little taken aback. “I had not even thought of such a thing, I assure you,” she said quickly, wondering if Miss Martin believed that she had, somehow, made an unfavorable impression. “I trust you absolutely, of course, as does my father.” She smiled as warmly as she could at Miss Martin, seeing how the lady relaxed just a little. The line between the lady’s brows began to flatten, pushing itself away, and her eyes cleared just a touch. Louisa studied her companion for another moment or two, taking in the lady’s sharp, brown eyes and the way that her thick, dark hair was pulled back tightly, accentuating her angular face. Miss Martin was not at all old, but evidently old enough to be considered a spinster, although Louisa was quite certain that should the lady be given the opportunity, she could appear quite beautiful in her own way. In fact, when she had first been introduced to Miss Martin, she had been struck by just how youthful the lady was, although she had not, of course, asked any impertinent questions. The same curiosity that had been there before began to rise within her again, making her wonder if Miss Martin had been forced, by way of circumstance, to become a companion or if she had been forced to do so by another. Louisa had very little knowledge of Miss Martin’s family and her past circumstances and inwardly resolved that, as their acquaintance grew, she would do her best to discover them.

“Now,” Miss Martin began, a little briskly as though to disrupt Louisa’s thoughts, “there are many gentlemen here this evening but not all of them will be suitable. It is good that I have been present in London prior to this, Miss Smallwood, for my knowledge of the gentlemen here this evening will be of great use.” She threw a glance towards Louisa, who was surprised at the stern expression that was now upon Miss Martin’s face. “You should look to me before you accept any gentleman’s request to sign your dance card. Do I make myself clear?”

Louisa blinked in surprise, stumbling over her words as she tried to agree. In one moment, Miss Martin had turned from a sweet, soft-spoken lady to a sharp-eyed, tight-lipped woman whom Louisa did not dare question.

“Good,” Miss Martin replied, looking across the room and, with a small nod to herself, beginning to walk further into the ballroom with Louisa hurriedly keeping up beside her. “Then we should have no difficulty whatsoever. Oh, and before I forget, there is one more thing I must state.” Turning, she stopped dead and looked directly into Louisa’s eyes, her brows lowering and turning her expression almost malevolent. “You must always return to me the moment your dance is at an end, Miss Smallwood. Do you understand? You should not tarry for even a moment and never once continue the conversation with the gentleman by your side without returning to where I am waiting.”

This, however, made Louisa frown. Miss Grey would not have done such a thing, for she had been bold and determined, and was quite content to continue a conversation with a pleasing gentleman should there be the opportunity to do so.

“I shall not leave the ballroom with a gentleman, if that is what you are concerned about,” she replied slowly, seeing how Miss Martin’s eyes flashed suddenly. “But I can see no reason why I should not continue to speak with a gentleman should he wish to do so. Surely you would be able to follow wherever I am gone, for it would only be in the confines of the ballroom and therefore, within plain sight of everyone else. I am not inclined to—”

“Miss Smallwood, I have been hired by your father to ensure that you find a suitable husband,” Miss Martin interrupted, ignoring the fact that there were gentlemen and ladies surrounding them both and instead continuing this strange conversation without even a momentary hesitation. “I intend to do just that. That means that you are required to do as I ask.”

Louisa twisted her lips to one side, her brows furrowing together. She did not much like the feeling of being kept on a rope, being hauled back to Miss Martin whenever a dance was at an end. Did Miss Martin not think her trustworthy?

“As I was about to state, Miss Martin, I am not inclined to disappear with a gentleman without consideration,” she said, trying to inject confidence into her voice and recalling how Miss Grey had shown her how to find such a strength within herself. “If a conversation is enjoyable and if the gentleman wishes to continue it, I can see no difficulty with me doing so. After all, you will have already approved of the gentleman, therefore there can be no particular difficulty if I choose to remain a little longer in his company.” She did not wait for Miss Martin to say anything more, giving her companion a quick smile and then turning away, making quick, hasty steps which managed to give the impression that she had seen someone she wished to converse with. Louisa’s gaze darted from one side of the room to the other, still inwardly astonished by the sharpness of Miss Martin’s voice and the hard expression she had worn. Had something occurred before which had made Miss Martin so wary? Surely not, for her previous charge was now engaged. There could be no earthly reason for Miss Martin to think so little of her, to have such a distrust that she expected Louisa to somehow throw herself at a gentleman without consideration, to the point that she was now insisting that Louisa return to her side immediately, like an obedient dog. It was a most unusual demand and certainly not one that Louisa would agree to. Yet again, she sent up a silent prayer of thanks for her friend Miss Grey and for the courage and the determination that she had helped blossom within Louisa’s heart. Without her, Louisa might now find herself standing quietly and in complete obedience next to Miss Martin instead of forging her own path into society.

“Ah, Miss Smallwood.”

With a grateful smile, Louisa greeted one of her acquaintances, Miss Buxton.

“Good evening, Miss Buxton,” she replied, dropping into a curtsy, which the lady returned. “It is a wonderful evening, is it not?”

“Indeed,” Miss Buxton murmured, as Louisa felt the presence of Miss Martin beside her, although the lady kept back just a little. “Now, allow me to introduce you to these gentlemen approaching, for I am certain you will enjoy their company.”

Louisa kept her head up and her eyes clear, putting a light smile on her face as not one, but three gentlemen approached Miss Buxton, bowing as one as they did so. Miss Buxton was not remarkably pretty, with rather dull brown hair that hung about her face in a less than charming manner, an overly long nose, and a lackluster smile, but she was also the daughter of a rich viscount and boasted a large dowry that would attract any number of gentlemen.

“Good evening,” Miss Buxton said, greeting each gentleman in turn. “And might I present to you Miss Louisa Smallwood, daughter of Baron Churston.” She gestured towards Louisa and, once again, spoke the three gentlemen’s names and titles to Louisa, whilst she curtsied and they bowed. There was a Viscount Broadbent, who was tall, thin, and carried himself with an air of arrogance, a Baron Manson, who hailed from Scotland and seemed to constantly have an overly large grin plastered on his face, and last came a Viscount Montague, who did not smile but merely bowed and looked away with an evident lack of interest.

Louisa sighed heavily within herself, thinking that these introductions, whilst she was most grateful for them, would not bring her the sort of delights she had hoped for.

“Might I enquire as to whether your dance card is…?” The Baron did not finish his question but continued to grin inanely at her and, with a small, quick sigh, Louisa held it out to him and tried to look grateful. Soon, her card held the names of all three gentlemen, although they each only signed their name for one dance and not two, for which, in a way, Louisa was most grateful. She was not relishing the opportunity to dance with each of the gentlemen before her, thinking that none of them exhibited any immediate interest in her.

“And are you here with your father, Miss Smallwood?”

Louisa looked up at Viscount Montague, seeing how his grey eyes flickered with what seemed to be a small amount of curiosity.

“Yes, of course,” she replied, suddenly recalling that Miss Martin was also present. “He is within the ballroom somewhere, although most likely, he has sought out the card room by now.” She tried to laugh, but given that Lord Montague did not give even the smallest of smiles in her direction, the sound cracked the moment it left her lips.

“Do you know Baron Churston, Lord Montague?” Miss Buxton asked, seemingly now rather interested in this particular conversation. “I was not aware that you knew him.”

Viscount Montague cleared his throat, his gaze seemingly drawn to something of interest just to his left. “I know of the baron, yes,” he admitted eventually. “But I have never been introduced to his daughter before this evening.” He drew his gaze back towards Louisa again, before snapping his heels together and inclining his head. “If you will excuse me, I am engaged for this next dance. Until later this evening, Miss Smallwood.”

“Lord Montague.” Louisa bobbed a quick curtsy, wondering if Lord Montague knew her father well and, therefore, was aware of just how little he cared about his daughter’s wellbeing. Or mayhap they had been involved in one of the many betting and gambling games that her father had partaken in over the last few weeks of the Season.

“Might I have a word, Miss Smallwood?”

Louisa jumped visibly, turning her head to see Miss Martin glaring at her, her eyes filled with an anger that Louisa could not quite understand.

“I am currently conversing with—”

“Now, Miss Smallwood.”

Utterly shocked at the behavior of Miss Martin, Louisa discovered that she had no other choice but to follow her companion, who began to weave in and out of the crowd, evidently expecting Louisa to follow her. Confused and embarrassed, she begged Miss Buxton to excuse her and followed after the lady, wondering what it was that had upset Miss Martin so. A stab of guilt to her heart made Louisa realize that she had failed in her promise to glance at Miss Martin before accepting any gentleman’s request to dance with her but, given that each gentleman had only offered her one dance this evening, surely there was nothing to be overly concerned about? Again, Louisa reminded herself that she had every reason to be confident in her own decisions and her own desires. Her companion was not to demand that Louisa did as she asked, for she was there to guide and encourage only. Anything more was overstepping the bounds of her employment.

“Yes, Miss Martin?” she asked, as the lady whirled about to face her, having led Louisa to a quieter part of the ballroom, where she now stood, next to the wall. “What is it? If it is to berate me for my lack of obedience when it came to accepting those gentlemen’s offer of writing their name on my dance card, I can only apologize. I quite forgot.” She offered an easy yet apologetic smile. “It is going to take a little time to become used to such a thing.”

Miss Martin’s brows furrowed, her expression dark in the shadowy light that surrounded them both.

“How dare you,” Miss Martin hissed, taking a small step closer to Louisa. “How dare you behave with such wantonness!”

Louisa stared at her companion before laughing aloud, unable to help herself. The suggestion that she had behaved with any such impropriety was quite ridiculous. “I have not shown any such shamelessness, Miss Martin,” she replied with a shake of her head. “I have accepted three gentlemen’s offers to dance with me and that is all. They have not behaved improperly and certainly are not cads or rogues, else Miss Buxton would not have introduced them to me.”

Miss Martin shook her head, her lips thin and flat. “You have no knowledge of these gentlemen, Miss Smallwood.”

“I have knowledge of my friend, Miss Buxton,” Louisa replied quickly, even though her heart was beginning to quicken with a fright that she could not explain. “I know that she would not introduce me to any gentlemen that were unseemly for one reason or another.” Feeling a spike of anger slam hard into her chest, igniting a spark within her, Louisa drew in a long breath and tried to make sure she spoke with calm eloquence. “What is it that you fear, Miss Martin? Do you fear that I shall behave improperly?”

“Yes,” Miss Martin replied with a hiss. “That is precisely what I fear, Miss Smallwood. In your desperation, you will do whatever you can to gain a gentleman’s favor, is that not so?”

A cold hand gripped Louisa’s heart, washing ice over her completely. “Desperation?” she repeated, blinking rapidly to keep a sudden flurry of tears from her eyes. “I may be many things, Miss Martin, but I am not so eager for a husband that I should behave improperly with any of them.” She shook her head, beginning to fear that this companion of hers would bring more difficulty than good. “I have no intention of behaving with anything other than absolute propriety, Miss Martin. You may have what you believe is an understanding of my current predicament and, no doubt, have heard many things from my father, but you have made an incorrect judgment if you believe that I shall do anything other than behave as I ought. I am not so desperate as to fling myself into the arms of any gentleman I choose, in the hope that a marriage proposal, whether forced or of his choosing, comes thereafter.” Her cheeks were burning now, seeing how Miss Martin’s eyes had narrowed in evident disbelief. “I would appreciate it if you would remove such a heavy hand from my shoulders. Else I believe our acquaintance, such as it is, might have to come to an end.”

Miss Martin shook her head, her gaze drifting away from Louisa for a moment only to jerk back directly towards her. “You are a fool if you believe that your father would simply remove me from his employ simply because you asked, Miss Smallwood,” she replied, sending another wave of ice crashing over Louisa’s head in an almost painful manner. “You have only a few weeks left, do you not? Therefore, I should expect you to do as I ask.”

“You may expect such a thing, but you will find your expectations unfulfilled,” Louisa replied, feeling herself begin to shake with restrained anger. “And I have no doubt that whilst my father might be grateful for you, he would be inclined to listen to me over you. So ensure that you remain aware of that.”

She could not bring herself to say more for fear that she might lose her temper entirely. Therefore, she turned her head and moved past Miss Martin, expecting her to follow her as she ought. Her cheeks were burning with heat, her eyes barely seeing where she was going, such was her fury. The way Miss Martin had spoken to her, the distress that had been caused by the anger in her words, was not yet gone from Louisa’s soul. In fact, it made her all the more upset to have had her companion, whom she had thought so kind at the first, to think so little of her that she suspected Louisa might try and force a marriage proposal by behaving improperly.

So caught up in her upset was she that Louisa did not notice the broad-shouldered, unsmiling gentleman approaching her. Nor did she see him stop, his gaze fixed, before clearing his throat and making his way towards her again. In fact, she did not notice him at all until she found herself walking directly into him, stumbling back in complete and utter mortification as the shame of what had just occurred flooded her completely.

This evening was not going as well as Louisa had hoped.

3

Daniel forced an easy smile to his face at once, seeing how the young lady’s cheeks flared with embarrassment as she dropped her head, curtsying quickly so as to cover her stumble.

“I am deeply sorry,” she stammered, her face still held low. “I did not—I mean, I was rather caught up with—”

“Please, do not concern yourself,” he replied grandly, seeing how her face burned an even deeper scarlet. “It was my fault entirely.” He bowed low, a trifle relieved when the young lady finally looked up at him. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about, I assure you.”

The young lady managed a small smile and made to turn away, only for Daniel to prevent her from doing so by continuing their conversation.

“It is a little improper, I suppose, but might I introduce myself? We have bumped directly into each other and for that, I think, we might allow ourselves an introduction.”

The young lady glanced behind her and Daniel let himself look at Miss Martin, fully aware of who she was. They needed no particular introduction. He knew precisely who Miss Martin was and what she did. Now, it seemed, she was this young lady’s companion, having been so successful with the last. Miss Martin gave a sharp shake of her head, not allowing her charge to greet Daniel, and for a moment, Daniel thought that he would have to find someone to introduce them properly if he was to have what he wanted. This idea was then thrown entirely asunder by the young lady herself, who, with a slight lift of her chin, turned back towards him and put a small smile on her face.

“But of course,” she said, surprising him entirely. Had not Miss Martin refused to allow her to greet him in such a way? Why, then, was she going against her companion’s demands?

“I—I thank you,” he replied, still taken aback by the young lady’s singular determination to do as she pleased instead of obeying her companion. “Viscount Williamson, begging your pardon for such an unorthodox introduction.”

The young lady smiled at him and, for a moment, he was struck by the warmth in her vivid blue eyes.

“I am Miss Smallwood, daughter of Baron Churston,” she replied with a demure lowering of her eyes that caught his attention all the more. “I am very glad to make your acquaintance, Lord Williamson, even though it has been in the most peculiar manner!”

He laughed at this, unable to help himself. She had no knowledge of the fact that he was already acquainted with Miss Martin, of course, but that did not matter for the present. “Your dance card, Miss Smallwood,” he said, going on impulse. “I do hope you might allow me to prove to you that I am not as heavy-footed and clumsy as I have thus far appeared.” He held out his hand, his lips lifted in the hope that she would give him her dance card without hesitation.

He was not to be granted his wish, however, for Miss Smallwood did hesitate, looking up at him with a curiosity in her eyes that seemed to hold her back. Daniel wondered if she was about to look back at her companion, who would, no doubt, refuse him at once on her charge’s behalf, but he kept his smile fixed and his hand outstretched in the hope she might show the same singular determination that had allowed her to accept his introductions when Miss Martin had wanted her to refuse.

His wish was granted.

“But of course,” Miss Smallwood said eventually, holding out her dance card for him to grasp. “I thank you, Lord Williamson. I am certain you are an excellent dancer.”

Chuckling, he took the card and looked down at the remaining dances, a little surprised that the lady had so few filled as yet. Throwing a quick glance towards Miss Martin, he saw how the lady glared at him, her eyes filled with warning, and he immediately wrote his name down in two spaces on Miss Smallwood’s card, making the lady blush at his urgency.

“I look forward to proving that to you, Miss Smallwood,” he murmured, directing his attention back to the lady in question. “Until later this evening.”

“Good evening,” she replied, dropping into a quick curtsy before walking past him, her companion in tow. No doubt the chit would have furious whispers in her ear almost the moment he was out of earshot, but Daniel did not think that Miss Smallwood would refuse to dance with him or make some sort of excuse in order to escape from it. No, she seemed a good deal more strong-willed and determined, which he had to admit, he appreciated. Miss Martin would, of course, try to do all she could to separate him from the lady, but Daniel did not think that Miss Smallwood would capitulate and that brought him a good deal of pleasure. Of course, he was only dancing with the young lady out of spite towards Miss Martin, although he felt no guilt whatsoever over the matter and instead felt rather happy that he would be able to do so. Miss Martin obviously thought him entirely unsuitable and that in itself made him chuckle.

“You look much too happy for what is a rather dull evening.”

Daniel laughed, grinning broadly at his friend, Lord Townend. “Not at all,” he replied, smiling as he gestured to the crowd in front of him. “This is quite a wonderful occasion, I think.” He tipped his head and arched one eyebrow in his friend’s direction. “Unless you have been disappointed in some way?”

Lord Townend looked back at him darkly. “You know very well that I do not have that same ease of manner that you display,” he replied, a little frustrated. “Thus, I spend evenings such as this attempting to converse with young ladies who soon realize that I am less than interesting and, therefore, turn away.”

Daniel saw the frustration in his friend’s eyes and felt his heart lift a little with sympathy. “You have nothing to fear,” he told him, wondering if he ought to mention the young lady that he himself had only just met. “Such young ladies are not worth your time, I believe, for they find almost every gentleman staid and boring unless they seek to show an immediate and singular interest.” He shrugged, having met such young ladies before. Young ladies who did nothing but smile, simper, and bat their eyelashes in a vain attempt to secure his interests. Should he fail to show them an intense interest almost at once, perhaps by not quite managing to be caught by their beauty or conversation as they had hoped, then they would turn their attention to the next gentleman and seek him out to be their quarry. “Although I should also tell you, Townend, that Miss Martin has returned to London.”

Without looking at his friend directly, Daniel saw all too well how his friend reacted. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Townend shift forward, as if to catch his breath, whilst his jaw tightened and his hands caught together in a firm grasp, as though to force himself to remain unaffected.

“I thought she was gone with her charge to ensure that the wedding went smoothly,” Lord Townend muttered after a moment or two. “Why now is she back in London?”

“I believe that she is here with another charge,” Daniel replied observantly. “Although she was less than pleased to see me, I will confess.” A slight pang of guilt rolled around his heart, as it always did when he saw Miss Martin.

Lord Townend snorted. “I should imagine so,” he replied with a roll of his eyes that was evidence that he cared nothing for Miss Martin’s reappearance. “Then I shall pray that she is as successful with this charge as she was with the last, so that she might again remove herself from town.”

Daniel said nothing, aware that Lord Townend knew of the difficulties that surrounded Miss Martin and that, in his own way, he was deeply sympathetic for what Daniel had to struggle with. Daniel, however, decided to put the knowledge that Miss Martin was back within society from his mind, thinking that he should simply focus on what would be a most enjoyable evening.

“Are you to dance with this new charge of hers, then?” Lord Townend asked, as Daniel allowed a smile to catch the corner of his mouth. “I presume that is how you managed to meet Miss Martin again.”

Daniel nodded. “I am,” he replied, choosing not to make mention of the fact that he had deliberately engineered an introduction so as to ensure that Miss Martin knew that he was now aware of her return to London. “Two dances, in fact, although Miss Martin was not inclined towards allowing her charge to even converse with me, never mind accept such an offer of stepping out on the dance floor.”

Lord Townend looked across at Daniel with interest. “And yet the girl did so anyway?” he asked, a little surprised. “A spitfire, then, is she?”

“I would hardly call her that,” Daniel replied with a laugh. “Just perhaps a young lady who does not like to be restrained by her companion’s agreement or disagreement.” He allowed his thoughts to return to Miss Smallwood, thinking that she was, he supposed, pretty and certainly a good deal more interesting now that he had seen her turn away from her companion’s advice. “I have two dances with her and the second is the waltz.” He chuckled as Lord Townend burst into laughter, clearly fully aware of what Daniel was doing.

“So you are doing your best to frustrate Miss Martin in any way you can,” Lord Townend said, rolling his eyes although his grin remained. “What is it that you hope to achieve in doing so, might I ask?” His eyes turned back towards Daniel, his smile beginning to fade. “Do you want to force her to realize that her choice of profession is not a wise one?”

Daniel’s smile was gone completely, his brow furrowing as he considered the question. The truth was, he had no particular idea what it was he wished to do, other than to ensure that Miss Martin knew of his presence and that he was aware of hers also. “I—I am not quite certain,” he admitted, seeing his friend nod. “You are aware that she is completely stubborn and will not be removed from her choice of path.”

Lord Townend’s eyes glinted. “Yes, indeed,” he grated, his smile also disappearing entirely. “I am fully aware of that, as you well know. I cannot see what continuing an acquaintance with her charge will do for you, Williamson.”

“It will not change her mind, that is for certain,” Daniel agreed, his brow furrowing as he thought of how Miss Martin had shaken her head so firmly at her charge, trying to convince the girl to stay away from him. “I just wish I knew what the reasons were for her to…” He did not finish his sentence, closing his eyes for a moment as a wave of pain washed over him, from his head right down to his toes. That was the worst of it. It was the realization that he did not know everything, did not understand it all. If only she had been able to speak to him of her difficulty, then he might have been able to help her.

“So you are simply going to dance with her charge this evening and, thereafter, leave things as they stand?” Lord Townend asked with a slight lift of his brow. “That does not sound like you, Williamson.”

“I left her last charge alone, did I not?” Daniel replied, a little more sharply than he meant. “I knew she was in London and left her to do her work, to go about her business without any sort of interruption. I can do the same again this time, can I not?”

“You could,” Lord Townend agreed quietly, “but from the look in your eye, I would surmise that you have no intention to do so.”

Daniel took in a long breath, settling his shoulders and glancing at his friend before returning his attention to the ballroom. “I do not know what it is I intend to do,” he replied honestly. “I am frustrated and angry, upset and despondent, all in one moment. It is a rather strange set of emotions and I admit that they quite confuse me.”

Lord Townend’s expression had cleared and he gave his friend nothing more than a nod, telling Daniel that he understood but did not want to comment further.

“I shall, therefore, dance and enjoy this evening without any further questions as to my own motives or my own desires,” Daniel finished, trying to convince both himself and Lord Townend that this was precisely what he wanted and certainly was the only thing he would do. “I have more than Miss Smallwood to attend to!”

Lord Townend chuckled, throwing Daniel a wry look. “I am quite certain that you do,” he replied with a grin. “Yes, I have seen how the ladies of the beau monde clamor for your attention, Williamson.” He sighed dramatically. “If only I could have both wealth and a handsome appearance. Then I might garner as much adoration as you.”

“It is a heavy burden to bear,” Daniel answered mirthfully. “But I must do so alone, I fear.” He bowed towards his friend in an affected fashion, making Lord Townend lift his eyes to the ceiling as though praying that Daniel would cease his dramatics, before waving a hand that told Daniel to go and seek his first young lady of the evening. Daniel, laughing quietly and feeling the burden roll from his back, did so at once, moving away in order to find the young Miss Winters, given that she was the first of his dances this evening. A small smile lit his features as he moved through the crowd, aware that what Lord Townend had said was quite true. Young ladies, and some older ladies as well, sought his attention without any hesitation whatsoever. Yes, he had wealth and a decent title, but Daniel was also aware that his dark hair and hazel eyes, square jaw and broad smile seemed to bring him even more attention. He had never considered himself vain and certainly dd not spend an inordinate amount of time in front of the looking glass before he made his way out to whatever social occasion he was called to, but he knew that he was not considered either plain or ugly.

“Might I ask what it is you think you are doing?”

A hissed, angry voice caught his attention and Daniel swung around at once, not at all surprised to see Miss Martin standing to his left, her eyes narrowed and angry and her hands planted firmly on her hips.

“Miss Martin,” he said easily, a little surprised that she had come to speak to him directly. “Is something wrong?”

“You know very well that something is wrong,” she replied, her words harsh and angry. “You cannot come near my charge.”

Daniel raised one eyebrow. “I cannot see why not,” he replied as amiably as he could. “Unless there is something wrong with her that, as yet, you have not told me?”

“I cannot trust you, Lord Williamson,” Miss Martin answered angrily, her brows furrowing all the more. “You are a cad and a—”

“I am not and have never been a cad,” he interrupted, his voice lowering and his anger beginning to flare. “You are mistaken, Miss Martin.” He held her gaze, her anger burning deeply within him as he looked back at her steadily. She had lifted her chin, her eyes bright with apparent fury, as though he had done something wrong when the truth was, he knew nothing of what she spoke. “If you would but speak to me of why you have such an opinion, you know that I—”

“Stay away from Miss Smallwood,” she interrupted, each word spiked and furious. “You are not to come near her again.”

She made to turn away, but Daniel, refusing to agree to what she had said, made sure that Miss Martin knew full well that he had no intention of complying with her demands.

“I shall dance with Miss Smallwood twice this evening and mayhap again another night,” he stated, his voice louder than he had intended. “I shall not do as you wish, Miss Martin. And if you continue to insist on such a thing, then I shall have to speak to you directly until you tell me the reasons for your anger towards me. You have never done so, and I will not be left in ignorance.”

“You know very well, Williamson.”

A flush darkened her cheeks as she bent her head and hurried away, leaving Daniel feeling as though he had struck her hard in front of everyone else present at the ball. A small flicker of guilt began to burrow its way into his heart, but Daniel dismissed it almost at once, refusing to let it linger. Miss Martin had stated that he was nothing more than a cad, as though he was well known amongst the ton as a rogue when the truth was that Daniel had done all he could to behave with the utmost decorum. He did not like treating ladies as though they were nothing more than playthings in whom he might take an interest for a while. Nor did he believe that one ought to take advantage of one’s title and standing within society, merely for his own pleasures. At times, it had been difficult not to do so, when he knew full well that he had the opportunity to behave as so many others had done, but his own personal sense of morality had driven him to stick to his decision. That was why it grated on him all the more that Miss Martin had called him such a thing, for it had no basis in truth and he could not understand her reasons for doing so.

“Ah, Miss Winters.”

Thankfully, his thoughts were caught up by the arrival of Miss Winters, who had seemed to appear out of nowhere, perhaps not wanting to miss even a moment of their dance. She accepted his greeting with a quick curtsy and bestowed an even brighter smile on him when he turned to offer her his arm so as to lead her out to the middle of the dance floor. As the music began, he bowed quickly and stepped forward to start the dance.

“And so, my opportunity finally presents itself!”

Daniel could not help but chuckle at the quizzical look Miss Smallwood sent him as he bowed before her.

“To prove to you that I am not a clumsy oaf,” he explained, seeing her eyes flare with a sudden understanding. “I know that we have already enjoyed one dance but that was the quadrille and certainly a good deal less was required of me compared to this particular dance.” He tipped his head, hesitating for a moment. “You are permitted to waltz, are you not?”

Miss Smallwood blushed furiously but did not drop her gaze. “I am, of course,” she told him unequivocally. “Else I would have told you from the start that such a thing would not be permitted.”

He inclined his head. “But of course.” Holding out his arm, he waited until she had settled her own upon it before making his way to the floor where so many other couples stood. “I must pray that my steps will be sure and that I will not stand on your toes, Miss Smallwood, for what then will you think of me?”

She did not laugh, however, as he had expected. Instead, she merely looked up at him, her gaze questioning. “My companion has reservations about you, Lord Williamson,” she said honestly. “I do not know of them precisely, but—”

“Have you had your companion long?” he asked, as the music began. He stepped forward and took her carefully in his arms, moving quickly across the floor. “Has she been with you throughout this Season?” He knew full well, of course, that Miss Martin had not been with Miss Smallwood for long, given that she had been the companion of another, but did not want Miss Smallwood to be aware of his prior knowledge.

“No,” Miss Smallwood replied, a touch uneasily. “This is the first outing we have gone on together and I have been a little surprised at her… firm direction.” These words were obviously chosen carefully and Daniel suppressed a smile as he twirled her about the floor. “Although,” Miss Smallwood continued, “I shall, of course, listen to her concerns when she comes to share them with me.”

“Indeed,” he replied, suddenly hearing a warning ringing in his mind. “But you must also remember, Miss Smallwood, that such concerns may not be entirely factual.”

She looked up at him, moving easily with him as they waltzed, her steps never faltering as they conversed. “You mean to say that my companion might be unfairly prejudiced against you?”

He nodded, surprised at the openness that was growing between them. It was not something he had ever experienced before with a young lady of the ton and, as such, he was not quite certain what to do with it.

“That is something I must consider, I suppose,” Miss Smallwood murmured, her eyes still latched onto his, framed by dark eyelashes that seemed to beg for his attention. “As I have said, Lord Williamson, I am a little confused as to my companion’s sharp tongue and resolute decisions. I thought her to be rather gentle and kind, but it appears that I may have misjudged the lady.”

Daniel wanted to say that, yes, she had misjudged the lady entirely and that underneath the gentle expression that could appear on Miss Martin’s face, there was a shrewd and often harsh character, but to speak such things aloud would be to inform Miss Smallwood that he already had a prior acquaintance with Miss Martin and that was not at all necessary.

“I do hope, Miss Smallwood, that you might permit me to dance with you again, at another ball or some such thing,” he found himself saying, although whether it was from a true desire to dance with the lady or to merely prove to Miss Martin that he was not a dangerous cad, he could not quite say. “I know that Miss Martin thinks poorly of me and will inform you to stay far from me, but I must beg of you to make your own decision on the matter.”

Miss Smallwood hesitated, turning her gaze away for a long moment. “I am not of a particularly strong character, Lord Williamson,” she told him, showing her vulnerability without hesitation. “I do not much like being told what to do or whom I should or should not speak to, but I must admit that it takes a good deal of strength on my part to do such a thing. It will be difficult to continue arguing with Miss Martin, when she may have good reason for her request.”

“Reason which you can listen to but not necessarily believe without evidence,” he stated, not wanting Miss Smallwood to believe that he was a cad simply because Miss Martin thought him so. “Seek things out for yourself, I beg of you. Do not allow rumors to bind your hands.”

Much to his surprise, Miss Smallwood laughed, her eyes brightening and her whole expression filling his heart with an unexpected delight.

“I know very well that rumors are not to be trusted,” she told him, her eyes twinkling. “Lord Marchmont and Miss Grey are my very dear friends and I was with them during what was a very difficult period that was filled with swirling rumors and the like. So you are correct to state, Lord Williamson, that I should not give any weight to rumors without evidence to back them up. Have no fear.” She dimpled at him again. “I shall not do so.”

The relief that filled Daniel’s chest surprised him. He had hoped that Miss Smallwood would not allow Miss Martin’s judgment of his character to hold her back from what might be a charming acquaintance, but to feel such an overwhelming sense of relief was quite unexpected and unexplained. The music, as though sensing that he was ready to bring this dance to an end, began to slow and within a few minutes, he had released Miss Smallwood and was bowing before her.

“Good evening, Miss Smallwood,” he said, seeing how she smiled at him. “I look forward to seeing you again.”

A faint pink appeared in her cheeks as she rose from her curtsy. “As do I, Lord Williamson,” she replied with evident honesty. “Thank you for your conversation and your company. I have enjoyed both.”

As have I, Daniel found himself thinking, as he led Miss Smallwood back to the visibly angry Miss Martin. As have I.

4

“Miss Martin.”

Louisa walked into the drawing room and came to a sudden stop, seeing Miss Martin standing just in front of the hearth, her arms crossed over her chest and her chin lifted. Her eyes were ablaze, her lips pulled taut and her cheeks quite pale.

“Good morning, Miss Smallwood,” Miss Martin replied, her voice thin and lacking warmth. “You appear to be in fine spirits this morning.”

Louisa held Miss Martin’s gaze, still questioning her companion’s strange demeanor. “I enjoyed myself last evening,” she answered, seeing how Miss Martin’s frown drew low, as though she ought not to have done such a thing. “Therefore, I am quite contented this morning.”

Miss Martin drew in a sharp breath and turned her head. “You mean to suggest, then, that you will dance and converse with Lord Williamson again, should he ask you.”

“Of course,” Louisa replied calmly, moving towards a seat and, only after tugging the bell pull, plumping down into it. “Lord Montague also stated that he would be glad to seek me out on our next social occasion and I accepted that compliment gladly as well. I can see no difficulty in accepting either such compliments, Miss Martin.”

Miss Martin turned her head back towards Louisa with an almost pitying expression on her face. “I think, Miss Smallwood, that it would be wise for me to tell you everything that I know of Lord Williamson, else you may—”

Louisa, recalling what Lord Williamson himself had said only last evening, and well remembering the sorrowful look on his face as he had spoken of rumors and the like—a look which he had quickly tried to hide—held up one hand, silencing Miss Martin at once.

“I think that unless you can speak to me with facts and truths as regards Lord Williamson, then I am not at all inclined to listen,” she told her companion, seeing how Miss Martin’s eyes flared with evident anger. “I will not listen to rumors and gossip.”

“He is a cad!” Miss Martin exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “It will do your reputation no good if you go near him.”

Louisa blinked in surprise. “My reputation?” she repeated, arching one eyebrow in Miss Martin’s direction. “What is so very wrong with Lord Williamson that my very reputation will be tainted if I dance or converse with him, Miss Martin? What is it about him that makes him a cad? If you will tell me of it all, without hesitation or basing your convictions upon rumors, then I shall be glad to listen.” She shrugged. “Else, I would rather you keep such considerations to yourself, for I will not be glad to hear them.”

Miss Martin drew herself up to her full height. “I have been employed by your father to guide you through society and to find you a suitable husband,” she stated coldly. “If you will not accept my advice, then I must go to your father.”

Louisa’s heart quickened but she showed no outward signs of concern. “Please do,” she replied with a small shrug. “In fact, I—”

Her sentence was cut off with the arrival of her father, who suddenly entered the room without so much as looking up from the letter he had in his hand. He did not even notice Louisa or Miss Martin, his brow furrowed low as he read the lines on the page.

“Ah, Lord Churston.” Miss Martin’s voice was high and shrill. “How good it is that you have arrived at the very moment we require you.”

Louisa got to her feet, her father’s eyes catching hers as he looked up, startled.

“Oh, good morning, Louisa,” he stammered, not so much as looking at Miss Martin. “My apologies. I was reading something of great interest and I came in here to…” Looking about him, he scratched his head, clearly having forgotten why he had made his way into the drawing room. “I meant to go to the study, I think.”

“It is good to see you, Father,” Louisa said quickly, before Miss Martin could say more. “Miss Martin and I were discussing the merits of one Lord Williamson, just as you came in.” She flashed Miss Martin a quick smile but saw that she was merely standing quietly, her arms folded and her eyes resting on Louisa with what appeared to be an expression of triumph. “Viscount Williamson, I believe.”

Lord Churston cleared his throat and dropped his hand to his side. “Viscount Williamson, eh?” he repeated, looking at Louisa with interest. “He was with you last night, I believe.”

“Yes,” Louisa said, smiling at her father. “We were introduced, in a manner of sorts, and Lord Williamson danced with me twice. He hopes to do so again, at the next ball.” She held her breath, waiting for her father’s reaction. “Does that please you?”

Her father frowned, glancing at Miss Martin. “Lord Williamson danced with you twice?” he asked, looking back at Louisa. “That shows a flicker of interest, does it not?”

“He was just being gentlemanly, I am sure,” Miss Martin interrupted, but Louisa took a step forward, drawing her father’s attention again. She did not want Miss Martin to unjustly prejudice her father’s opinion of Lord Williamson, especially when she did not know the truth about his character and wanted very much to decide for herself.

“He did ask if we might dance again at our next social occasion,” she said quickly. “I wanted to ensure, Father, that you were aware of such a thing. It is to show you that I am making progress, as you had hoped.”

Lord Churston nodded slowly, looking at his daughter and then at Miss Martin, who, thankfully, had decided to remain quiet as Lord Churston made his deliberation.

“I know Lord Williamson has a decent fortune,” Lord Churston began, a small smile beginning to spread across his face. “Better than that of Sir Walton, at least!”

“Yes,” Louisa murmured, not at all interested in how much someone had or did not have. “That is indeed true.”

“And a better title, too,” Lord Churston finished, looking quite delighted at the prospect. “Then yes, of course, Louisa! You must accept any attentions he throws at you.”

Miss Martin took a step forward, clearing her throat. “My lord, if I might, I do have some concerns about Lord Williamson.”

“Oh?” Lord Churston swung back around to face Miss Martin, his brows rising. “And what might they be?”

Miss Martin blinked, lifting her chin and holding herself almost taunt. “I have heard rumors that he can be something of a rogue, Lord Churston. You must know that—”

“Pshaw!” Lord Churston exclaimed, throwing his hand in Miss Martin’s direction. “All gentlemen have something of the rogue about them! Just so long as his reputation is not one of utter disgrace, then I can see no reason not to allow my daughter to accept his attentions. After all, it is not as though she has a good deal of time left with which to find someone now, is it?” He waggled a finger in Louisa’s direction, although a smile split his features. “There shall not be another Season for you, so you must make the most of what is given to you, Louisa. Yes, by all means, yes, accept Lord Williamson’s attentions—although if there is some deep, dark secret that he hides, then you have my agreement, Miss Martin, that Louisa should be taken from his side at once. But,” he finished, walking towards the door and bringing an end to the discussion, “I do not think that such a thing will occur. Do let me know if there are any further developments.” Throwing open the door, he turned around and looked over his shoulder at Miss Martin. “And my congratulations on being so successful thus far, Miss Martin.”

Louisa looked back at Miss Martin as Lord Churston closed the door behind him, feeling a big sense of both triumph and relief settle over her. Her father had given his support for Lord Williamson’s attentions should they occur, and Miss Martin would not be allowed to prevent it either.

“You are making a mistake, Miss Smallwood,” Miss Martin replied with a toss of her head that did not move her chignon even an inch. “Lord Williamson is not a gentleman worthy of your time.”

“But why?” Louisa insisted, moving closer to Miss Martin and trying to see into the depths of the lady’s eyes. “If it is only rumor that makes you fearful of him, then I cannot believe that such a thing is all you base your concern of him on.” She arched one eyebrow towards Miss Martin, feeling as though the lady had a great depth to her that Louisa had not yet even had the chance to see. It had all been so sudden. Miss Martin had appeared in her house and in her life and all had seemed to go well for the first few days. And then, at the ball last evening, everything had changed, and for Louisa, there was no explanation.

Miss Martin drew in a long breath, turned her head, and looked away from Louisa. “You will not listen to me, it seems. Therefore, Miss Smallwood, I do not think that you shall be successful with this Season. You shall not find a suitable gentleman for a husband.” She sat down on her chair, stiff-backed and still not looking at Louisa. “I shall not say that you will not get married, for that may yet happen, but you shall not be happy. You shall not find joy with such a gentleman as Lord Williamson. I will continue to warn you, shall continue to try and dissuade you for that is my duty as your companion, but I fear that your stubbornness and arrogance will bring it all to a sorrowful end.”

Louisa blinked rapidly, looking at Miss Martin and seeing the slight flush of her cheeks. “You have not yet told me, Miss Martin, why you believe Lord Williamson to be so much of a cad,” she stated, trying to keep her mind on Lord Williamson and not the many questions about Miss Martin herself that flew about her head. “Is it rumor only?”

Miss Martin closed her eyes, turned her head and opened them again, so as to look at Louisa. “I have had charges before, Miss Smallwood. Do you believe that I have not had the measure of some of the gentlemen here in London?”

“How many charges have you had, Miss Martin?”

Miss Martin blinked. “Two.”

“And you have found them both suitable husbands?”

“Yes.”

“And you have ensured that they avoided Lord Williamson?”

Miss Martin nodded. “Of course. They did as I instructed.” Her chin lifted, a slightly arrogant look in her eyes.

Louisa took a breath. “You will discover, Miss Martin, that I am not as obliging as your other charges. I do not base my consideration of someone based on rumor or gossip.” She lifted her chin a notch herself, matching Miss Martin. “Should you have been my companion last Season, or even earlier this Season, then I might have done as you asked, might have agreed without question, but thankfully I have discovered a new sense of determination and courage within myself of late.” She gave Miss Martin a half smile, which the lady did not return. “So therefore, I shall dance and converse with any gentleman I wish, unless I learn that their reputation is unequivocally stained.” With a sense of pride growing within herself at her newfound resolve, she let her smile spread all the more. “Do we understand each other, Miss Martin?”

“Yes, Miss Smallwood,” Miss Martin replied, her voice quiet and yet filled with a sternness that told Louisa she was not about to give up yet. “I believe we do.”

“Good,” Louisa replied with a small sniff, turning her head away from Miss Martin and feeling a sense of unease settle over her. She did not think that Miss Martin would end her attempt to convince Louisa that Lord Williamson was a cad and a rogue and wondered just how easily they would be able to progress if she continued to behave in such a manner. “Now, I am to go out walking this afternoon, Miss Martin. Do you intend to accompany me?”

Miss Martin did not immediately answer and Louisa could almost feel the cold, hard stare that was turned in her direction, although she did not look directly back at her companion.

“I am your companion,” Miss Martin replied eventually, her tone tight and her voice angry. “Therefore, of course I shall accompany you this afternoon. Might I ask where it is you intend to walk? And whom you intend to walk with?”

I would walk with Lord Williamson should he ask me, Louisa thought to herself stubbornly, almost wishing that she could state such a thing unequivocally, simply to show Miss Martin that she was disregarding her obvious dislike for Lord Williamson. “I am to walk with Miss Buxton,” she replied, catching the flash of relief that washed over Miss Martin’s tight expression. “We thought to take a turn about Hyde Park, a little before the fashionable hour as it can become awfully busy around that time.”

“I shall accompany you, of course,” Miss Martin answered, her eyes lowering to her lap. “And if you would but look at me for guidance if any gentlemen come to speak to you, then I would be grateful of that.”

Louisa cleared her throat, making her companion look up sharply. “I shall manage to converse with any gentlemen that approach without your help, Miss Martin,” she told her, wondering why Miss Martin seemed so desperate to protect her from seemingly almost every gentleman of the ton. “Should any seek to court me, then that is when I shall seek your thoughts and advice, although as I have said before, I shall not allow any rumors or gossip to be spoken of.”

Miss Martin shrugged and turned her head away. “Very good, Miss Smallwood,” she stated with a calmness that made Louisa all the more concerned. “I look forward to our walk this afternoon.” And so saying, she got up and excused herself, hurrying to the door and leaving Louisa sitting alone.

Sighing to herself, Louisa passed one hand over her eyes, hating that there appeared to be enmity between herself and Miss Martin. This was not what she had wanted. When seeking a companion, she had longed for someone to understand her difficulties and her urgency in seeking a husband. She had wanted someone to laugh with, someone to stand with her and discuss the merits of one particular fellow or to sigh over another who was perfectly eligible yet entirely out of reach. In short, she had wanted a companion she could respect yet could also become friends with. In Miss Martin, she had found neither. It was most disappointing.

And yet, Louisa had to admit that there were now a good many questions going on in her mind. What was it about Lord Williamson that Miss Martin hated so much? Was it merely that she believed the gossip and rumors that swirled throughout society? That was very strange indeed, for even Louisa knew that all such whispers often held only a modicum of truth.

“Just who are you, Miss Martin?” she murmured, her gaze on the closed door where Miss Martin had only just walked through, half-expecting her companion to return, sit down and begin to explain matters. When no such thing happened, Louisa sighed, shook her head, and sat back in her chair, her head resting to one side as her eyes closed. Whatever the matter was, Louisa was not about to let Miss Martin sabotage what could be a pleasant acquaintance. It might come to nothing more than that, but at least she could enjoy Lord Williamson’s company and conversation and that, Louisa thought to herself, a slow smile spreading across her face, would be quite lovely indeed.

5

Daniel sighed and ran one hand over his dark brown hair, looking at his reflection in the looking glass.

“And I thought you had not an ounce of vanity in you.”

The voice of Lord Townend made Daniel start, turning around to see his friend grinning at him.

“Indeed, that is true, I hope,” he answered, chuckling. “But for whatever reason, I find myself hoping that my appearance is as good as it can be this evening.” He arched one eyebrow in Lord Townend’s direction. “And it has nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that Lady Esther has accepted your invitation to this evening’s soiree.”

Lord Townend laughed, shaking his head. “You are quite ridiculous, Williamson. Lady Esther is to be present, yes, but she will be accompanied by that dragon of a mother, Lady Vasquez, and I doubt you shall be allowed to go anywhere near her without approval!”

Daniel sighed in mock dismay, although he could not pretend that he did not find the idea of meeting Lady Esther a little enticing. Lady Esther was one of the diamonds of the first water of this Season, and it helped enormously that she was the daughter of a marquess—Marquess Vasquez—and had an exceptional dowry to go with it. Marquess Vasquez would not be present, having been caught up with business, but Lady Esther would be accompanied by her mother, who would, of course, ensure that her daughter spoke to those she first approved of.

Silently, Daniel thought that Lady Esther would not take even the slightest notice of him, given that he was nothing more than a viscount and certainly not at all highly titled enough to interest the lady. Although the fact that Lady Vasquez had accepted the invitation of Viscount Townend suggested, at least, that she was willing to move through this particular social circle.

“Remind me of how you are acquainted with Lord Vasquez?” Daniel commented, as the last of Lord Townend’s staff took their places, ready for the guests to arrive. “Or is it that you know Lady Vasquez?”

“I was introduced earlier this Season,” Lord Townend replied with a small shrug. “Lady Esther even permitted me to dance with her on one occasion. I must admit, when I sent my invitations, I did not think even for a moment that Lady Vasquez would accept, but here it is!” He grinned at Daniel and held out a glass, which he had just filled with brandy. “I do hope the evening will go well.” His smile flickered for a moment, betraying his anxiety.

“It will go very well indeed,” Daniel replied at once. “There will be plentiful conversation and the food will be quite sumptuous, as it always is.”

“And do not forget that I have hired a small group of quite remarkable musicians,” Lord Townend replied, waggling a finger in Daniel’s direction. “And one or two of the young ladies are bound to play or sing thereafter.”

“Of course,” Daniel reassured him, wondering why his friend appeared so anxious. Was there someone he wished to impress? Or was it merely that Lady Vasquez and her daughter were to, unexpectedly, attend the soiree?

“Oh, and that young lady that you danced with some days ago is also invited,” Lord Townend told him, waving a hand in Daniel’s direction. “I was introduced to her at the time also, although we did not dance.” He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “I thought her quite agreeable and thought to invite her.”

Daniel blinked, a little surprised. He had not thought of Miss Smallwood since that particular evening, even though he now recalled insisting that he should seek her out for another dance should they meet at another social event. The matter with Miss Martin grated on his mind, irritating him a little as he considered seeing Miss Smallwood again. “That means that Miss Martin will, no doubt, be accompanying her,” he said, seeing how Lord Townend looked away. “Unless her father, Lord…” He closed his eyes, trying to remember.

“Lord Churston.”

“Yes, Lord Churston. Unless Lord Churston is to attend?”

Lord Townend shook his head. “The gentleman sent his regrets but insisted that his daughter would attend and would do so with her companion, so yes, both shall be in attendance this evening.” He looked at Daniel with a slight flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “I thought you quite liked the chit.”

“She was agreeable, yes,” Daniel admitted carefully, “but she did not capture my attention in any significant way, if that is what you are asking me.” His heart twisted for a moment, as though he had betrayed himself in some way, but Daniel thrust that aside quickly. Miss Smallwood had been easy to converse with, yes, and certainly he had discovered himself being a good deal more open with her than he had with any other young lady of his acquaintance, but that meant nothing in particular… did it?

“I think Miss Smallwood might be glad to see you,” Lord Townend offered, another broad smile settling over his face. “She appeared quite taken with you that evening.”

Dismissing this, Daniel rolled his eyes. “I hardly think you can suggest such a thing just because she and I danced together on two occasions that evening.”

“Oh, then you did not see her watching you with those intense blue eyes of hers,” Lord Townend replied with a quick chuckle. “You did not see how, in the middle of her conversation, she quite lost her thoughts for she was distracted by your nearness to us.” He lifted one eyebrow, sending Daniel into a whirlwind of confusion. “I know that you state you enjoy your life as it currently stands, but I do think that Miss Smallwood might merit a little more interest.”

“Or you just wish to see if Miss Martin will continue on her path to push me from her new charge,” Daniel replied dryly, not wanting to allow Lord Townend to convince him of something that was not truly there. He could not tell whether or not what Lord Townend had said about Miss Smallwood was true or whether he was simply saying it in order to convince Daniel to seek out Miss Smallwood again, perhaps to see how Miss Martin behaved thereafter. His friend was always seeking out something or other to occupy his mind, although some of the time it was not in Lord Townend’s best interests. This, Daniel suspected, was just another of Lord Townend’s schemes.

“You shall just have to wait and see, then, shall you not?” Lord Townend replied, not answering Daniel’s questions. “Miss Martin will attend, yes, although I do not think that she knows what to do with such a headstrong and determined young lady as Miss Smallwood!” He laughed and moved away, seeing the footman open the door for what was the first of his guests. “I do hope you have an enjoyable evening, Williamson.”

Two hours later and Daniel had still not gone to speak to Miss Smallwood, who was now conversing with Lord Montague. Lord Montague was showing Miss Smallwood a good deal of interest, Daniel thought, for the gentleman had been talking with her for almost half an hour and showed no sign of wanting to move away. Miss Martin was standing just behind Miss Smallwood, her eyes flickering back and forth across the room, as though she needed to prepare her charge should another gentleman approach.

The urge to approach Miss Smallwood and engage her in conversation grew steadily, despite Daniel’s insistence that he had no interest in the young lady. Whether it was because Lord Townend had made the suggestion that Miss Smallwood had been caught by his attentions during the evening of the ball, or because he himself found himself wondering what Miss Martin might do should he greet her charge, Daniel found it difficult to battle the increasing desire to draw near to her.

Allowing himself to study her from across the room, he took in Miss Smallwood’s fine form, seeing her sparkling blue eyes even from where he stood. She was laughing at something Lord Montague had said and, much to his surprise, Daniel felt a flicker of jealousy stir in his heart.

“Quite ridiculous,” he told himself sternly. “You have nothing whatsoever to be envious of!” However, he could not seem to drag his gaze away from Miss Smallwood, his hands clasping together tightly as he fought against the way she seemed to draw him near to her. It was quite absurd! He had never allowed his heart to become engaged to any young lady of distinction before, for there were far too many for him to consider, and even though he knew he would need to marry, he felt no particular urgency over it. But now, for whatever reason, he could not lift his gaze from Miss Smallwood and found himself recalling their prior conversation. He had been rather open with her, he had to admit, remembering how he had practically begged her not to listen to rumor but to allow herself to discover the truth about his character without influence from others. Why he had said that, he still was not quite certain. He knew full well that Miss Martin would be doing all she could to dissuade Miss Smallwood from furthering her acquaintance with him, but was that reason enough to practically beg the girl to seek out her own opinion of him?

Frowning, he turned his head away and rubbed at the lines that had formed on his forehead. He did not need to be so caught up with Miss Smallwood, he told himself firmly. There were plenty of young ladies here this evening whose company he might enjoy. Lady Vasquez and her daughter, Lady Esther, had arrived only a few minutes ago and there was certainly an increased interest in their arrival for the room had seemed to buzz with unhindered excitement.

“Lord Williamson, good evening.”

His head jerked up to see none other than the object of his thoughts coming towards him, a light smile on her face. Miss Martin was behind her, her face white and her eyes narrowed, but Daniel ignored her easily enough.

“Ah, Miss Smallwood,” he replied with a quick bow, wondering if she had caught the way he had been watching her and feeling a rush of heat climb up his spine. “Good evening.”

“You have been standing here alone for some time, Lord Williamson,” she said, her eyes flickering with good humor. “I thought you might appreciate some company.”

The way she smiled up at him had Daniel’s heart quickening, although he could give no explanation as to why that might be.

“That is most considerate of you,” he answered, inclining his head again and thinking that Miss Smallwood was, in fact, a most thoughtful creature. “I was merely thinking on some matters that had captured my attention of late.”

“Oh?” The curiosity in her eyes and her voice had Daniel flushing hot, realizing quickly that he could not exactly say what it was he had been thinking of. She leaned in, conspiratorially. “Is it to do with Lady Vasquez’s arrival?”

Surprised, he looked down at her, seeing how she grinned and finding his own lips curving upwards also. “It is the talk of the evening, I know,” he replied, his unease beginning to fade away. “Are you acquainted with either of them?”

Miss Smallwood surprised him by the sharp exclamation that came from her mouth, her cheeks flushing at his astonished look.

“No, of course I am not,” she replied, trying to cover her obvious embarrassment with a shrug of nonchalance. “I am the daughter of a mere baron, Lord Williamson. I do not think that the daughter of a marquess would be particularly interested in greeting someone such as myself, who has such a lowly position within society compared to their own.”

Daniel frowned, tilting his head just a little. “I do not think that one’s title or fortune should matter when it comes to acquaintances and the like, Miss Smallwood. I rather think that one’s character should speak for itself.”

“I quite agree,” she replied, her cheeks still a little flushed which, Daniel thought, gave her quite a charming appearance. “And yet that is not the way of society, is it?”

He chewed on this for a moment or two, aware of how the sparkle seemed to have gone from Miss Smallwood’s gaze. Did she truly think so little of herself, based only on her father’s title? There were many within society in a similar situation, for did not he feel such a thing himself, given that he was a viscount and Lady Esther the daughter of a marquess?

“I do not believe, Miss Smallwood, that we should allow our own consideration of ourselves and our standing within society to prevent us from greeting Lady Vasquez and seeking an introduction to her daughter,” he replied with a sudden firmness of mind and heart. “Here, come now.” Offering her his arm, he saw how she hesitated, glancing towards Miss Martin for just a moment. He himself did not look at Miss Martin, fully aware that the lady would be strongly discouraging Miss Smallwood to accept his arm, but thankfully, the lady ignored her companion entirely and, eventually, placed her hand on his arm.

A flurry of warmth rushed into his heart, but Daniel merely cleared his throat, seeing how Lord Townend was, at this very moment, talking to Lady Vasquez and her daughter. If they were to be introduced, then this would be the perfect opportunity.

“Come, then, Miss Smallwood,” he said, beginning to walk towards his friend. “Let us be bold and seek an introduction from Lord Townend. Who knows? We may find ourselves quite surprised at the reception.”

“I find myself a little surprised already,” Miss Smallwood murmured, her cheeks flaring with color as he glanced at her. “But I thank you for your consideration, Lord Williamson. It is most kind of you.”

“Not at all,” Daniel answered, feeling quite satisfied with himself. “I am glad to be in your company again, Miss Smallwood, and shall do all I can to ensure you have a wonderful evening.”

Quite where such a sentiment had come from, Daniel could not say, but he accepted it without hesitation or inner reproach to himself. There was something quite satisfying about having Miss Smallwood on his arm, Daniel thought to himself, seeing how Lord Townend turned towards them, his eyes flickering with interest. Perhaps he should consider seeking her out again so that they would not have to meet by chance at the next social occasion. Mayhap he ought to be a little more purposeful in his intentions—although quite what those attentions were, he was not at all certain.

“Good evening, Lord Townend,” he said, bowing as though he had not seen his friend all evening.

“Good evening,” Miss Smallwood murmured, looking demurely towards their host. “Thank you for a lovely evening thus far, Lord Townend. It has been most enjoyable.”

“I am glad you have had such a pleasant time,” Lord Townend replied, throwing a knowing look towards Daniel, who ignored it completely. “And do let me introduce you to my acquaintances, Miss Smallwood, if you would.”

Daniel felt his satisfaction grow as the introductions were made and both he and Miss Smallwood greeted Lady Vasquez and Lady Esther. For whatever reason, he felt almost proud that he had ensured Miss Smallwood had furthered her acquaintance and could now boast that she had conversed with the daughter of a marquess and the marchioness herself.

“You have been enjoying Miss Smallwood’s company again, I see.”

Daniel looked at his friend, seeing how Lord Townend spoke out of the corner of his mouth as Miss Smallwood continued her conversation with Lady Esther.

“I am,” he agreed, trying not to make anything of it. “And thank you for the introductions, Townend.”

Lord Townend chuckled, his sharp eyes not missing a single thing. “You do not seem particularly eager to speak to Lady Esther, however. Is it because you find yourself contented with Miss Smallwood’s company?”

Frowning, Daniel gave a tiny shake of his head, telling his friend that now was neither the time nor the place for such a discussion. Lord Townend merely chuckled and then returned his attentions back towards Lady Vasquez, who was watching Miss Smallwood and her daughter with interest. Daniel smiled to himself. Miss Smallwood was more enchanting than she knew, and certainly more interesting that she believed herself to be. Why, she had even satisfied Lady Vasquez, who apparently thought that the daughter of a mere baron was more than able to have a lengthy conversation with her daughter. Daniel found himself hoping that Miss Smallwood’s confidence would be buoyed by this, feeling a good deal of satisfaction that he had chosen to bring her towards Lord Townend.

Throwing a glance over his shoulder, Daniel immediately caught sight of Miss Martin, who was standing a few feet away, almost hidden in shadow. Were it not for the sharpness of her eyes and the angry expression on her face, he might have overlooked her entirely but, as it was, he could not miss her. Sighing inwardly, Daniel shook his head to himself and turned his head away. Miss Martin could be as frustrated or as angry as she wished; he was not doing anything improper. He was, in fact, doing more for Miss Smallwood than Miss Martin herself was able to do. Surely then the lady would be grateful, glad for the opportunity that had been given to her charge to further herself within society. But no, it seemed that Miss Martin was determined to dislike him, as she had always done. What he could do or say to convince her that he was not the rogue she believed him to be, Daniel did not know.

Turning his attention back to Miss Smallwood, Daniel felt his spirits lift. Yes, he would have to see if Miss Smallwood could be convinced to walk out with him one day soon, or if he might be able to call upon her. There was something about her that caught his attention, something that was drawing him to her—and it was a feeling that he did not want to fade away.

6

“It is very kind of you to ask me to walk with you this afternoon, Lord Williamson.”

Louisa smiled up at Lord Williamson as they walked together in the park, relieved that she had managed to leave Miss Martin back in the waiting carriage. She had promised that she would not go out of sight of it and thus insisted that there was no requirement for Miss Martin to walk with them both.

“It is a very fine day, is it not?” he asked, throwing her a quick smile. “A very fine afternoon.”

She nodded, looking about her and taking in the beautiful flowers, the shrubs, bushes, and trees that lay all over the gardens. It was, as Lord Williamson said, a very fine afternoon and she was enjoying every moment of it thus far.

The fact that he had asked her to walk out with him had come as something of a surprise, although she had been more than delighted to accept. Her father had agreed without hesitation, waving away Miss Martin’s obvious concerns and stating that he had not discovered anything of note about Lord Williamson’s conduct. This was, as far as Louisa knew, nothing more than a lie, for her father would have done nothing of the sort when it came to finding out more about Lord Williamson. Most likely, he had simply told himself that they were nothing more than rumors whilst being inwardly glad that his daughter was now making progress with a gentleman who would be richer and have a better title than that of Sir Walton.

“You appear to be a little distracted, Miss Smallwood.”

Her steps stumbled as a jolt of shame rushed through her. “My apologies, Lord Williamson,” she stammered, looking up at him and seeing the easy grin on his face. “I am so terribly sorry. I thought—I was merely thinking about something that has been on my mind of late.”

“Indeed. And what might that be, Miss Smallwood, if it is not too bold to ask?”

She hesitated, wondering if she ought to be truthful with him. There was a growing acquaintance between them, she had to admit, and she had found herself being rather open with him thus far in a way she had not been before, but this did concern him and he might not wish to speak of it.

“It is only that Miss Martin continues to encourage me away from you,” she replied, biting her lip after she spoke. Daring to look up at him again, she saw how he began to frown, the interest fading from his eyes. “I cannot help but wonder why she believes you to be a cad when I myself have heard no such rumors.”

Lord Williamson sighed and shook his head. “I am no cad, Miss Smallwood.”

“I can easily accept that, given that I have not heard any gossip even relating to such a name,” she answered honestly. “But why, then, does Miss Martin believe you to be so?”

Silence drew out before them, winding itself around her and tightening about her throat. Her awkwardness began to grow steadily, her question lingering between them and yet remaining unanswered. What was it that Lord Williamson did not want to say? Was it because there was, in fact, something in his past that Miss Martin knew of? Something that he had kept so well hidden that only one or two knew of it—and with Miss Martin being a companion, not many would listen to her? Terror began to clutch at her heart, making her breath hitch as she waited for Lord Williamson to answer. When he did not, she began to stammer nervously, trying to tell him that it did not matter, she had not meant to pry, but that it was only that Miss Martin’s vehemence was so overwhelming, she could not help it.

“Pray, do not worry, Miss Smallwood.” Lord Williamson stopped, sighed heavily, and turned to face her. “Might we sit for a moment?”

“Yes, of course.” Looking behind her, she saw a small wooden bench and seated herself on it quickly, smoothing her skirts and throwing a glance to her right, seeing that they were both in sight of the carriage. “As I have said, Lord Williamson, I did not mean to pry.”

“You have not,” he answered easily. “It is quite understandable that you should have such questions, when it is your companion that is urging you away from me.” Again, another sigh issued from his lips. “There is nothing in my past nor my present that should make Miss Martin believe me to be a cad or a rogue. That truth is there for everyone to see. I have never taken advantage of a young lady, nor have I lost myself in gambling and thereafter tried to escape paying what I owe. I have not treated anyone poorly, nor have I lorded myself over those less fortunate than I.” Shaking his head, he spread his hands, looking down at her where she sat. “I do not mean to boast, Miss Smallwood, but you must understand that I seek to clear my character and my name in your eyes.”

“I do understand,” Louisa replied hastily. “I just wish to understand why she thinks so poorly of you when there is no reason for her to do so.”

Lord Williamson shook his head again, his brows low over his eyes. “And she has said nothing?”

“No, she has not,” Louisa answered truthfully. “She gives me no explanation.”

Lord Williamson nodded slowly, his brows knotting as deep grooves lined his forehead. His eyes were turned away from her, as though he were considering something of great importance and deciding what it was he should do next.

“Then I can give you no explanation either,” he stated eventually, looking at her directly. “Your companion thinks ill of me and there is no reason for it, as far as I am aware. I wish I could tell you more, Miss Smallwood, for I do not want you to think poorly of me or to have questions about my character. If I could, I would ensure that your consideration of me was entirely positive.”

Her heart quickened at the sudden yearning in his eyes. “But it is, Lord Williamson,” she found herself saying, aware of the sudden change in his demeanor as she spoke. “What I mean to say is that I do have an entirely positive consideration of your character—thus far, at least.”

He looked at her steadily for some moments, not saying a single word. She took in the sudden lightness in his hazel eyes, the tiny lift in the corner of his mouth, and felt her heart quicken suddenly. A blush graced her cheeks, a blush that spoke of her heightened awareness of him, of the intimacy that seemed to grow with every beat of her heart. Mayhap she had spoken too openly or with too much conviction. Mayhap she ought not to have said a single word.

“You are most kind, Miss Smallwood.”

She swallowed hard. “I thank you,” she replied with as much sincerity as she could. “I speak of what is in my heart, Lord Williamson, that is all. I do not want you to think that talk of rumors will influence me.”

“Then you are most unusual,” came the reply, making her brows lift in surprise. “I beg you not to take offence, however, for I mean that you are one of the few to consider rumors, gossip, and the like to be precisely that—whispers that often have no basis in truth. You are one who would, I believe, not accept a rumor just upon hearing it but would then go and seek out the truth before making a decision.” Surprising her still further, he sat down on the bench and looked into her eyes. “I do not think, Miss Smallwood, that you would give someone the cut direct without being entirely certain that they deserved it.”

Louisa pressed her lips together, aware of how her stomach tightened and her fingers laced together. Had she ever been this near to a gentleman before? Had she ever seen such a look in a gentleman’s eyes before? She did not think so, for she would have recalled feeling as overwhelmed as she did at this present moment, she was sure.

“I—I should like to call upon you again, if I may.”

“Of course,” Louisa said at once, a thrill running up her chest as she saw him smile. “I would be glad of your company, Lord Williamson.”

“Good.” He held her gaze for another moment and then rose from his seat, offering her his hand. “We should return to the carriage. Miss Martin will not be particularly pleased if I should keep you out here for much longer.”

Louisa laughed, feeling the tension begin to drain from her. “I do not think she would be pleased with any length of time, Lord Williamson.” She accepted his hand, trying to ignore the way her heart thudded furiously with the touch of his hand on hers. “Not that such a thing matters to me.”

“No,” he answered, smiling down at her and, to her surprise, placing her hand on his arm so that they might walk together. “No, I am certain it does not and I am, I admit, rather glad of your consideration, Miss Smallwood.”

Louisa made to answer as a happiness began to bubble up within her heart, only for another voice to call out Lord Williamson’s name. She turned, her hand dropping from his arm as he let out a short exclamation of surprise.

“Lady Burton,” he said at once, bowing quickly. “Good afternoon! I—”

“Did you forget, Lord Williamson?” she cooed, ignoring Louisa completely. “I thought we were to meet some twenty minutes ago and as you can see, I have been patiently waiting.” She smiled and simpered in Lord Williamson’s direction, batting her eyelashes delicately.

Louisa tensed at once, not quite certain what this lady meant by suggesting that she was to meet Lord Williamson in the park, for surely Lord Williamson had called upon only her and would not have made another arrangement with someone else. She glanced up at Lord Williamson, seeing how a line formed between his brows as he looked back at the lady.

“I—I do not know what you mean, Lady Burton,” he said firmly. “I am sorry if you have made a mistake, but I have not made a prior arrangement to meet with you.” He gestured towards Louisa. “As you can see, I am currently walking with Miss Smallwood.”

Lady Burton trilled a laugh again, her perfect pink lips stretched into a wide smile that spoke of an understanding that, apparently, Louisa did not have.

“But of course,” Lady Burton murmured, her expression now becoming rather coy. “I quite understand.” She gave Lord Williamson a long look, her lips now curved in a seductive smile. “You must return to Miss Smallwood. Never fear, I shall not hold your tardiness against you.” Laughing, she turned away from them both, still having refused to give Louisa even a single look. “I shall be waiting precisely where we arranged, Lord Williamson, have no fear. I am nothing if not patient.”

The lady walked away from them both, leaving Louisa feeling utterly foolish and completely disregarded. Lady Burton, whomever she was, clearly thought that Louisa meant very little to Lord Williamson, for he was expected just to remove Louisa from his company and thereafter return to Lady Burton.

“Miss Smallwood, I must assure you that I did not make any arrangements with Lady Burton,” Lord Williamson began, turning to her with an expression of growing panic coming over his face. “I certainly did not tell her that I had any intention of walking with her in the park this afternoon.”

Louisa tried to nod, tried to smile, but felt her confusion grow so steadily that it was almost impossible to do so. “Of course,” she murmured, still not at all certain about what had just passed between Lady Burton and Lord Williamson. “I—I understand.”

“Quite where she got the idea that I was to walk with her today, I do not know,” Lord Williamson continued to protest, not moving an inch but rather continuing to stand in front of her. “I swear to you, Miss Smallwood, I would not have treated you with such disdain as to make arrangements with another lady of quality when I am meant to be solely in your company.”

Such was the eagerness in his eyes and the sound of desperation in his voice that, despite her own confusion, Louisa felt herself inclined to believe him. Quite how there could be such a misunderstanding, she did not know, but for the time being, she was content to accept Lord Williamson’s promise that he had nothing whatsoever to do with what had occurred.

“Shall we return to the carriage?” she asked, not wanting to consider the matter any further for the time being. “Look, I can see Miss Martin watching us both with her usual sharp eyes.”

This, it seemed, brought a small smile to Lord Williamson’s expression, his relief all the more evident when she accepted his arm once again.

“Thank you, Miss Smallwood,” he murmured, looking at her as though she had brought his every wish to life. “You are most understanding.”

Wanting to say that she did not quite understand everything that had just occurred but was willing to accept his word for it regardless, Louisa merely smiled and fell into step with him, walking quietly and quickly back to the carriage. Opening the door for her, Lord Williamson once more bestowed a warm smile upon her, which aided her reassurance all the more.

“Was that Lady Burton I saw talking with you both?” Miss Martin asked, the moment Lord Williamson had settled himself on the seat opposite Louisa. “She is that very rich widow, is she not?” A small, triumphant smile began to play about her mouth, but Louisa frowned back at her, not allowing her to grasp a hold of whatever victory she thought she held.

“I was glad to make her acquaintance, Lord Williamson,” she stated, even though Lady Burton had not so much as said a single word to her. “Thank you for such an enjoyable afternoon. I look forward to your next visit.”

Lord Williamson gave her a grateful smile whilst Miss Martin sank back in her seat, scowling. “A walk to the bookshop, mayhap?” he suggested. “Or an ice at Gunter’s, if the weather is fine?”

“I should be glad to do either,” she told him, throwing aside the last threads of confusion and doubt that held her. It had been a mistake, that was all. Lady Burton must have made arrangements with another and somehow thought it was Lord Williamson for whom she was meant to be waiting.

“Capital,” he replied, back to the easy, warm manner that she had enjoyed so much at the first. “Shall we say tomorrow? Or the day after that?”

Aware that Miss Martin was throwing angry darts in her direction, Louisa smiled back at Lord Williamson and let happiness fill her heart once more. “Tomorrow would suit me very well, Lord Williamson,” she replied contentedly. “I shall look forward to being in your company again very soon.”

“As will I,” he assured her, warmth in both his voice and his expression. “Thank you, Miss Smallwood. I have greatly enjoyed this afternoon and that has been singularly thanks to your excellent company.”

She blushed at the compliment and looked away, now more certain than ever that Lord Williamson had been caught up in a case of mistaken identity. He was genuine in his compliments and honest in his words, no matter what Miss Martin thought. She smiled to herself and looked out of the carriage window, seeing the London streets busy with ladies and gentlemen of the ton, all on their way to Hyde Park for the fashionable hour and feeling, for the first time in her life, a good deal of hope that she might, one day soon, walk these streets as a lady courted by an eligible gentleman. A gentleman like Lord Williamson.

7

“I cannot understand it!”

Daniel shook his head as he sat down in White’s, seeing Lord Townend gesture to a footman for a drink to be brought to them both.

“I have not seen Lady Burton in some time,” he continued furiously. “Whatever gave her the impression that I was to walk with her in the park, on the very same afternoon and at the very same time that I was to walk with Miss Smallwood?” He slapped one hand down hard on the table, the brandy in his glass sloshing at the impact. “It is most ridiculous.”

“Indeed,” Lord Townend murmured, looking at Daniel thoughtfully. “You say you have not seen Lady Burton for some time? Is that the truth?”

Feeling as though Lord Townend had slapped him hard across the face, Daniel felt his jaw jut forward, his brow lowering. “I am not inclined to mistruths,” he told his friend, seeing the flush of shame that immediately crept into Lord Townend’s face. “I am well aware that Lady Burton has a decent fortune, is widowed, and is inclined to share her favors, but I am not at all inclined towards her. Surely you know me well enough to understand that, Townend!”

“I do,” Lord Townend replied at once, looking a little ashamed. “Forgive me. The question was on my mind and I merely meant—”

“I have not spoken to the lady in weeks,” Daniel interrupted firmly. “I have not made any sort of arrangement with her. She has no interest in me, as far as I am aware. Therefore, I must try to understand why she thought I was to meet her in the park.”

Lord Townend twisted his lips, nodding slowly. “Did you return to the park once you had said farewell to Miss Smallwood?” he asked, to which Daniel nodded. “Did you try to explain?”

Daniel shook his head. He had not known what to do, for seeing the look on Miss Smallwood’s face as he had said farewell to Lady Burton had thrown him into a dither. The way she had nodded and tried to smile, had tried to pretend that what Lady Burton had said had not affected her in any way, had made his heart ache with confusion and frustration. “I did go back to the park, yes,” he admitted, recalling how he had hurried his carriage back towards Hyde Park, jumping out from it and wandering through it in search of Lady Burton. “But I did not find her.” It had been the fashionable hour by the time he had returned and so the park was practically filled with ladies and gentlemen of the beau monde, which had made it almost impossible for him to single Lady Burton out, but part of him was suspicious that she would not have been there anyway, even if the park had been practically empty. Something about it had unsettled him.

“It is most peculiar, I grant you,” Lord Townend replied, throwing back the rest of his brandy and then immediately ordering another. “So you were out walking with Miss Smallwood, did you say?”

“Yes,” Daniel replied distractedly. “But that does not matter. What concerns me is—”

“I should think it matters a great deal,” Lord Townend replied with a quick grin. “You were out walking with Miss Smallwood! That is excellent news.”

Daniel rolled his eyes, feeling his frustration begin to give way to exasperation. “Miss Smallwood accepted my explanation that there must have been some sort of confusion on Lady Burton’s part,” he replied quickly. “There is nothing to concern us there.”

“And you would not want Miss Smallwood to have a poor impression of you.”

Aware of what his friend was trying to squeeze out of him, Daniel spread his hands. “I am certain she does not,” he replied, seeing Lord Townend grin. “And yes, I am to call upon her again come the morrow, since no doubt you are eagerly going to ask me about such a thing in a moment.” He sighed as Lord Townend laughed, wishing that his friend would concentrate on what Daniel considered to be the much more important matter. “And yes, I consider her excellent company and I admit to looking forward to being with her again. There. Does that satisfy you?”

“Indeed,” Lord Townend replied with a wave of his hand. “You forget, Williamson, that I have not seen you in such a state before. You have never once shown much interest in a young lady of note.”

“That is because there have been none so open and none so interesting as Miss Smallwood before,” Daniel replied honestly, not hiding anything from his friend. “Young ladies often bat their eyes at me but care nothing for what I say or what my opinions are on any given thing. They see my title and fortune and nothing else.”

Lord Townend nodded slowly. “You believe she sees more?”

“I know it,” Daniel stated firmly. “She is interested in what I have to say, as I am in hearing her thoughts also. She is vastly different from the mostly insipid, rather vacant young ladies that have so often come close to me.” Feeling his exasperation begin to die away as his thoughts centered on Miss Smallwood, Daniel let out a long breath. “Pray do not mock me for it, old boy.”

Lord Townend looked surprised, his eyes widening and his mouth slightly ajar. Catching himself, he began to bluster, shaking his head and stuttering for a moment.

“I would do no such thing, no such thing!” he protested vehemently. “I do not think it mirthful that one should find oneself caught up with a lady, Williamson! I am surprised you think it of me.”

Daniel shrugged. “You must admit that it is a state that neither of us have discovered ourselves in before.”

Much to his surprise, Lord Townend turned his head away, looking a trifle uneasy. Daniel sat forward in his chair, astonishment seeming to push him forward. “Do not tell me that you consider yourself to have been so caught before, Lord Townend!” he exclaimed as the footman put down two fresh glasses of brandy on the table between Daniel and Lord Townend. “That cannot be!”

Lord Townend cleared his throat quickly, reaching forward for his brandy so that he would not have to look Daniel in the eye. “I would not speak of it.”

“But you must!” Daniel replied, a sudden burst of excitement rushing through him. “Who is the lady? Have you spoken to her father? Is he amenable?”

Holding up one hand in silent protest, Lord Townend turned sorrowful eyes back onto Daniel, silencing him completely. The smile fell from Daniel’s face as he took in his friend’s demeanor, a little surprised to see him so downcast. He felt as though he had come very close to something dangerous, something that, if opened completely, would bring Lord Townend a good deal of pain.

“Forgive me,” he stammered, feeling more than a little awkward. “I did not mean to upset you, Townend. Pray, do not speak of it if you do not wish to. I will not hold you to it.” Picking up his brandy, he sat back in his chair, wishing he could simply blow away the evident tension that was now between them, as a cloud moves away from the sun. Gruffly, he cleared his throat and tried to think of something to say.

“There is nothing to forgive.” Lord Townend’s voice was quiet, quieter than Daniel had ever heard it. “It is something that I have carried for some time, Williamson, and have not spoken of it to anyone.”

“I am sorry,” Daniel replied slowly, looking at his friend, only to discover that he was gazing at the table, a lost look in his eyes. “Why did it not work out as you had hoped?”

Lord Townend screwed up his face, his eyes squeezing shut. “I could not say,” he replied, his voice a little ragged. “That is the worst of it, you see. We were acquainted, that was all, but I found a fondness and an affection growing for her within my heart that I could not deny. Such a feeling scared me half to death and for some time, I did not want to even admit that my heart was gone to her.” He shook his head, throwing his hands wide as he opened his eyes. “But then I discovered that she had been out walking with another gentleman and that she had accepted his courtship. Before I could speak to her, however, she was gone.”

Daniel frowned. “Gone?”

His friend nodded. “She was simply no longer seen in society and when I enquired, I discovered that she had turned away from her life as she knew it. Even to this day, I cannot tell what it was that pushed her away although I fear that it was something to do with this other gentleman. I fear that he had attempted to take advantage and that she…” He shook his head. “I never once had the opportunity to tell her how I felt. It was much too late and I had not taken a hold of the boldness required to speak to her when I had the chance. She was gone. My heart was gone with her. Even when I see her now, it is as though we are strangers.”

Daniel blinked in surprise. “You see her still?” he asked, tilting his head. “I thought you said she turned from her life as it was.”

“Yes,” Lord Townend answered bitterly. “She did. For a time, at least. Now, it seems, she has returned to it, although not in all its fullness.”

Hesitating and aware that further questions might cause Lord Townend yet more pain, Daniel let out his breath slowly before pressing forward. “Might you try to seek her out again? To pursue her and to tell the truth? If you still care for her as you do, then—”

“I love her!”

The words seemed to rebound off the walls as Lord Townend, wide-eyed and red-faced, stared at Daniel with utter desperation. It was a state that Daniel had never seen his friend in before and, as such, did not know what it was he should do.

“I love her desperately,” Lord Townend continued, his voice lower than before. “And it breaks my heart every time I see her and every time she refuses to return my gaze, refuses to speak to me, refuses to even come near me.” Closing his eyes tightly, he thrust one hand into his hair, his head hanging low. “I do not know what it is that holds her back from me for I have tried to converse with her, but she merely turns her head away. It is utter torment, Williamson, and one that I might battle alone.”

Daniel was almost voiceless with the shock of what Lord Townend had revealed, aware that there was a part of Lord Townend’s life that he had no knowledge of. The inability to help him continued to burn into his mind, his thoughts flying from one thing to the next in the hope that he might find something to say to ease his friend’s suffering. Lord Townend had always been so jolly, so outgoing, and constantly cheerful that he had never once suspected there was a deep sorrow held within. It was more than a little astonishing and Daniel felt himself sink lower into the mire as he fought to say or do even a single thing.

“I—I am sorry,” he stammered, feeling utterly useless. “I wish there was something I might do to aid you.”

“There is not,” Lord Townend replied, drawing in a long breath and seeming to regain some of his composure. “I had thought that such feelings might leave me, but as yet, they have not.”

Daniel shook his head, picked up his glass of brandy, and drained it, feeling it warm his belly and take some of the shock from him. “You have always seemed very contented with life and I have never once suspected that—”

“I have tried to bury it within myself, but I have never been able to do so completely,” Lord Townend interrupted, beckoning to the footman and indicating the empty glasses. “At least now I might be the one to tell you that if you have even a hint of affection for this young lady, if you believe that you might rub along very well together, then you must grasp at the opportunity with both hands for it may never come to you again in this lifetime.”

Daniel nodded slowly, still quite astonished by what Lord Townend had revealed. “I understand,” he replied, finding this sober Lord Townend to be something of a conundrum. “I shall do as you suggest.”

This seemed to satisfy Lord Townend for he nodded sagely and then accepted another glass of brandy from the footman. “I thank you for your willingness to help me, Williamson,” he added as Daniel accepted the second glass. “I wish there was something you might do to remove this torment from me, but I fear there is not. I would tell you more but…” He trailed off, his eyes on the swirling brandy that he moved about the glass. A peculiar smile came over his face as he watched it, leaving Daniel with the unsettling feeling that there was more to what Lord Townend had said thus far, but also aware that his friend did not want to reveal anything else.

“But it would do no good, I suppose,” he finished, as Lord Townend sipped at his brandy. “You know that I should be very glad to listen to you, however, if there is ever anything more you wish to share.”

“I do,” Lord Townend replied, his voice and expression now a little firmer. “I do apologize if I shocked you somewhat with that outburst. I did not intend to let anything like that slip from my mouth and yet it did so without intention.”

Daniel shook his head. “Pray, do not apologize,” he told Lord Townend. “Truly, I was glad to listen.” He raised his glass. “And might I say that I hope, in time, things improve in whatever way they can.” He had not liked to see his friend so upset, hardly daring to imagine what it must feel like to care so deeply for a lady, only to lose her without explanation. And to see the lady in question again and have her refuse to even acknowledge one’s presence must make it almost unbearable.

Lord Townend smiled ruefully but raised his glass also. “One can hope, I suppose,” he muttered, before throwing back the rest of his brandy and draining the glass completely.

8

“Good evening, Lord Williamson.”

Louisa smiled in greeting as Lord Williamson bowed, clearly happy to see her, given the broad smile on his face.

“Good evening, Miss Smallwood,” he replied, raising his head. “I do hope you have had an enjoyable day.” His eyebrow lifted, his mouth quirked, and Louisa laughed in response.

“A most enjoyable day, yes,” she replied as his grin grew all the more. “In fact, I was out walking in the afternoon and came across a wonderful little bookshop. It was utterly charming and within it, I found some excellent new books to read.”

“Indeed,” he replied, sounding interested. “And were you able to purchase them?”

Louisa shook her head at his teasing, aware that he was pretending he had not been present so that she might compliment him. “I did not purchase them, in fact,” she answered, a twinkle in her eye. “However, I had an excellent companion who agreed to purchase them for me.”

“A companion, you say,” Lord Williamson murmured, his eyes darting towards someone over Louisa’s left shoulder. “You do not speak of your companion, Miss Martin, do you?”

A faint blush climbed into Louisa’s cheeks as she answered, knowing full well that she had enjoyed a wonderful afternoon with Lord Williamson and that even Miss Martin’s evident disapproval had not detracted from it. “No, I do not,” she replied warmly. “I had an excellent gentleman with me, and it was he who purchased the books. I must hope that he knows just how kind I think him to be, and how much I enjoyed being in his company this afternoon.”

Much to her surprise, Lord Williamson dropped his head, clearing his throat a little gruffly. A smile was still lingering on his face, however, making her wonder if he was a little embarrassed with the compliments she had lain out in front of him.

“You are very kind, Miss Smallwood,” he told her, glancing towards her. “I also had a most enjoyable afternoon, I must admit. Mayhap we might go to that bookshop together again soon—once you have finished those books, of course.”

“Of course,” she agreed quickly, her heart fluttering at the hope in his eyes. “I am a vivacious reader, Lord Williamson, so it shall not be too long, I should think.”

“Excellent.” He gave her another quick bow as though she had done him a great honor. “And before then, I must hope that you will be inclined towards walking with me again? Hyde Park? Or St. James’ Park?”

Louisa blushed with pleasure, hope flooding her heart as she looked into Lord Williamson’s eyes. “I should like that very much,” she answered, seeing his immediate smile. “In fact, Lord Williamson, I should be glad to go anywhere with you. I do enjoy your company.”

He blinked, perhaps a little surprised by her honesty, only to incline his head and then look down at her again. “Wonderful,” he said, looking as delighted as she felt. “Mayhap it should be St. James’ Park then, since we have already walked within Hyde Park.”

“I would like that very much.”

“Excellent.” Quickly arranging the day and time when they might walk together, Lord Williamson excused himself, saying he could see that there were others who wished to speak to her, and moved away from her side.

“What a shame.”

Louisa tensed at once, the smile dropping from her expression immediately as she turned towards Miss Martin.

“Miss Martin, I have no need of your involvement at present,” she told her companion sharply, not wishing to hear Miss Martin speak ill of Lord Williamson. “I am able to keep matters under control at present.”

Miss Martin sniffed, her face a little white and her eyes narrowed as she watched Lord Williamson walk away. Still, Louisa did not know what it was about Lord Williamson that Miss Martin seemed to despise so much, wishing that she knew the truth in all its entirety, but believing that Miss Martin would never give her what she wished. If not for the fact that the Season was nearing its end, as well as the fact that her father might well refuse, Louisa would have begged Lord Churston to find her a better, more suitable companion, but as it was, she had to keep Miss Martin by her side. It would not matter for too much longer, however, Louisa considered, for if things continued to improve with Lord Williamson, then she might soon have no need for a companion.

“Lord Montague seeks to speak to you also, Miss Smallwood.”

Louisa frowned. “Lord Montague?” She had not set eyes upon that particular gentleman since they had first met almost a fortnight ago. “He is present here this evening?” The musicale evening had around forty guests, by her estimation, but as yet she had not noticed Lord Montague, although that might have been due to the fact that she had only been looking for Lord Williamson.

“Indeed,” Miss Martin replied, her lips thinner than Louisa had ever seen them. She turned her head away, giving Louisa the impression that this was yet another gentleman that she disapproved of. “I believe he wishes to converse with you.”

“And you do not think that I should consider him either,” Louisa replied with a heavy sigh. “What is it about Lord Montague that you dislike, Miss Martin? Pray do not tell me that there is rumor and gossip surrounding him, for you know very well what I think of such things.”

To her very great surprise, Miss Martin took in a long breath and turned to face Louisa, her eyes no longer narrowed and filled with spite but instead holding a measured gaze.

“I am aware that I have given you a poor impression of my judgments thus far, Miss Smallwood, and whilst I cannot hope that you will listen to me now, I must tell you that I believe Lord Montague is not an appropriate gentleman for you.”

Louisa wanted to throw up her hands in exasperation, wanted to groan aloud and ask Miss Martin if there were any gentlemen within the ton that she would approve of, but given that she was surrounded by other guests, she knew she could not. Instead, she contented herself by expressing her exasperation in one long, heavy sigh, with a fixed, firm gaze and a slight shake of her head.

“I am aware that you wish to make your own judgments about such things, Miss Smallwood, but in this matter, I am correct in my warning. Lord Montague does not care for your company, but rather only for his appearance.”

Louisa frowned. “His appearance?”

“It will do him well to be seen in the company of a beautiful young lady such as yourself, Miss Smallwood,” Miss Martin answered, although her voice held no intonation, making her speak in a most dull fashion. “If you knew the gentleman better, you would see that he seeks to surround himself with beauty, charm, and good company, but that he cares for none in particular. He will not be the sort of gentleman who considers the future and looks to courtship and matrimony. You have my promise in that.”

Louisa wanted to throw aside Miss Martin’s comments at once, wanted to disregard them completely, but there was something in her companion’s voice that made her hesitate. There was no anger, no fury, and no evidence of frustration in her eyes or her speech, as there had been when she had spoken of Lord Williamson. Again, Louisa was convinced that there was more to Miss Martin’s dislike of Lord Williamson than she had said so far, but when it came to Lord Montague, Louisa found herself beginning to consider what Miss Martin said.

“It does not matter, does it?” she answered slowly, seeing how Miss Martin’s eyes flickered. “I do not care to be courted by Lord Montague, for my intentions are towards Lord Williamson.”

Miss Martin dropped her gaze. “You know that I—”

“You need not speak of it, Miss Martin, for as yet I have not discovered any truth to the rumors that you speak of as regards Lord Williamson, and therefore have decided to accept his courtship, should he ask it of me,” Louisa said firmly. “Therefore, Lord Montague, whilst I will speak to him, will not gain any attentions from me.”

Miss Martin let out a long breath, seeming to steady herself. “If I were to guide you towards one of them, Miss Smallwood, then it might surprise you to know that it would be the former,” she said as Louisa regarded her with a good degree of astonishment. “Lord Montague is not the sort of gentleman that anyone with your… requirements should consider.”

“I thank you,” Louisa murmured, feeling a small stab of sorrow over the fact that she and Miss Martin had never once drawn near to becoming friends. The lady held so much within herself, held so much back and seemed to speak only with dislike and anger towards Lord Williamson that it had driven them far apart from each other. Silently, Louisa wondered whether things would have been different had Lord Williamson not been a part of her immediate acquaintance. “I do appreciate your thoughts, Miss Martin, although I do not appreciate your anger when I do not do as you want.”

Miss Martin colored a deep scarlet, but her eyes held Louisa’s regardless. “I am only seeking to do what I believe is best for you,” she answered. “After all, have I not managed to seek out a husband for both my first and my second charges? I have done so using my knowledge of the beau monde and in guiding them carefully.”

Feeling as though she were making a little progress, Louisa let herself frown but only gently, not wanting to push Miss Martin away. “And yet you have given me no reason as to why you believe Lord Williamson is so entirely unsuitable. You have told me that he is a cad but have shown no evidence for such a statement—and, indeed, I have found none to make your statement true. How differently you have reacted to the news that Lord Montague wishes to speak to me. You have told me outright that he seeks out my company but have given me adequate warning as to his lack of sincere intentions which, I am quite certain, I will be able to find evidence for very soon, if what you say is true. You are not demanding that I stay back from him, or that I not even entertain his company.” She saw Miss Martin’s gaze drop to the ground and fought to keep her voice steady. “Why, then, Miss Martin, is there such evident dislike for Lord Williamson but, for Lord Montague, only a clear warning but no urgency to pull me away from him entirely?”

Her breath caught as Miss Martin looked all about her, seemingly desperate to land her gaze anywhere but on Louisa’s face. There was a struggle in Miss Martin’s expression, as if she wanted to state the truth but had found it quite impossible to do so. Louisa felt herself growing desperate, wanting to know what Miss Martin was hiding but fearing that she would say nothing.

“Lord Williamson quite broke the heart of Miss McBride,” Miss Martin said, her voice low and tremulous. “Miss McBride, my prior charge, believed herself in love with Lord Williamson but he turned her away, after having sought to court her for some weeks.” The lady drew in a shaky breath, lifting her head and finally looking Louisa in the eye. “It broke Miss McBride entirely, to the point that she almost made a dreadful scene in the middle of Lord Pottinger’s ball.” She shook her head, passing a trembling hand over her forehead. “Thank goodness we were able to find another gentleman to marry her so quickly.”

Louisa’s heart had slowly been filling with dread as Miss Martin spoke. She could not quite believe that someone as good and as kind as Lord Williamson could ever behave in such a cold, calculating manner and yet it did, she supposed, make sense. It explained why Miss Martin had such a vehemence towards Lord Williamson and also explained why there were no particular rumors about him that she could find.

“Why did you not tell me this before, Miss Martin?” she enquired, reminding herself that she still had to verify all that Miss Martin had said, for it was still merely hearsay. Mayhap Miss McBride had believed there was something more to her acquaintance with Lord Williamson than there had truly been.

“It was not my place to say.” Miss Martin drew herself up, her eyes now fixed upon Louisa’s, her gaze firm and steady. “I did not wish to bring any shame onto Miss McBride.”

Louisa shook her head, her forehead wrinkling as she tried to make sense of this. “But Miss McBride is now wed and contented,” she replied, confused. “It makes no difference to her whether or not you speak to me of her difficulties.”

Miss Martin swallowed hard and gave a minute shake of her head. “I am loyal,” she replied, lifting her chin a notch. “I keep secrets. I hide what I have seen and what I know. Understand this, Miss Smallwood. I would share nothing about my former charges unless it was absolutely necessary, not even if they have been married for a decade and produced a good few children within that time.”

“And it is very good that you have such discretion,” Louisa considered slowly, “But if it would aid my—”

“There are things I cannot share, Miss Smallwood!” Miss Martin interrupted, her face slowly turning crimson. “Things that I would not share with another living soul.” Gathering herself, she set her shoulders and clasped her hands in front of her, the implication of what she was trying not to say beginning to dawn on Louisa. “Now, shall I accompany you to Lord Montague?”

Louisa’s heart began to pick up speed as she looked into the cold, hard eyes of Miss Martin. She had appeared open and almost vulnerable for a moment but then, after what had only been a few minutes, that had faded and the sternness returned. Louisa knew full well what Miss Martin had been trying to suggest about Lord Williamson, and, fearing that there was more to his acquaintance with Miss McBride than Miss Martin was willing to say, she wondered whether, if such a thing were true, Lord Williamson was really the gentleman she thought him to be.

“Yes, yes, of course,” she stammered, trying to push such thoughts from her mind so that she could consider them at a later time. She saw the glint of steel in Miss Martin’s eyes and felt her own resolve steady. She would speak to Lord Williamson about what Miss Martin had said, would try and discover the truth without immediately believing what had been suggested. That, Louisa determined, was the only way forward.

“I can see he is waiting for you,” Miss Martin murmured as Louisa moved towards where Lord Montague stood, his eyes fixed upon hers. “I would ask you to at the very least consider what I have said about him, however.”

“I will,” Louisa answered with a steadiness that she did not truly feel. “And if I find there to be any truth in your concerns then I shall, of course, act appropriately.” She let out a long breath, forced a smile to her face, and greeted Lord Montague, who looked inordinately pleased that she had come to speak to him. As he bowed, Louisa caught sight of Lord Williamson looking over towards them, a smile fading from his face as he watched Lord Montague lift his head. Louisa held Lord Williamson’s gaze for a moment or two, telling herself that she had nothing, as yet, to worry about. She would speak to Lord Williamson directly and discover the truth about Miss McBride from his lips. If it was as Miss Martin said, then of course, there could be no furthering of their acquaintance and everything that Louisa had hoped for would fade in an instant.

“And are you enjoying this evening, Miss Smallwood?”

Dragged back to the present, Louisa quickly pasted a smile on her face and turned her attention back to Lord Montague. “Yes, indeed,” she lied, hiding her troubled heart from everyone, including herself. “And you?”

“It has improved all the more now that I have your company,” he replied with a broad smile. “And I must insist that I sit by you when the performances begin. I am quite certain that you will be the most entertaining of company.”

Louisa, who did not want to do any such thing, merely smiled and inclined her head, beginning to wish that she had never attended this evening. It had all been going so wonderfully and then, within a moment, her hope had begun to shatter, although it had not yet broken completely. She just had to hope that Lord Williamson would be truthful with her and that, when it came to it, he was not the cad that Miss Martin wanted her so desperately to believe him to be.

9

Something was wrong.

“You appear to be a little lacking in spirit this afternoon, Miss Smallwood.” Daniel did not hold back from speaking honestly to the lady, finding that her ready smile and her sparkling eyes were entirely absent this afternoon. “Is there something the matter?” His eyes narrowed as he saw her glance behind her, to where her companion walked a few steps away from them. Miss Martin had something to do with her present difficulties, then, whatever they were

“I—I have something I must ask you, Lord Williamson,” Miss Smallwood began, looking up at him with what appeared to be a hint of fear in her eyes. “Something that has been brought to my attention.”

He nodded. “Yes, of course.”

“It is to do with Miss McBride.”

The name did not immediately capture his attention nor remind him of anyone in particular.

“You do not know her?”

He shrugged. “If she is part of the beau monde, then there is every chance that I have become acquainted with her, yes, but I do not recall her name or her face, Miss Smallwood.” A little nervous that this was the wrong answer to give her, he saw Miss Smallwood’s face furrow. “I apologize if she is someone that means a good deal to you.”

Miss Smallwood shook her head, looking up at him again. Biting her lip, she hesitated and made to say something, only for the words to die on her lips. A slight breeze brushed between them as they continued their walk through St. James’ Park, sending a small chill down Daniel’s spine. What was it Miss Smallwood meant by such a question? He did not know anyone by that name and certainly could not recall their face.

“You are quite certain?”

“I am certain that I do not know anyone by the name of Miss McBride,” he said, a little irritated that he had to repeat himself. “Why do you ask, Miss Smallwood?”

Again came that hesitation and the biting of her lip. Her cheeks colored as she dared another glance up at him, making him wonder just what it was that lay so heavily on her mind.

“It is because I have heard that you were very well acquainted with her, Lord Williamson,” she told him eventually, each word cautious and careful. “I have heard it said that you sought to court her and that thereafter, you turned from her and broke her heart entirely.”

Daniel’s steps slowed as he looked down at Miss Smallwood, seeing the color in her cheeks and the shame in her eyes at having spoken so boldly and having asked so intimate a question. He could not speak for a moment, feeling as though someone had laid out a trap for him to fall into.

“I do not know anyone named Miss McBride,” he promised firmly. “I have danced and been acquainted with a good many young ladies over the Season and, indeed, the Season before it, but I have never once sought to court any of them. You might ask any of my friends, should you wish to verify it, but I am not the sort of gentleman who considers matrimony or the future and, therefore, I have had no eagerness to seek out courtship with any particular lady. You are mistaken, Miss Smallwood. I have never once sought to court Miss McBride, nor any other lady of my acquaintance. It is not a desire I have.”

Miss Smallwood stopped dead, her feet seemingly stuck to the path. Her bright blue eyes looked up at him, the color draining from her cheeks. For a moment or two, Daniel could not think what was wrong with the girl. Looking down at her in some confusion, he was about to ask what the matter was when he realized what he had said.

Heat climbed up his spine, blossoming color into his neck.

“That is, of course, until I—”

“If you have no desire to truly court me, Lord Williamson, then that is something you must share with me now,” Miss Smallwood began, her voice a good deal firmer and louder than he had expected. “I would not have you hide it from me. Please. I would like to know the truth.”

Daniel shook his head, his mouth feeling dry and his throat painful. “No, indeed not, Miss Smallwood,” he tried to say, wishing he could come up with an easy explanation. “It is only that—what I mean to say is that my heart and my mind have never once considered matrimony before. It has been something that I have tried to avoid, in fact.” Seeing her frown, Daniel groaned inwardly, realizing that he was making matters worse instead of better. “When I met you, however, Miss Smallwood, things changed entirely. I have begun to consider things that I have never contemplated before.”

“I see,” Miss Smallwood replied, nodding slowly as though she were trying to convince herself that he was speaking the truth. “And you are quite certain that you do not know a Miss McBride?”

“No!” His exclamation rang around the park, making Miss Smallwood’s eyes flare wide with surprise and shock and sending embarrassment crashing into Daniel’s heart. “No,” he said again, lowering his voice and dropping his head. “No, Miss Smallwood, I do not know a Miss McBride. I have not courted her, if that is what you fear. I have never courted a young lady before and yet that is the intention I have towards you.” He lifted his head and looked directly into Miss Smallwood’s eyes, seeing the shock still lingering there. “Forgive me for losing my temper, Miss Smallwood. It is only that I find that so many things are being said of me by one or two individuals that I find it both irritating and immensely frustrating. I want to be well thought of by you. You told me that you do not give credence to rumors and that is why—”

“It is because I do not give them any weight that I come to you now, asking to know the truth,” she replied, her eyes lifting to his and holding them with a fierceness that surprised him. “Can you not see that, Lord Williamson? I seek to know the truth so that I might discard all rumors that swirl around me.” She shook her head, her brows binding themselves together as she frowned. “I cannot understand why Miss Martin thinks so ill of you,” she added, tilting her head just a little as she looked at him. “Why does she speak so poorly of you? Could there be any possibility that she is simply making up this story of Miss McBride so as to influence me further?”

Daniel let out a long breath, the urge to tell Miss Smallwood the truth about Miss Martin burning in his mind. He had made a promise, however—a promise that he was bound to keep. He could not tell Miss Smallwood the truth about Miss Martin unless Miss Martin chose to do so first. He was not the sort of gentleman who spoke untruths, but neither was he the kind who made promises only to shatter them when things suited him.

“Miss Martin is mistaken,” he told Miss Smallwood, praying that this would be enough to satisfy her. “I am not the gentleman who broke Miss McBride’s heart, if that is what she fears. I do not even know the lady! I cannot recall her face or even her name. Please, Miss Smallwood, do not allow this untruth to remain in your heart.”

She managed a small smile and made to say more, only for their conversation to be suddenly interrupted by the arrival of two gentlemen, who were walking together through the park. Miss Smallwood made to step out of their way, but one of the gentlemen looked up and, catching sight of Daniel, stopped in his tracks.

“Ah, Lord Williamson,” the gentleman began, gesturing towards Daniel as though the second gentleman had not seen him. “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon,” Daniel stammered, trying to recall where he had seen this gentleman before and wondering if they were, in fact, acquainted, given that he had no knowledge of whom he might be. “Lord…?”

“Look, tis Lord Williamson!” the first gentleman continued, elbowing the second, who looked at Daniel and then nodded sagely, as though to confirm that his friend was correct. “We have just been reading about your bet, Lord Williamson.”

A stone launched itself directly into Daniel’s stomach. “My bet?” he repeated, not at all understanding what they meant but fearing that this conversation ought not to be had in front of Miss Smallwood. “I have no idea what you mean.”

The second gentleman laughed loudly, but it was not a kind sound. Rather, it was harsh and grating, burning into Daniel’s mind and making him wince.

“You need not pretend, Lord Williamson,” the second gentleman said with another long laugh. “We are hoping and praying that you win, so that you might use your winnings to buy a good glass of brandy or two for those who have supported you.” He nudged the first gentleman. “As we are doing, of course.”

“Of course,” the first man agreed hurriedly, as though to convince Daniel that he was not about to back away from whatever it was that Daniel had supposedly done. “I can see that you have already begun, however!” He turned to Miss Smallwood and bowed low. “Might I be so bold as to make your acquaintance?”

Miss Smallwood looked at him, then back at Daniel, before turning her head away from him again. “I am Miss Smallwood,” she replied slowly, clearly very uncertain as to what was occurring. “I do not believe we are acquainted.”

“Miss Smallwood, eh?” the second gentleman said, laughing again. “How very good to meet you. Lord Williamson, I shall remember the name of this particular young lady, have no doubt—although I may struggle to recall the names of the others that shall come hereafter!”

Daniel frowned, his eyebrows dropping low. “I do not know what it is you speak of, good sir,” he answered through gritted teeth, seeing how Miss Smallwood glanced towards him again. “I have no intention of accepting attentions from any others, if that is what you are inferring.”

The first gentleman stared at Daniel for a few moments, appearing quite horrified. “But the bet!” he exclaimed, as though Miss Smallwood was not present. “You must do all you can to win, Lord Williamson, for many of us have added our coffers to your own, in the hope that you will be victorious.”

Daniel made to clear his throat and then to ask the gentlemen what it was they were speaking of, only for Miss Smallwood to take a small step back from them all, her face growing a little pale as she looked at them.

“I would wish to know what it is you speak of, gentlemen,” she said, her voice calm and clear. “I do not want to be made a mockery of, as I am certain you can understand.”

The second gentleman began to stammer, now appearing to be a little ashamed, as though he had only just realized that he was about to open the floodgates on what should be a private conversation between gentlemen. “I—I do not think…” He cleared his throat and shook his head. “Forgive me, Miss Smallwood. I spoke much too hastily and far too openly. The matters at White’s should remain entirely as such—and ought not to be discussed in public. Again, I beg your forgiveness.”

Daniel let out a slow breath, wondering if this would satisfy Miss Smallwood, only to see the way she narrowed her eyes and settled her hands on her hips. Throwing a glance towards Miss Martin, who was standing a few feet away, he was riled to see a small smile tug at the corner of her mouth, as a look came into her eyes that he immediately disliked. What was going on? Was there more to this than he knew?

“I think, sir—and you will forgive me for, as yet, I do not know your name or your title—you had best speak openly for I am not inclined towards feigning ignorance about a matter that, in some way, seems to involve me.” Miss Smallwood arched one eyebrow and looked towards Daniel, who could only give her a helpless shrug. “Therefore, might I suggest that you finish what you were saying and explain to both myself and Lord Williamson—for he does not seem to understand what you mean—exactly what it is you have discovered about this bet.”

There was a long, pronounced silence where the two gentlemen looked at each other with clear yet silent questions going between them and Daniel himself began to feel an increased anxiety that caused him to tense visibly. He had no knowledge of what either of these gentlemen were speaking of, for neither of them were known to him and he certainly had not made any bets in the White’s betting book, but they appeared to believe that he had done.

“If you wish it, Miss Smallwood,” said the first gentleman eventually, giving Daniel a small half shrug and an apologetic smile as though to say sorry for what was about to occur. “It is only that Lord Williamson had made a bet and has written it down in the betting book that is situated in White’s. That is all.”

Miss Smallwood narrowed her eyes and the gentleman swallowed hard, clearly understanding that she was not about to accept such a response.

“The bet is merely that Lord Williamson will take out a different lady each day, both in the afternoon and in the evening, for the duration of one sennight,” the second gentleman added hastily.

A rush of horror ran down Daniel’s spine, rendering him entirely speechless.

“It is meant to be evidence of the fact that Lord Williamson is just as eligible and as welcomed by the beau monde as ever,” said the second gentleman, continuing on quite blithely as though all ought to make sense now. “Another gentleman has stated that he believed Lord Williamson unable to complete such a task, declaring that there were other, more eligible and handsome gentlemen than he. It is simply to prove that such a statement is quite incorrect, that is all.”

“That is entirely untrue,” Daniel replied, his voice hoarse and not filled with angry confidence, as he had intended. “How dare you suggest such a thing!”

The two gentlemen glanced at each other, each looking confused.

“But we have only just come from White’s,” the first gentleman answered, looking a little concerned now over Daniel’s reaction. “I have added my coffers, as I have said, in the hope that you will be successful and collect the winnings.”

“I have done no such thing.”

The second gentleman sighed heavily and rubbed at his forehead. “I can see that we made an error in coming to speak to you, Lord Williamson, when you are in company. I do hope that we have not unfairly disadvantaged you.” He bowed low, touching his hat. “Forgive me, Miss Smallwood. I am quite certain that you are a favorite of Lord Williamson’s, else he would not have chosen you for the first. I do apologize if I have caused any upset. I shall leave you now.” Lifting his head, he threw Daniel what appeared to be a scornful glance and then turned on his heel and began to march away, leaving his companion to stammer an apology and follow after him.

“I do not understand what they are speaking of, Miss Smallwood,” Daniel protested, the very moment that the gentlemen had left them. “I swear to you, I do not know what they speak of.”

Miss Smallwood looked up at him, her expression entirely blank and leaving Daniel questioning what it was she was thinking or feeling. He wanted to fall on his knees, wanted to beg her to believe him, but no words came to him. He could find nothing to say to try and excuse his behavior. All he could do was pray that she gave him, yet again, the benefit of the doubt.

“Such a thing would be easy enough to prove, would it not?”

Miss Smallwood’s voice was soft and she blinked rapidly as though to chase back tears. “All you need to do is go to White’s.”

“But I cannot prove it to you,” he explained sorrowfully. “The betting book can never be lifted from White’s. Nor can I beg for you to be allowed to enter. In short, Miss Smallwood, there is no way for me to prove to you that what has been said about me is entirely false.”

Miss Smallwood’s lips twisted, her eyes still fixed on his.

“I have done nothing wrong!” Daniel said again, his heart aching within his chest. “I do not understand what is going on, Miss Smallwood! I have not made such a bet. I would not do something so foolish. Please, I beg of you to trust me.”

“That is rather a lot you are asking of Miss Smallwood, Lord Williamson.” From behind Miss Smallwood, Miss Martin stepped forward, evidently having overheard everything that had been said. Her expression was somewhat stern, but Daniel fancied he could still see the hint of a smile in the corner of her mouth. His anger began to burn all over again. Had she something to do with this?

“What did you do, Miss Martin?”

The words came out in a growl, making both Miss Smallwood and Miss Martin start violently.

“What did you do?” He took a step closer, pointing one long finger in Miss Martin’s direction and seeing the color drain from her face.

“I did nothing, Lord Williamson,” Miss Martin replied, although her pale coloring hinted at a singular lack of confidence and, mayhap, a little fear. “I have no part in this.”

Miss Smallwood pressed her lips together, her eyes darting from her companion to Daniel and back again.

“If you have made a foolish bet and now wish to use me to cover up your idiocy, then I will tell you here and now that I will not stand for it,” Miss Martin continued, her voice growing steadily louder. “I tell you now, Lord Williamson, I have had nothing whatsoever to do with this.”

“And it is a little unfair to blame Miss Martin when she could not possibly have gone into White’s and written the bet within the betting book,” Miss Smallwood added, her eyes slowly lifting to his face, her lips trembling just a little as she spoke. “I think, Lord Williamson, that I shall return home with Miss Martin. If you will excuse me.”

“No, please.” Without intending to, he reached out and caught her hand, capturing it entirely. “Please, do not go, Miss Smallwood. I am not involved in this!”

“And I suppose you had not made arrangements with Lady Burton either,” Miss Martin said scornfully, taking Miss Smallwood’s other arm and giving it a gentle tug. “Do not be ridiculous, Lord Williamson. Miss Smallwood is not as dim-witted as you might think.”

Desperation flooded him. Until this moment, he had not realized the depth of his affections for Miss Smallwood, for whilst she had begun to infiltrate his heart and his emotions in a way that he had not experienced before, he had thought that he would have time for such feelings to continue to develop to the point that he might openly profess them.

“Please, Miss Smallwood, believe me when I say that I am not that sort of gentleman,” he protested, still clinging onto her hand and looking down into her eyes, horrified to see that they were glistening with tears. “I am not a cad. This has been set up somehow, in order to make me appear worse than I am. For some reason, someone must wish to set us both asunder.” As much as he wished to throw a dark look towards Miss Martin, he resisted the urge to do so and instead kept looking down at Miss Smallwood, who was not making any attempt to remove her hand from his. “I have begun to care for you deeply, Miss Smallwood. I look forward to our every moment together. My heart holds a fondness for you that I cannot explain. Please, do not turn your back on me now.”

Miss Smallwood closed her eyes and, to his dismay, a single tear tracked down her cheek. She wiped it away hurriedly, freeing herself from Miss Martin before settling that hand on top of their joined ones.

“I must think, Lord Williamson.”

He nodded, feeling a small surge of hope at the way she held his hand. “I quite understand.”

“There is a good deal I must consider,” Miss Smallwood continued, opening her eyes and blinking rapidly to keep the rest of her tears at bay. “Please, allow me some time, Lord Williamson.”

Dropping his head, he let her hand go wordlessly, stepping back and feeling as though he had lost some great battle whilst Miss Martin stood in victory.

“I want to believe you,” Miss Smallwood whispered so only he could hear. “But there is more to this than I am, as yet, aware of.” She sighed heavily, her sorrow and confusion whispering towards him. “I want to trust your words, for my heart also holds a good deal, in the same way as yours.”

Daniel’s head flew up and he looked at Miss Smallwood in astonishment, but she only nodded slowly, as though convincing herself that she spoke the truth.

“Tomorrow evening, I shall be at Lord Mercer’s ball,” he told her, filled with a sudden, desperate hope. “Might you dance with me then?”

It took Miss Smallwood a few moments to decide, her face set and her eyes still sorrowful, but eventually, she nodded.

“Thank you.” The words came out of him in a breath of relief, a sense of weakness crashing over him. “You cannot know how much that means to me, Miss Smallwood. To know that you have not set yourself against me, as so many others might have done, is nothing less than a blessing.”

Miss Smallwood gave him a tiny smile. “It is as I have said before, Lord Williamson. I do not immediately trust what someone says unless I have proof of it. I shall, somehow, try and decipher the truth, but I can see from your expression that there is a great deal of trouble in this. A trouble that I do not want to swirl all about me, no matter how much I might feel for you.”

Daniel could only look down into her face, his throat working painfully as he felt his world begin to crack around him. He could not even wish her good day as she turned and walked away, with Miss Martin walking smartly by her side. If only he had not made that promise not to reveal the truth about Miss Martin to anyone, then he might now be able to make Miss Smallwood understand a little more about the lady she called her companion. Miss Smallwood might then be able to understand why he had chosen to lay the blame for this matter at Miss Martin’s feet—although, no doubt, she would have still protested that she had nothing to do with it.

“I shall discover the truth,” he muttered to himself, angrily stalking down the path in the opposite direction from Miss Smallwood and Miss Martin. “I shall find whoever is doing this and prove to Miss Smallwood that I am not the gentleman they make me out to be. Of that, I am utterly determined.”

10

“This is ridiculous!”

Daniel stared down at the betting book, horrified to see what was written there in large, bold letters.

The bet was just as the two gentlemen had said.

“I did not write this!” He glared all about him, as though the gentlemen within the establishment were the ones responsible for this assault on his good name. “I did not stand here and write this bet on these pages.”

The gentlemen of White’s began to mutter amongst themselves, leaving Daniel feeling both foolish and angry. The handwriting was in large, flowing letters but was not at all like his own hand. The bet stated that he would be able to accompany any young lady of his choosing during the fashionable hour in the afternoon and then a different young lady to a social occasion he decided. This was to prove, apparently, that he was as eligible and as welcomed by the beau monde as ever before—although there was no mention of the individual that Daniel was meant to be betting against, as had been disclosed by the two gentlemen.

Nor was there any record of any other gentleman placing bets on his name, for if there was no one to defeat, then there was no need to do so. They would simply be betting for him to fail in his task and, from how it appeared, not many gentlemen believed that to be the case.

Clenching his jaw hard, Daniel ripped out the piece of paper from the betting book, drawing gasps of both shock and horror at his action. The betting book was almost sacred and to desecrate it so was a great sin in the eyes of the gentlemen who frequented here. Daniel did not care. All he wanted to do was rip up the paper in front of everyone here, proclaim that he had not made any such bet, and demand that if anyone knew who had written this in supposedly his hand, then they had best inform him at once.

“Ho there, Williamson!”

Daniel turned around at once, seeing the surprised look on Lord Townend’s face as he slowly began to amble towards Daniel, his eyes on the paper.

“What is it you are doing, old boy?” Lord Townend asked, his voice amiable but his eyes stern. “Ripping out pages like that—well, it’s just not done.”

“Someone has written a bet in my name, Townend,” Daniel retorted, his eyes narrowing into a sharp glare towards his friend. “You do not have any thought as to whom it might be now, do you?” He had not meant to add an accusatory tone to his voice, but it was there nonetheless and Daniel saw Lord Townend flinch, as though he had pained him in some way.

“If you mean to imply that I had something to do with this, then you are mistaken.” Lord Townend’s voice grew rather hard. “What bet is it that you are speaking of?”

Frustrated, Daniel thrust the paper towards Lord Townend, who took it carefully, flattened it just a little, and then began to read. Daniel watched angrily as Lord Townend’s eyebrows rose in evident surprise, glancing towards Daniel as he re-read it.

“It is not your hand, that is for certain,” Lord Townend commented, somewhat mildly given the circumstances. “And you say that someone wrote this and then told you of it?”

Hastily, Daniel told Lord Townend of what had occurred, seeing the astonishment grow in his friend’s expression. Guilt enveloped him, breaking into a thousand pieces as it sat on his heart. He should not have even thought of blaming Lord Townend. That had been entirely unfair.

“I am sorry,” he finished, coming closer to Lord Townend so as to avoid the stares of the other gentlemen of White’s. “I should not have thought you responsible, not even for a moment.”

“No,” Lord Townend agreed with a wry smile. “You should not have even thought it, Williamson, although I understand your anger and distress. You say that you were approached by two gentlemen you did not know?”

“Indeed,” Daniel replied, walking towards a couple of empty chairs and plumping gratefully down into one. “And they accosted me quite openly in front of Miss Smallwood, who, of course, had to know precisely what they were speaking of.”

Lord Townend did not smile but rather looked pointedly at Daniel, as though he were missing something quite obvious, something that was staring him in the face.

“She, of course, wanted to know what they meant in its entirety,” Daniel continued, not quite certain what to make of Lord Townend’s pointed stare. “And so the truth came out and she was utterly horrified. Although just as shocked as I, I might add.”

“How interesting that it had occurred when you were with Miss Smallwood,” Lord Townend replied, rubbing his chin as his eyes roved about the room in evident thought. “First you had to deal with Lady Burton when you were walking with Miss Smallwood in the park, and now you have had this situation occur, again when Miss Smallwood was with you.” He shrugged. “Coincidence, do you think?”

A rueful smile crossed Daniel’s face. “I have already accused Miss Martin, Townend, and that did not go particularly well.” Seeing his friend’s surprise, he winced heavily. “She could not have written the bet in here now, could she? And I doubt that she would have been able to convince someone to write it on her behalf without someone seeing her do so.”

“That is true,” Lord Townend agreed slowly, “but can you think of any other who is against you? Whoever is doing this is determined that you shall not have any happiness with Miss Smallwood.”

A sudden thought struck Daniel. “What if it is to prevent Miss Smallwood herself from finding such happiness?” he asked, peering at Lord Townend, who now appeared to be frowning heavily. “What if this is naught to do with me and solely to do with Miss Smallwood herself? What if I am being targeted so that Miss Smallwood might find herself alone and despondent?”

Lord Townend shook his head. “I can see why you might think such a thing, but what reason would there be for anyone to do so? Her father, Lord Churston, is quite amenable to her courting, for she now has a companion and is allowed to attend as many social events as she wishes. It is not as though he has someone else chosen for her, is it? At least, not as far as I know.”

Daniel sighed and ran one hand through his hair. “I shall ask her, of course, but if there is no reason for such a thing then I suppose I must consider it to be my burden.” Closing his eyes again, he let out a small groan. “And Miss Martin is the only one I can think of who wishes me ill, even though I know not her reasons for hating me with such vehemence.”

Lord Townend, who knew precisely who Miss Martin was to Daniel and why he had to keep silent about his knowledge of her, gave him a long, hard look.

“You have never once discovered the reason for her dislike of you?” he asked, as though this was almost unbelievable. “And yet you insist on keeping silent about her?”

“I must,” Daniel replied with a heaviness that pierced his very soul. “I promised her that I would, for she begged me with tears and utter sorrow and it was the only way that I could relieve it.” He shook his head again, aware that Lord Townend knew all of this already. “I have tried to remain out of her affairs as I promised, but now that she seems to be stepping directly in between myself and Miss Smallwood, I do not know what I should do.”

“But you have no evidence that she has done that,” Lord Townend pointed out. “Aside from the fact that she has tried to keep Miss Smallwood away from you, which Miss Smallwood has steadfastly refused to do.”

Daniel nodded, sighing as despair washed over him. “Mayhap I should speak to Miss Martin alone,” he suggested, seeing Lord Townend shrug. “If I speak to her directly, insisting that she tell me all, then mayhap matters might become a little clearer.”

“She has never told you her reasons for calling you a cad?”

“Never,” Daniel replied, remembering how Miss Martin had accosted him shortly after his introduction to Miss Smallwood. “I have asked her, but she insists that I already am aware of it.” Spreading his hands, he sat back and rested his head against the chair. “I have no understanding, no reason to believe that I am as she states.” It felt as though he had been caught up in a torrential storm, being battered on every side with confusion and doubt and sorrow. If he told Miss Smallwood the truth about Miss Martin, then not only would he break his promise, but he might upset Miss Smallwood all the more because he had kept such a thing from her. In addition, even though he was upset and angry over Miss Martin’s insistence that he was not suitable for Miss Smallwood, he did not want to bring the truth to light without her consideration. She called him a cad and, if he were to break his word and tell Miss Smallwood everything, then that is precisely what he would be.

Groaning aloud, Daniel sat forward and put his head in his hands.

“Might I speak to Miss Martin, Williamson?”

Daniel screwed up his eyes, wishing that there was a clear path ahead for him. “I—I do not know,” he muttered, not lifting his head. “I do not know what will help. I have Miss Martin’s utter disdain for me, Miss Smallwood’s confusion over the sort of gentleman I am, and now my own upset as to who it is that has tried to ruin my character and for what purpose.” He rubbed his eyes before sitting up and seeing Lord Townend accepting two glasses of brandy from a waiting footman. Accepting one gratefully, he threw it back almost at once, letting the warmth fill his chest and bring him a little encouragement. “Speak to Miss Martin if you wish, Lord Townend. I must discover who is doing this—” he gestured to the bit of paper Lord Townend now held on his knee, “and discover why they wish to disgrace me so.”

“That is to be a difficult task indeed,” Lord Townend murmured, looking entirely sympathetic. “I shall do what I can to help you, of course.” He gestured towards the ripped page of the betting book. “What shall you do to start?”

Daniel hesitated, a million thoughts rushing through his mind at once, making it difficult for him to focus on one thing. “I shall find anyone who was present the evening this bet was written,” he decided, knowing full well that each bet was dated. “And at the same time, I shall seek to continue to court Miss Smallwood and attempt to prove to her that I am not the callous, arrogant oaf she might think me to be.”

Lord Townend nodded slowly, although another frown wrinkled his brow as he looked down at the paper again. “The bet was made in the early hours of this morning,” he said slowly. “At a time when most gentlemen would either be too inebriated to recall who or what was within this place or gone back to their residences.”

“There has to be someone,” Daniel replied, hoping desperately that, somehow, he would be able to find at least one person who might aid him. “I cannot think of another way to reveal the truth to both myself and Miss Smallwood.” Gesturing to a footman, he waited until the fellow came over and, pulling a couple of coins from his pocket, held them out towards him.

The footman accepted the coins without a word.

“Might you tell me whether or not you were present last evening?” Daniel began as Lord Townend held up the paper. “Did you see which fellow made that bet?”

The footman moved towards Lord Townend, his face impassive. Taking a moment or two to read the writing, he eventually shook his head. “It states that you, Lord Williamson, made this bet,” he intoned.

“And yet, I did not,” Daniel replied, trying not to allow even a hint of the irritation he felt to come into his voice. “Do you recall which gentlemen were present last evening or in the very early hours of this morning?” He held his breath, seeing the footman’s forehead pucker, clearly trying to remember.

“I retired before the last few members quit the establishment,” the footman said slowly, his lips twisting for a moment. “There were only four gentlemen still present, although one of them was rather tired.” A hint of a smile caught the footman’s lips, although it disappeared the moment Daniel looked sharply at him. “The gentleman who was asleep was Lord Mercer, if I recall correctly.” Shaking his head, he spread his hands. “I fear that I cannot remember the other gentlemen, Lord Williamson. I do apologize.”

Daniel’s frustration bubbled up within him again, but with an effort, he set his face into a grateful expression.

“I thank you,” he replied, feeling his heart sinking into the floor. “Now, two more brandies, if you please.”

The footman clicked his heels together. “At once, my lord.”

Waiting until the footman had gone, Daniel let out a long, heavy sigh and saw Lord Townend shrug.

“I suppose, then, we must visit Lord Mercer,” Lord Townend murmured in an encouraging fashion. “Mayhap he will recall those present with him last evening. You are to attend his ball, are you not?” he asked as the footman handed them a brandy each. “Then why not speak to him then?”

“I am and I will,” Daniel answered, remembering how Miss Smallwood had agreed to dance with him at Lord Mercer’s ball. “I shall see Miss Smallwood then also and I must pray that once I speak to Lord Mercer, I will be able to speak to Miss Smallwood about what I have discovered.”

Lord Townend’s eyes softened with compassion for the difficult situation Daniel now found himself in. “She seems to be wise enough, Williamson,” he replied quietly. “She will consider things with a clear head.”

“I must hope so,” Daniel murmured, rubbing one hand across his eyes. “I do care for her, Townend.”

“I can see that,” Lord Townend stated with a slightly wry smile. “And I will do all I can to ensure that your happiness with the lady will, in time, be reached.” He gestured to the piece of paper as Daniel drew in a long breath, settling his shoulders and feeling a small flicker of hope. “And we start by asking Lord Mercer about this.”

11

Louisa had never felt as anxious as she did at this present moment. Lord Mercer’s ball was in full swing and, as yet, she had not seen even a glimpse of Lord Williamson. Part of her feared that he was not the gentleman she had believed him to be, worrying that what the two gentlemen had said about his bet in White’s was, in fact, the truth.

It had not helped that Miss Martin had been insistent that this was evidence that what she had stated about Lord Williamson’s character was true. Walking back home from the park that day, Louisa had struggled against tears for she had felt slighted, small, and sorrowful, not quite certain what was true and what was not.

However, in the time that had followed, and given that she had been able to reflect on what had happened and remember the desperation with which Lord Williamson had addressed her, Louisa had decided to wait until he had come to speak to her about what he had discovered before making her final decision.

“He has not yet arrived, I believe.”

Turning to her companion, Louisa’s anger flared hot in her chest. “I am aware of that, Miss Martin.”

“You need not wait for him,” Miss Martin continued as Louisa waited by the side of the ballroom, not feeling any particular urgency to step out into the crowd. “There are others who might offer to dance with you, Miss Smallwood.”

“I am aware of that,” Louisa replied tightly. “But I am contented here for the present.”

Miss Martin sniffed, her hair pulled back even tighter than usual, her eyes seemingly sharper than Louisa was used to. “You are being foolish, Miss Smallwood. Lord Williamson is not worth your time.”

“What is it that you dislike so much about Lord Williamson?”

The words fired from Louisa’s mouth before she could stop them, and she swung around to face Miss Martin directly, her arms folded in front of her chest as her anger began to burn furiously.

“You say that he is a cad and you believe him to be at fault without question. Why is that?”

Miss Martin blinked, collecting herself before she answered. “I have already told you about Miss McBride, have I not?” she replied, but Louisa held up one hand, silencing her.

“I have spoken to Lord Williamson about such a thing and he appeared not to know what I was speaking of,” she told Miss Martin, seeing the lady flush with color. “You told me that Miss McBride had been broken-hearted by the sudden loss of Lord Williamson’s attention, but the gentleman seemed to not know of what I spoke.”

“Of course he will deny it!” Miss Martin exclaimed, looking at Louisa as though she were nothing more than a fool. “Why would you choose to believe him without question?”

Louisa hesitated, knowing that to tell an untruth was not a wise course of action, but wondering whether or not such a thing would prompt Miss Martin to, finally, tell the truth.

“I have written to Miss McBride,” she bluffed, seeing Miss Martin start in evident astonishment. “I am yet to receive a reply, but I am certain that she will do so very soon.”

Miss Martin’s cheeks faded from pink to milk-white.

“So, I shall give you one more time to tell me, Miss Martin, whether or not what you have said about Miss McBride and Lord Williamson is true, as you have claimed.”

Miss Martin said nothing for some minutes. It was as though she were waiting for Louisa to give in, to turn around and state that she did not require the truth from Miss Martin after all, but Louisa did not so much as blink. Her heart quickened to an almost violent pace, feeling as though she were standing on the very precipice of something and about to fall headlong into it.

“Miss Smallwood,” Miss Martin said eventually, her voice a good deal more high-pitched than before. “I think that I should—”

“Why are you hiding here, Miss Smallwood?”

Swinging around, Louisa came face to face with a smiling Lord Montague, who was beaming at her with evident joy at seeing her again. There came an immediate urge within her to rail at him, to exclaim that she was having a private conversation and did not want to be interrupted, for she had been on the very cusp of discovering something that she was certain would be vastly important.

Glancing behind her, Louisa frowned in displeasure, seeing that the place where Miss Martin had been standing was now entirely empty. Her companion had, it seemed, decided to fade into the shadows for once, escaping from the conversation that would have been required should she have remained. More irritated than she could express, Louisa turned back towards Lord Montague, who was now looking at her with curiosity.

“Forgive me, Lord Montague,” Louisa grated, unable to even force a smile to her lips. “I was speaking to Miss Martin and we had not yet finished our conversation.”

“I see.” Lord Montague cleared his throat, looking a little abashed. “I do apologize if I interrupted you unnecessarily, but I saw you standing here at the side of the ballroom and could not help but seek you out in order to procure a dance or two.” He smiled at her again and Louisa let out a long, slow breath as if that might aid her in pushing her frustration from her heart.

“That is very kind of you,” she said, forced to admit that Lord Montague had meant no wrong in doing such a thing. “As you can see, my dance card is not yet full.”

Much to her surprise, Lord Montague did not grasp the dance card that dangled from her wrist but rather took her hand in his, holding it tightly whilst, with the other hand, he took the card. Louisa’s skin prickled uncomfortably beneath her glove, aware that she disliked what Lord Montague had done. It was a little too forward, a little too intimate for her liking and, most likely, he was doing so simply because she was close to the wall and, therefore, it was easy to hide his actions in the shadows.

Lord Montague let out a soft gasp, making Louisa’s brows rise in question.

“You have not a single dance as yet, Miss Smallwood!” Lord Montague exclaimed, as though this was the most awful situation he had come across in some time. “How can that be? I thought you would be swept away by attentions from almost the very moment you set foot in the ballroom.”

Louisa tried to smile but did not quite manage to force her lips to do so. “As you see, Lord Montague, I have not yet made my way through the crowd of guests and, as such, most do not know of my presence here as yet.”

“All save I,” he replied, finally letting go of her hand but only so that he might write his name on her card. “I was the only one who saw you standing here, Miss Smallwood. Your presence cannot be hidden from me!” This was said with a long look towards her, which Louisa noticed, but rather than feeling any sort of flattery or delight, she felt only embarrassment. Lord Montague was being rather forward and she did not much like it.

“Thank you,” she murmured as he let the card drop. “You are most kind, Lord Montague.”

“And if you will accompany me, Miss Smallwood, I would like to ensure that you have company for the rest of the evening,” he said grandly, offering her his arm and leaving her with no other choice but to accept it. “Come now, I can see Lord Raeburn looking in our direction and I know he would be delighted to dance with you also.”

Louisa did not smile, frustrated that she was being taken away from her conversation with Miss Martin as well as being dragged from her hiding place. She would not be able to wait for Lord Williamson, it seemed, for Lord Montague was quite insistent that she do as he ask. Placing her hand reluctantly on his arm, she allowed herself to be tugged towards a small group of ladies and gentlemen, who were talking together in loud, bright voices. Knowing that she would have to give them her full attention, Louisa forced all thoughts of Lord Williamson to the back of her mind for the present. She could not be rude. She would behave impeccably and hope that, when he could, Lord Williamson would find her, for she did not think she could go the rest of the evening without speaking to him.

“It is quite extraordinary!” she heard one young lady exclaim, as she and Lord Montague drew near. “I do not know the gentleman particularly well at all, but to have behaved in such a bold and outrageous fashion is quite astonishing!”

“Indeed,” the gentleman Louisa knew to be Lord Raeburn agreed, his broad grin and dark, twinkling eyes unsettling her as they rested on her for a moment. “I believe you are acquainted with him, Miss Smallwood.”

Curving her lips into a small smile and hoping that she appeared somewhat disinterested, Louisa gave Lord Raeburn a small shrug. “I do not know of whom you are speaking, Lord Raeburn.” Her heart began to ache with pain and confusion over Lord Williamson, finding it difficult to remove her thoughts from him as she had intended. She did not want to be here, did not want to speak to these gentlemen and ladies who were so caught up in sharing every single last piece of gossip they could.

“Why, you must know Lord Williamson!” one of the ladies protested, looking at Louisa eagerly. “I saw you walking with him recently.”

“As did I,” said another, looking at Louisa with shining eyes. “Come now, you must tell us what you know of him. Did you have any suspicion that he was that sort of gentleman?”

Louisa stiffened, her heart slamming into her chest quite painfully as she looked back at the young ladies. “I am not one inclined towards gossip,” she stated quite firmly even though she knew that such a thing was not what they wanted to hear. “From what I know of Lord Williamson, he is a generous and kindhearted gentleman.”

The first young lady snorted and rolled her eyes. “He has fooled you entirely, has he not?”

“Come now, Miss Smallwood,” Lord Raeburn interrupted, cajoling her to speak more about Lord Williamson. “You must have a better idea of his character than that. You cannot expect us to believe that he is a wonderful, untainted soul when we know that he has done something so uncouth!”

A chill ran through Louisa as she looked back into Lord Raeburn’s eager expression, knowing that she was going to have to ask them what it was they spoke of. “I am unaware of what he has done, Lord Raeburn. Therefore, I speak of what I know.”

Lord Raeburn laughed delightedly, making others join in as they all turned to Louisa as one, making her feel as though she were being mocked for her apparent lack of understanding of Lord Williamson’s true character. Even Lord Montague was laughing, his tone brash and grating over her skin painfully.

“Goodness, you are not at all inclined towards gossip, are you, Miss Smallwood?” Lord Raeburn teased eventually. “Else you would be aware of what has occurred, for it is already all over London.”

Louisa said nothing, her heart twisting painfully in her chest as she waited for Lord Raeburn to elaborate. She did not want to say anything more for fear that her heart might give way entirely, aware that a wave of tears was beginning to form behind her eyes.

“He was discovered in a rather…” Lord Raeburn tipped his head, evidently trying to think of a way to say what was required. “A rather delicate situation, one might say.” He chuckled, making the two ladies who had spoken to Louisa already blush and look away. “In a bawdy house, of all places!”

Louisa went sheet-white, her heart hammering with fright as a sense of horror began to rise up within her.

“Not that he did not pay what was owed, apparently,” chimed in another gentleman, grinning broadly at Louisa, who could neither speak nor move, it seemed. “It just took him some time to find his things, that is all!”

The crowd that surrounded Louisa began to laugh aloud, whilst she stood there silently, trying to take in what was being said about the gentleman she felt so much affection for. Lord Williamson had frequented a bawdy house? It was, she supposed, something that gentlemen were permitted to do, but they were always careful not to allow the ton to know of it, for fear of their reputation being thoroughly disgraced.

And now, it seemed, Lord Williamson had done precisely that.

“You—you are quite certain it was he?” she asked, her voice barely loud enough for any of them to hear, to the point that Lord Raeburn had to step forward and ask her to repeat what she said. When she did so, he laughed and shrugged.

“Of course I am sure,” he replied with a broad grin. “The fellow who was playing the hand of cards with Lord Williamson told me everything.”

Louisa blinked, not quite sure what to make of this. “I thought you said he was discovered in a rather awkward situation,” she replied, putting one hand to her stomach in an attempt to catch her breath. “And now you say he was playing cards?”

Lord Raeburn’s smile became dark, one side lifting slowly as the gleam in his eyes became almost malevolent. “You do not quite understand, Miss Smallwood, and that, I think, is for the best.” He lifted one eyebrow, still gazing at her. “It is possible, you know, for a gentleman to play cards and be discovered in a delicate situation, Miss Smallwood.” One of the ladies tittered, making Lord Raeburn smile all the more. “But as I said, at the very least, he did pay what was owed—once he had found his things.”

A sense of disgust began to roil in Louisa’s stomach, her hands tightening together as she clasped them in front of her. But, despite the urge to believe everything Lord Raeburn had said, to agree that it was utterly despicable and decide to turn away from Lord Williamson’s company, a small part of her held her back.

You always sought to find the truth amongst the rumors and the gossip, she thought, trying to be firm with herself. Why would you turn away from that now?

Drawing in a long breath, Louisa held Lord Raeburn’s gaze, steeling herself and trying to find a sense of courage from deep within her. She was not about to go back to that quiet, unobtrusive young lady who did not speak a word of what she felt or what went on in her heart. If there had ever been a time to ask questions, to discover the truth in all its entirety, then this was the moment.

“Might I ask, Lord Raeburn,” she began as the rest of those within the small group fell silent, giving her their full attention, “whether or not you can be certain that everything you speak of is true?”

Lord Raeburn frowned, his smile dropping from his face entirely. “Of course I am certain it is true, Miss Smallwood,” he replied, a line forming in between his brows as he frowned. “I have it on the highest authority that what I have been told is the truth.”

“By the gentleman who was there with Lord Williamson,” Louisa persisted, aware of how the two young ladies standing by her were now beginning to whisper amongst themselves. “The gentleman who was playing cards with him.”

“Yes,” Lord Raeburn agreed, looking at her with a slightly scornful gaze. “Does that satisfy you, Miss Smallwood?”

Louisa looked back into Lord Raeburn’s face, seeing the dark look in his eyes and practically feeling the rest of the crowd’s attention being drawn to her. Her heart began to pound, knowing that she could easily turn away from Lord Raeburn and agree that what had been said was more than enough evidence of the fact that Lord Williamson had been present, but her heart would not allow her to do so.

“No, it does not,” she told him, her words eliciting a gasp from one of the young ladies, who now looked at her with wide eyes. “What is the name of this gentleman, Lord Raeburn?”

Lord Raeburn blinked for a moment, his gaze darting to Lord Montague as though he sought Lord Montague’s opinion about whether or not he ought to share such an indelicate thing with Louisa.

“I hardly think that such a thing is required, Miss Smallwood,” Lord Montague murmured, his tone a little condescending as though he had some right to tell her what she ought or ought not to ask.

“And yet, I shall seek the answer, Lord Montague,” Louisa replied smartly, turning to him and looking into his surprised face with a sudden fierce sense of determination. She had to know the truth about what had been said of Lord Williamson, determined that she would not turn her back on him yet, even though everything within her told her that she was making a fool of herself by persisting. “I do not think it fair to pass judgment on another without being quite certain that everything that has been said is completely true.”

“Of course it is true!” Lord Montague protested, waving a hand in Lord Raeburn’s direction. “Why would a gentleman lie?”

Louisa hesitated, recalling how Lord Williamson had begged her not once, but on two separate occasions, to believe that he had not had anything to do with either Lady Burton or the bet. Something began to roll about her mind, making her begin to question what she knew of Lord Williamson. He had always seemed so eager, so desperate to be trusted, and yet, despite that, there was still more evidence of his supposed ungentlemanly behavior.

Something did not make sense. Louisa’s lips twisted, her frown growing steadily heavier. Surely if a gentleman was desperate to have a young lady believe that he was not a cad, that he was not a rogue nor a gentleman with poor morals, then he would do all he could to ensure that she did not have cause to fear that her consideration of him was wrong. Lord Williamson had vehemently protested that he had not planned to meet Lady Burton in the park, and then, only a few days later, had been met with another difficulty in the form of the two gentlemen stopping him to talk about the bet that he had placed. And now, it seemed, he had been discovered in a bawdy house, which, of course, would ignite rumors about him all through London.

Louisa shook her head, her head feeling heavy with the depth and weight of her thoughts. No, she had to discover all. She had to know which gentleman it was that had discovered Lord Williamson so. Then, she would speak to that gentleman in as bold a fashion as she dared, to ensure that he had not made a mistake somehow. Liquor was always aplenty, Louisa knew, which meant that there was the possibility that something was awry.

“The gentleman might merely be mistaken, rather than lying outright, Lord Raeburn,” she said slowly, hearing the two young ladies begin to whisper furiously again. “The name of the fellow, if you please.”

Lord Raeburn looked back at her steadily, his lip curling slowly. Louisa, uncertain as to why her determination had brought about such a reaction, held his gaze without pause, refusing to look away or be cowed by the dark expression in his eyes.

“I hardly think—” Lord Montague began to protest, but Louisa held up one hand, silencing him with her gesture as she continued to regard Lord Raeburn.

“You are not to be put off, it seems,” Lord Raeburn said with a long, heavy sigh that held a good deal of weight. He glanced about the rest of those involved in the conversation, as though to share his disappointment over Louisa’s behavior, but Louisa still did not move. She could hear her heart beat in her ears, could feel the tension running straight through her, and still, she waited. Lord Raeburn, clearly now fully aware that she was not about to turn aside as he had hoped, sighed yet again and spread his hands.

“You are quite determined, are you not, Miss Smallwood?” he muttered, throwing yet another glance to Lord Montague. “Very well, I shall tell you.”

“I do not consider that wise, Lord Raeburn,” Lord Montague interrupted. “Surely there is no good reason to—”

“Lord Montague himself was the one to discover Lord Williamson,” Lord Raeburn continued, ignoring the gentleman entirely. “If you have questions, Miss Smallwood, then might I suggest that you direct them to Lord Montague instead of further inconveniencing me with them?”

Louisa, a good deal surprised that it was Lord Montague who had joined Lord Williamson at the bawdy house, turned her astonished gaze upon the gentleman whom, she noted, had gone a rather dull shade of grey. His eyes were roving from one place to the next, refusing to meet her gaze.

“Lord Montague?” she said softly, only for the music for the next dance to begin swirling about her.

Lord Montague started violently. “Ah,” he said quickly, recovering himself. “I am promised to Miss Elgin, I think, am I not?” He bowed, a smile on his face that did not quite cover the fright in his eyes as he looked towards one of the young ladies on Louisa’s left. “Shall we take to the floor?”

Wishing that she could prevent Lord Montague from leaving her side, her mind now buzzing with a thousand questions, Louisa could only watch in frustration as Lord Montague stepped away from her and led Miss Elgin away. She had a suspicion that Lord Montague would not return to her side for his dances, for there was obviously a good deal of reluctance on his part, not wishing her to ask him questions about why he himself had been at a bawdy house. Her heart twisted violently as her thoughts turned back to Lord Williamson, making her realize just how much she felt for the gentleman. She wanted to believe him, wanted to trust him so that she might allow her affections to break free completely, but for the moment, she could not do such a thing. There was still so much uncertainty, so much doubt and confusion that Louisa felt it cloud her mind, making her both frustrated and upset in equal measure.

Where is Lord Williamson?

Her eyes roved about the crowd as she turned away from Lord Raeburn and his companions without a single word. Their company had left a stale taste in her mouth and she did not want to linger any longer. There was much to be done, much to consider, and much to discover. The truth was hidden in the shadows, held back from the light by untruths, confusion, and the deep uncertainty that bound it all. Where was Lord Williamson? He had said that he would be present this evening, and yet, she could not see him. Would all of society mock him when he finally made an appearance? Would they turn from him, give him the cut direct? Or would gentlemen simply laugh and point, giving him a knowing look as though to say they approved of his choice of enjoyment?

Her heart slammed hard into her chest as she looked all about her, suddenly catching sight of Miss Martin. Miss Martin, her companion, who was failing in her duty entirely, given that she was not so much as glancing in Louisa’s direction. Setting her shoulders, Louisa made her way towards her companion, knowing that it was best that she kept near to her companion for propriety’s sake.

And then, Miss Martin moved away. Pausing, Louisa watched her with sharp eyes, keeping her gaze fixed upon Miss Martin’s dark brown head, so distinct amongst the crowd by way of her plain chignon and dull-colored gown. Her heart leapt in her throat as she saw none other than Lord Williamson emerge from the shadows. She watched in horror as he began to speak to Miss Martin, seeing how Miss Martin gesticulated wildly. What was it that was being said? Why had Miss Martin gone to him? Was it to inform him that he had to stay away from Louisa? Or was there something more?

Louisa’s heart began to pound furiously, her gaze fixed on Miss Martin. Her companion had evidently finished saying what was required, for she shook her head and made to turn away, only for Lord Williamson to reach out and grasp her shoulder.

A gasp escaped from Louisa’s mouth as she watched Miss Martin’s expression change. She turned but did not forcibly remove Lord Williamson’s hand from her shoulder. Instead, she simply looked up at the gentleman, who was now leaning down and speaking in what appeared to be a most urgent manner.

Louisa closed her eyes momentarily, struggling to draw breath. Forcing herself to do so in order to calm her frantic mind, she opened them again to see that Lord Williamson had released Miss Martin, who was now nodding slowly, her head a little lower than before. More than anything, Louisa longed to discover what was being said, wanted to be near them so as not to miss a single word, but yet knew that she could not do so without being seen.

Miss Martin turned away and Louisa watched as Lord Williamson let his gaze rest on Miss Martin’s retreating form, something in his eyes that ripped at her heart. There was a tenderness there, she thought, feeling as though he had kicked at her stomach, hard. A tenderness for Miss Martin, instead of for her.

For a moment, Louisa thought she might faint in a most spectacular fashion upon the floor, only for a gentleman to tap her on the shoulder, greet her, and ask if he might look at her dance card. Louisa, entirely numb, somehow managed to hand him her card and waited for him to sign his name. The gentleman said something else about looking forward to their dance before moving away, leaving Louisa to look back to where Lord Williamson had been.

There was no sign of him. He was gone. He had not come in search of her, had not wanted to come and dance with her as he had promised. Instead, he had sought out Miss Martin and had given her more of his attention than he had ever given to Louisa.

Her heart tore violently, making her gasp. The pain was real and tormenting, burning through her chest with such agony that she could not catch her breath. Lord Williamson was not the gentleman she thought him to be. Secrecy surrounded him. Perhaps she merely had been his plaything, someone he had used simply to flatter his own self-confidence whilst he had gone about doing whatever he pleased.

“Miss Smallwood, where have you been?”

The sharp voice of Miss Martin met her ears, making Louisa flinch.

“I have been looking all over for you.”

“Is that so?” Louisa turned to her companion, her voice low and lacking intonation, such was the dullness that began to creep into her soul. “You were not speaking to Lord Williamson? You did not leave my side when I asked to know the truth of what you had said of him and Miss McBride?” Knowing her tone was accusatory but finding that she did not care, Louisa pointed one long finger at Miss Martin. “You keep the truth from me for whatever purpose you have, Miss Martin, and I have determined to discover it. But,” she continued, her anger beginning to burn hot within her, chasing the dullness from her soul, “I do not think that our acquaintance shall continue.”

The color left Miss Martin’s face all at once, her cheeks fading to paper white. “What do you mean?” she breathed, one hand against her heart.

“You may have been successful with your other charges, but you have failed me entirely,” Louisa replied firmly. “You have tried to pull me from Lord Williamson by mistruths and lies, and now I see you going to him and speaking to him in a most intimate fashion!” Her voice was growing louder now but she could not prevent it from being so. “Is it because you care for him, that you do not want me to go near to him? Is that why you have been so determined to pull me from him?”

“No, Miss Smallwood,” Miss Martin protested weakly, her eyes rounding. “No, it is not that, it is—”

“Tomorrow, I shall speak to my father and insist that your employment is brought to an end, and I doubt very much that you shall have an excellent reference,” Louisa finished, aware that this might very well mean the end of her own Season but feeling as though that might be, in its own way, a blessed relief. “For the moment, I am fatigued and wish to return home. Do accompany me, Miss Martin, if you can bear to drag yourself away from Lord Williamson.”

She stalked past her companion, tears burning in her eyes, but her head held high. Knowing that she had spoken callously, Louisa let her pain burn itself all through her, accepting it for what it was and yet hating it at the same time. She did not know what Miss Martin had been speaking of to Lord Williamson and yet found that she no longer cared. There was too much confusion, too much doubt and pain when it came to that particular gentleman. No matter how much she felt, no matter how much affection there was for Lord Williamson within her heart, she did not have the strength to keep going, to keep seeking the truth. It was too hard. She was weary now, feeling as though the path to what could have been a wonderful happiness with Lord Williamson was now broken up before her feet.

Her time here in London was drawing to a close. Lord Williamson could mean nothing to her now. She was nothing but a pawn in his convoluted game and Louisa could not bring herself to continue playing. It was, she decided, quite at an end now.

12

“I beg your pardon?”

Daniel stared at Lord Townend, feeling a wave of revulsion crash into him.

“That is what I have heard, yes,” Lord Townend repeated gravely. “How glad I am that you have decided to stick to the shadows for the time being, my friend, for I do not think that the ton would easily welcome you now.”

Daniel closed his eyes and ran one hand over his face. They had been deliberately tardy, thinking it best to ensure that the ball was in full swing before seeking out Lord Mercer and questioning him as to who had written the bet in the White’s betting book. Unfortunately, it now appeared that Lord Mercer was swallowed up by his crowd of guests and was, most likely, already deeply in his cups. He was a gentleman inclined towards liquor, Daniel had been told, although that was not always a bad thing. Some gentlemen were much more liable to speak openly and honestly when a good deal of brandy was running through their veins.

Now, however, Daniel feared that he would not be able to even speak to Lord Mercer, given what society now believed him to have done.

“I do not understand,” he muttered, dropping his hand and leaning his head back against the wall of the ballroom as a bead of sweat ran down his spine. “What is it precisely that is being said?” He looked at Lord Townend, whose gaze drifted away almost at once, shuffling his feet in evident awkwardness. “Do not hide it from me, Townend,” Daniel pleaded, even though a deep sense of dread settled in his chest. “Be honest with me.”

Lord Townend sighed heavily and finally fixed his gaze back upon Daniel. “There are a few things that are being said. They all center around you being at the bawdy house and playing far too many hands and betting a good deal too much—to the point that you lost some of your possessions.”

Daniel’s stomach twisted. “Possessions?”

Again, Lord Townend looked away. “Clothing included.”

Awash with both horror and disgust, Daniel closed his eyes tightly and clenched his teeth. There was no truth to those words, of course, but no doubt the wagging tongues of the beau monde would latch onto the story regardless, adding to it in their own way however they wished. “And who has said such things about me? From whom did you hear it?”

Lord Townend shook his head again, his eyes blazing with an anger that Daniel, as yet, did not quite feel. “I cannot say,” he replied honestly. “I have tried to discover the source but, as yet, I have made no progress whatsoever.” He shifted uneasily. “I cannot help but wonder if it is wise for you to remain here, Williamson. Not because I fear that you are guilty of such a thing, for I know you are not, given that you and I were in company last evening, but I fear that the ton may very well turn against you should your presence here become known.”

Wishing he could protest his innocence in front of all the guests, which he knew would include Miss Smallwood, Daniel let out a long breath and closed his eyes tightly, screwing up his features.

“I am aware that this is most unfair,” Lord Townend continued, evidently seeing Daniel’s distress, “but you must think of your own reputation and also of Miss Smallwood.”

Daniel groaned. “She will have heard yet more of my poor behavior and will believe it,” he exclaimed, opening his eyes to see Lord Townend’s jaw working hard. “And this accusation now is something more than merely a poor decision or a lack of consideration. It is…” he trailed off, his head in his hands. “It is downright obscene.”

His heart began to quail within him. It was as though something had been ready to set him and Miss Smallwood asunder from the very first, as though some unknown force was trying to set them both apart even though they wanted to be near to each other. That was the worst of it, Daniel realized. The more he had enjoyed Miss Smallwood’s company, the more he had spent time with her, the more he had conversed with her, the more he had come to realize that his heart was willingly becoming engaged to hers. He wanted to be in her company and did not like being apart from her. It was foolish of him not to have sought her father’s permission to court her as yet, even though that was his intention. At least he had made that clear to Miss Smallwood, although what she would think of that statement now, he had very little idea.

“Do not look so disturbed, old boy,” Lord Townend hissed, making Daniel lift his head from his hands. “You must not gain anyone’s attention, do you understand? To do so would make things all the more difficult. I shall do what I can to find out the truth about where such rumors have come from, of course, but I fear that you yourself can do nothing.”

“I must speak to Mercer.”

Lord Townend hesitated, his expression tight with both anger and a touch of worry. “I know you are eager to, but I cannot think that it is a wise idea. Not when you might very well be seen and called out by some gentleman or other—once you are known to be here, then all and sundry will seek you out, ready to find yet another sliver of gossip upon which they might chew.” He winced as Daniel closed his eyes, knowing that his friend was still determined not to hide away.

“I must find out something,” Daniel declared, opening his eyes and setting his shoulders. “I must know if Lord Mercer can do anything to aid me in my quest to discover who is behind this.”

Lord Townend shook his head. “You are being foolish.”

“And yet, I will do so regardless,” Daniel told him determinedly. “I do this not for my own sake but for that of Miss Smallwood. I cannot bear to have her going through the rest of the Season, and mayhap the rest of her life, thinking so ill of me! Not when there is a chance for her happiness, Townend. Not when there might be a happiness for us both.”

Lord Townend sighed heavily and rubbed at his forehead. “Very well. But you must be cautious.”

“I shall be,” Daniel promised grimly. “I am well aware of what is at stake.” The gossipmongers were present this evening, in their usual great numbers, for it seemed to be a pastime of married ladies to talk about every single piece of rumor they could discover. There was, it seemed, already a good deal being discussed about him and he did not want to give them anything more. At the very least, should he have the opportunity to speak to Miss Smallwood, he would be able to give her proof that he had not been at the bawdy house, as was being suggested. He could direct her to Lord Townend, who could state, honestly, that Daniel had been at his residence last evening for a late supper and a discussion about what else they could do to discover who was fighting against Daniel with such determination. Even Lord Townend’s staff could be used to prove that he spoke the truth.

But he had to hope she would speak to him at all. If she had already heard all that was being said of him—and he quite believed that she would have done by now—then she might decide that he was not worth her time any longer. She might refuse even to acknowledge him. The very thought sent an arrow through his heart.

“I shall return to your residence thereafter, shall I?” Lord Townend asked, as he made to step away. “I do not expect you to be lingering here long.”

Daniel shook his head. “Come tomorrow,” he replied, thinking that he could benefit from a quiet evening with nothing more than his thoughts as company. “Early, if you wish.”

Lord Townend nodded. “Of course. Try to rest easy. I am certain that we shall find a way through this ether.”

Daniel, who felt as though the darkness was closing in on him on every side, could barely bring himself to nod, although he managed a small one before Lord Townend moved away. Taking in a long breath, he moved a little to the right, so as to keep his features as hidden by shadow as he could. The music, the dancing, and the laughter held no joy for him now. All he could hear were the whispers and the mocking laughter that were certain to come his way, should he reveal himself.

And then, he saw Miss Martin.

She was watching him from her own, dark corner, although her pale face was clearly visible from where he stood. Her eyes were fixed on his, wide and holding a look of fear that had his own heart filling with concern. Miss Martin had always kept away from him since she had become a companion, kept her distance and made it quite clear that she did not wish for his company, but now there was something in her face that had him wondering if there was, for the first time, a need for her to seek his aid.

“Come here.”

The whispered words did not meet Miss Martin’s ears, of course, but he beckoned her along with them, to which he immediately saw her react. Her glance to the left and then to the right made him wonder if she was immediately about to refuse him, if she was immediately about to turn her head and look in the entirely opposite direction, but then, much to his surprise, she began to make her way towards him.

His breath caught in his chest as she drew close, seeing a vulnerability in her expression that he had not seen in a very long time.

“Miss Martin,” he murmured as she looked up at him. “I presume you have heard the rumors.”

She nodded but said nothing.

“They are not true,” he insisted, wondering if she was questioning whether or not he was being honest with her. “Just as matters with Lady Burton were untrue, just as the bet in White’s was not written with my own hand. Someone is set against me and I pray, Miss Martin, that it is not you.”

His words were quiet, but still, Miss Martin jerked visibly as if he had prodded her, hard.

“No, Williamson, these things are not of my doing,” she answered him, her head low now. “Although I cannot pretend that I have not done my part to keep Miss Smallwood from you.”

“But why have you done so?” he begged, the desire to finally discover the truth burning up in him again. “Why have you tried to keep your charge from me? Why have you called me a cad when you know I am not?”

Miss Martin looked up at him, her eyes glassy. “I believe you are,” she told him without hesitation. “You use your power and authority to keep things from occurring in a way that would bring happiness to others. You need not deny it, Williamson. I know you did.”

Daniel blinked, his mouth a little ajar as he stared at her. He did not understand what she spoke of, shaking his head as he fought to make sense of it.

“I do not know what you mean, Miss Martin, truly,” he promised, seeing how she looked away. “Please, I—”

She turned around and made to walk away and, in his desperation, he reached out and grasped her shoulder, making her turn at once.

“Please, Christina.”

Her expression softened at once and she closed her eyes, slowly turning back to him.

“Will you not help me?” he pleaded, his voice tremulous, such was the weight of his emotions. “I am being torn apart in front of the beau monde and have no understanding as to why or for what reason. I care for Miss Smallwood, whether you wish to believe it or not. I had every intention of speaking to her father about courting her, with a view to proposing soon thereafter.”

At this, Miss Martin’s head shot up, her eyes wide.

“Tis true,” he asserted, seeing how her face paled a little. “I care deeply for Miss Smallwood, but now I am being kept from her by nothing more than lies and rumors. I want to set things aright but I do not know how to do so. I cannot discover who it is that is fighting against me, Christina. Do you know nothing? Is there not one word of insight you can give me that would aid me in this?”

Miss Martin swallowed hard, her eyes filling with tears. Tears that he had not seen fall in years.

“I—I have lied about you to Miss Smallwood,” she whispered, a single tear coursing down her cheek. “I wanted to bring you pain. I wanted to keep you from happiness, in the same way that you kept it from me.”

Daniel wanted to bellow aloud with frustration. “I have done nothing of the sort! I—” His hand tightened on her shoulder without intention and he dropped it to his side, seeing how she shook her head.

“I think my charge is aware of my falseness,” Miss Martin continued sorrowfully. “I have let my anger bubble over to the point that I now see I have not treated you or her with fairness. Perhaps…” She looked away, clearly ashamed. “I will encourage her to call upon you tomorrow. I shall tell her everything then.”

“And you shall tell me everything also,” Daniel insisted, seeing a frown darken her features. “I speak the truth when I state that I do not understand what it is you hold against me, Christina.”

She nodded but said nothing, her disbelief evident. Turning, she made to leave him, only to turn her head. “Tomorrow,” she said, as though this was a promise she was making to him. “Tomorrow, all shall be known, no matter what happens to me thereafter.” Turning her head away again, she moved back through the crowd, leaving Daniel standing in both relief and frustration. Relief that she was to tell him everything, but frustration that it had taken her so long to even consider doing such a thing. He wanted to find a footman and down at least three brandies, in the hope that it might take the edge from his frantic, whirling thoughts and emotions, but knew that he could not. Lord Mercer was to be the gentleman he found next.

Thankfully, Lord Mercer was not particularly difficult to locate. A quiet word to a footman directed Daniel to the card room, where many gentlemen went when the dancing and the revelry became a little too much. Daniel heard Lord Mercer before he saw him, catching the gentleman’s booming voice echoing out from the room and into the hallway.

He could not go in, that much he knew. To walk directly into the card room would be to face a good many gentlemen, all staring at him with full knowledge of the stories and rumors about him evident on their faces. Lord Mercer himself might react badly to Daniel’s presence, particularly if he was in his cups. Sighing heavily, Daniel moved slowly forward, seeing a small alcove just beyond the door of the card room where he might hide himself. Slipping past the door, he stopped dead upon hearing his name being spoken by another gentleman.

“I could not quite believe it!” he heard the fellow say, flattening himself against the wall as a ball of anger settled itself in his stomach. “There he was, half-dressed and half cut by the look of it!” A loud guffaw crashed about the room, setting Daniel’s teeth on edge. “Of course, Lord Williamson will deny it, but there is no doubt about what I saw. In fact, I even have his money to prove it!”

Daniel wanted to shout that money was no proof at all, but the other gentlemen within the card room all laughed uproariously at this and Daniel knew there was no point in trying to defend himself. Clenching his jaw tight, he balled his hands into fists and tried to keep his composure.

“I do not know what has come over the man, behaving like that!” he heard Lord Mercer exclaim. “As far as I know, he is not at all that sort of fellow.”

“Obviously he is,” came the first voice, still chuckling. “It is just that he has been well able to hide it from us thus far.”

There was a short pause. “So it would seem,” Lord Mercer muttered, as Daniel fought to hear what was being said. “A little disappointing, I must say.”

Still battling the urge to fling himself into the room and defend himself against these vile accusations, Daniel struggled to think clearly, trying to work out what was best for him to do next. He could wait for Lord Mercer to come out of the card room, although that might take hours, or he could try and identify the gentleman that had been speaking. Surely one of them would emerge soon enough? Nodding to himself, Daniel moved slowly towards the alcove, making sure his feet made no noise whatsoever on the floor. He had only just managed to draw near it, hiding himself away, when two gentlemen walked from the card room, talking to each other in an animated fashion.

“Do you think it is true?” said the first as they walked away. “Lord Williamson is not inclined to such behavior, surely?”

The second man shrugged, his voice fading away as Daniel strained to hear him. “But he was seen there,” the man answered. He laughed loudly. “Although why no one is questioning his behavior, I could not say!”

The first gentleman laughed as well, before saying something more that Daniel could not hear.

His mind began to fire with painful darts, his heart slamming into his chest as the chance to discover just who it was that was telling such lies faded from him. Groaning in irritation, he slammed his head back against the wall much harder than he had intended, sending a wave of pain coursing through his skull. His head began to ache furiously and he bent low, covering his head with his hands as he fell to his haunches, gritting his teeth against the pain.

“I shall take what you took from me.”

Daniel looked up, hearing those hissed words but being quite unable to make out the face of the gentleman who now stood over him. He was about to stand up when, out of nowhere, something came crashing into the side of his head. Falling to the floor in a crumpled heap, Daniel tried to look up, tried to speak through the haze of pain that now surrounded him, but found he could do neither. Shadows were slowly but surely blocking out the light from his eyes, his head screaming in torment.

“You denied me and so I deny you,” said the low voice, filled with wrath. “You are undone, Lord Williamson.” This was accompanied by a sharp kick to Daniel’s stomach, which had him curling in pain, a groan escaping from him. The gentleman began to walk away, with Daniel trying to shout after him, but the darkness was becoming too great. It held him back, prevented him from speaking until, finally, it stole his consciousness completely.

13

“Miss Smallwood?”

Louisa did not move an inch, although her back stiffened immediately. She continued to gaze out of the window, not reacting in the least to the arrival of Miss Martin.

“Please, Miss Smallwood, might I just have a moment? It is of great importance, I assure you.”

“I do not want to hear what you have to say, Miss Martin,” Louisa replied, her spirits lower than they had ever been before. “Were it not that my father was still abed, you would find yourself without employment any longer and be gone from this house.” She knew her words were cruel and cutting, but she did not care. In a way, she felt as though Miss Martin deserved them, for there was clearly a good deal that she was keeping from Louisa and Louisa knew quite certainly that she could not trust her companion in any way. Nothing made sense to her, but she did not want to try and understand it. She would resign herself to being the wife of Sir Walton, even though that would, most likely, break her spirits entirely. Gone was the newfound confidence in herself, the determination and the strength of spirit that Miss Grey had so encouraged within Louisa. There was nothing but sadness now.

“Please, Miss Smallwood, I beg of you.” Miss Martin’s voice was filled with desperation and she practically flung herself at Louisa’s feet, making Louisa start with surprise. This was not the Miss Martin she knew. This was not the lady who had been so sharp and so direct with her, almost from the very start of their acquaintance. Why now did she seem so upset?

“I did not tell you the truth about Lord Williamson, Miss Smallwood—Louisa,” Miss Martin began, sounding more and more desperate as she spoke. “I confess that I did so for my own ends, as a way to punish Lord Williamson. I believe he deserved it, but it was not until last evening, when I saw the look on your face as you heard Lord Montague tell you of the rumors, that I realized just how much you have come to care for him.” She pressed a hand to her eyes and drew in a ragged breath. “I believe I understand everything now.”

Louisa drew in a sharp breath, her eyes widening as she stared at Miss Martin. “Do you mean to say that it has been you who has been treating Lord Williamson in such a cruel fashion?” she asked, one hand pressed against her thundering heart. “You have been spreading lies?”

“No, no,” Miss Martin protested weakly. “No, I have not had anything to do with Lady Burton, nor the bet, nor even the stories that now meet our ears about his time in the bawdy house.” Wincing, she looked away, her skirts still billowed about her on the floor as she sat by Louisa’s feet. “I told you that Miss McBride was broken-hearted over Lord Williamson and that he had treated her ill. That was not the truth.”

Louisa shook her head, her confusion growing all the more. “Then why did you say such a thing?” she asked sorrowfully. “Why did you try to push me from him?”

Miss Martin closed her eyes, her throat working as if she were trying to hold back tears. “I wish to tell you everything, Miss Smallwood, but it would be best spoken of in front of Lord Williamson. You will have questions, I know, and he will be able to answer some better than I.”

Louisa stared down at her companion, not understanding in the least anything that Miss Martin spoke of. It was evident now that Miss Martin and Lord Williamson had been previously acquainted, but what Miss Martin held against him, she had not even the slightest notion. It was clearly something that had caused her companion great anger and distress, but it was not a good enough reason to have told Louisa such lies about him.

“He cares deeply for you, Louisa,” Miss Martin finished, slowly getting to her feet and brushing down her skirts. “I did not think that such a thing would be possible, but it seems that it is so. He wants to marry you, I believe.”

Again, Louisa drew in a sharp breath, blinking rapidly as she looked up at Miss Martin’s pale face.

“He regrets not speaking to your father sooner,” Miss Martin continued, her head low and her voice dull. “I know that he will make you an excellent husband, Miss Smallwood, if you would only think of accepting him.”

“How can I?” Louisa whispered, struggling to find her voice. “How can I when he is so covered with the lies and the rumors that all of the ton now speak of? My father will not stand for it.”

“All will become clear, I am quite certain,” Miss Martin replied, finally looking back at Louisa and trying, it seemed, to smile. “He will be able to explain things to your father and I, too, shall do my part if it is required.”

Louisa did not know what to say, for there was such a change in Miss Martin’s demeanor that she was quite overcome. Miss Martin was now dabbing tears from her eyes, her breathing ragged as she tried to regain some sense of composure. A slight pang of sympathy forced its way into Louisa’s heart, even though she did not want it there, did not want to feel any compassion for Miss Martin whatsoever, but it still lingered there regardless. Closing her eyes, Louisa leaned forward in her chair and pressed her hands to her eyes, her elbows resting on her knees. What was she to do? Either she could refuse to call upon Lord Williamson and, therefore, set herself towards her future with Sir Walton and all the sorrow that would bring, or she could attempt to find a little of her courage once more and go to speak to Lord Williamson, in the hope it would bring her some fresh understanding that might, in the end, bring a good deal of happiness with it.

It was not a choice that she had any difficulty making.

“Despite my reservations and my deep confusion, I shall go with you to call upon Lord Williamson,” she said slowly, seeing Miss Martin’s eyes flare wide. “I shall not speak to my father either, until this matter has been resolved.” An apology was on the tip of her tongue, but the words seemed to stick to her lips, forcing her to speak carefully. “And,” she added, forcing the words out, “I am sorry that I spoke harshly to you, Miss Martin.” The sentiment did not come easily to her, but she said it nonetheless, aware that in threatening to terminate Miss Martin’s employment and refuse her a decent reference, she had been overly harsh.

“You need not apologize, Miss Smallwood,” Miss Martin replied, her eyes still glassy. “Once you discover the truth in all its entirety, I am quite certain that you will regret apologizing to me.”

“I doubt it,” Louisa replied as firmly as she could despite her own personal misgivings. “Despite what has occurred and what may yet occur, I ought not to have said such things. Upon reflection, Miss Martin, it may have been wise, however, for you to speak to me openly about whatever it is that has now presented itself.”

She wanted to say more, wanted to give voice to the annoyance and the confusion that was roiling around inside her, but wisely chose not to. It was clear that Miss Martin was visibly distressed and to say more would only add to the lady’s difficulties. “I should prepare myself. If you will excuse me, I will not be long.” Rising to her feet and feeling a slight trembling taking a hold of her, Louisa moved quickly towards the door. Could it be true that Lord Williamson sought to make her his wife? That in itself was something of a weighty matter, given that she felt so uncertain about the gentleman himself, but Louisa had to admit that there was a rush of pleasure that came with that thought. Hurrying up to her room to change and ensure she looked her very best, Louisa tried her best to quieten her fractious thoughts. There was no reason to linger on what might be or what could be, not when she did not know the truth in all its entirety. She had to wait until she was, once more, in Lord Williamson’s presence.

Louisa’s nervousness began to grow steadily as she sat down in front of her dressing table, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks were a little flushed, her eyes holding both hope and doubt in equal measure. Just what was Lord Williamson going to say? And what would she herself do, once she knew the truth?

“Miss Smallwood.”

Louisa held her breath as Lord Williamson turned from where he had been standing by the window, tension swirling all through her as she tried to hold his gaze.

A gasp slipped from her mouth as she looked into his eyes and saw the large, dark bruise that bloomed from one side of his forehead, reaching out towards his eye. It looked fresh and new, and for one horrible moment, Louisa thought the bruise must have come from the night he had supposedly spent at the bawdy house.

“I was set upon last evening, at the ball,” Lord Williamson said quickly, reaching for her hand and taking it in his. Louisa blinked rapidly, not quite certain what she should say or do, looking at the bruise and wincing at the severity of it.

“I foolishly threw my head back a little too hard against the wall,” Lord Williamson continued, by way of explanation. “Battling the pain, another gentleman slammed something into the side of my head. I was knocked to the floor.”

“Goodness,” Louisa whispered, feeling herself sway just a little with the shock of what she had heard. “Why would someone do such a thing?” Forcing her eyes away from the bruise, she looked into Lord Williamson’s eyes and saw him shake his head, his gaze lowering to the floor.

“I do not know,” he answered softly. “The fellow muttered that he was to take from me what I had taken from him, that he was to deny me what I had denied him, but…” He trailed off, shaking his head again. “As yet, I have no knowledge as to who such a person might be.”

Louisa swallowed hard and then, after a moment, tugged her hand carefully out of Lord Williamson’s grasp. There was still a good deal she did not understand and the last thing she wanted was to lose her focus. Lord Williamson, evidently realizing what she intended, cleared his throat and, with a tight smile, gestured for her to sit down. Louisa made to do so, only for the door behind her to slam itself hard against the wall as another gentleman flung it back and strode into the room.

“Good gracious!” the fellow exclaimed, hurrying towards Lord Williamson. “I must apologize, old chap! I did not hear of what had occurred until this morning. Why did you not come and find me in the melee? I would have come to your aid at once.”

Louisa blinked in surprise, realizing that the gentleman in question was Lord Townend, to whom she had been introduced before.

“Townend,” Lord Williamson replied, his voice rather quiet although holding a good deal of mirth. “I do have guests.”

“Oh.” Lord Townend turned around at once, his face flushed with color as he noticed both Louisa and Miss Martin who, as yet, had not said a word. For whatever reason, his gaze lingered on Miss Martin for a moment or two longer, although Louisa noticed that Miss Martin looked away almost immediately. It was, mayhap, merely that Lord Townend was surprised to see Miss Martin sitting here in Lord Williamson’s house when, no doubt, he was very well aware of the lady’s apparent dislike of Lord Williamson.

“All the same, it is good that you have arrived,” Lord Williamson continued, his hand on Lord Townend’s shoulder for a moment. “You might be able to, at the very least, confirm to Miss Smallwood that I was not at the bawdy house two nights ago, as the rumors have stated.”

Louisa sat down quickly, seeing Lord Townend nod fervently, his expression now growing serious. Her heart quickened at the look in Lord Williamson’s eyes, having heard the eagerness in his voice as he had encouraged Lord Townend to speak.

“Miss Smallwood, I must inform you that the rumors you have heard are nothing more than lies,” Lord Townend began, spreading his hands wide. “Lord Williamson cannot have been at such a place for he and I spent the evening at my residence. My staff can all vouch for it.”

Sweat began to bead on Louisa’s forehead as she let out her breath slowly, seeing Lord Williamson stare back at her with a desperate hope shining in his eyes.

“I do not understand,” she murmured faintly, her gaze darting from Lord Williamson to Lord Townend and back again. “You say that Lord Williamson was with you. Why, then, does someone else say that he was with him at the bawdy house?”

At this, Lord Williamson began to frown, taking a step closer to Louisa as his brow furrowed.

“Do you mean to say, Miss Smallwood,” he began, his hands coupling in front of him, “that you know the identity of the person who has begun this rumor?”

Louisa nodded, not quite understanding the significance. “I do, yes. I discovered it last evening, for I was quite determined—as I have always been before—to ensure that the rumors have basis in fact rather than being mere stories that grow in all manner of direction.” She closed her eyes momentarily, unable to hold Lord Williamson’s intense gaze. “But the gentleman in question stated that he had not only seen you there but gambled with you also.” Her eyes opened. “That is why I could not immediately disregard the notion.”

Lord Williamson let out a long breath and then rubbed one hand over his forehead. “I see,” he muttered, sounding frustrated. “For you see, Miss Smallwood, last evening I overhead a gentleman speaking about me in such an intimate fashion that I felt certain that all those he spoke to would believe him without question.” Dropping his hand, he gestured to Lord Townend. “Lord Townend and I had thought to speak to Lord Mercer, for we had discovered that he had been present in White’s on the evening that the bet I supposedly made was written. Last evening, Lord Mercer was playing cards in the card room and I made my way to it, only to hear someone state that he had seen me the previous evening in practically a state of undress!”

This brought such a blush to Louisa’s cheeks that Lord Williamson, upon seeing it, had to quickly stammer an apology before he could continue.

“I could not immediately enter the card room to speak to Lord Mercer or to confront the gentleman out of fear that my actions would thereafter be known throughout the ballroom and, yet again, more rumors would spread.” He swallowed and looked away. “I could not bear it, Miss Smallwood. Knowing that you were already affected by what had been said of me and what you mayhap already believed of me, I knew that I had to be careful. Therefore, I decided to wait until Lord Mercer left the room, so that I might speak to him privately.” One shoulder lifted in a half shrug. “It was not to be. I believe that the gentleman who spoke to Lord Mercer was the very same who, thereafter, knocked me to the floor. He is also, most likely, the gentleman behind the other rumors, who wrote the bet and encouraged Lady Burton to pretend that she and I had already a prior engagement.” Sighing, he spread his hands. “And the motive, for whatever reason, is that he wishes to deny me something that I supposedly denied him. I cannot understand such a thing, Miss Smallwood. Therefore, if you are quite certain that you know the fellow behind such a rumor, then I beg of you to speak his name to me now, for mayhap then I might be able to rest a little easier. Mayhap then all will begin to make sense.”

Louisa hesitated for a moment, going over the conversation she had shared with Lord Raeburn and Lord Montague last evening. Was she quite certain that Lord Raeburn had pointed to Lord Montague? There could be no doubt now, could there?

“I believe I am quite certain,” she told Lord Williamson, her fingers twisting together as her hands sat in her lap. She felt as though she were a coiled spring, under a good deal of pressure and about to spring apart at any moment. “I spoke to Lord Raeburn and insisted that he tell me the name of the gentleman who told him of your appearance at the bawdy house.”

“And who might that gentleman be, Miss Smallwood?” Lord Townend asked, his own expression suddenly dark. “What is his name?”

Louisa drew in a quick breath, settled her shoulders, and gazed directly into Lord Williamson’s face. “It was Lord Montague, my lord. Lord Montague is the man you want.”

14

At that moment, everything in his world shifted. Lord Montague was the gentleman behind the rumor about the bawdy house. Daniel blinked rapidly, color draining from his face as he realized that Miss Smallwood was now looking at him with a good deal of concern in her expression.

“That name is significant to you, I think,” Miss Smallwood observed as Lord Townend cleared his throat and hurried to the small table in the corner of the room, where he quickly poured two glasses of whisky. Handing one to Daniel, he gave him a small nudge, forcing Daniel to recollect himself.

“Yes,” he said, hoarsely, looking at Miss Smallwood and wondering why he had not thought of such a thing—although, to be entirely fair to himself, he had barely even noted that the gentleman was back within London society. Balls and soirees were always busy and, given that he and Lord Montague did not have a good deal to say to each other, it was not at all surprising that he had not noticed the fellow.

“I do not understand,” Miss Smallwood murmured quietly, looking from Daniel to Lord Townend and back again. “Why would Lord Montague treat you so?”

“It makes sense now,” Daniel admitted, running one hand through his hair and turning to face Miss Martin. “Does it not, cousin?”

He both heard Miss Smallwood’s swift intake of breath and saw, out of the corner of his eye, the way she visibly started. However, he did not look at her but held Miss Martin’s unsteady gaze, seeing the way tears clung to her lashes. It had to be explained now. He had kept his silence for far too long and whilst he had done so out of a sense of loyalty and a desire to keep his word, there was no need for such secrets to be held any longer.

“Cousin?” he heard Miss Smallwood breathe, her voice ragged. “You are Miss Martin’s cousin, Lord Williamson?”

“I am sorry, Miss Smallwood.” Miss Martin was crying now, her eyes squeezing shut as tears dripped off her chin. “I had made a decision to keep myself far from Lord Williamson, after what he did. I could not bear it.”

“I—I do not understand.” Miss Smallwood’s voice was barely audible, forcing Daniel to turn towards her so that he might hear her better. “You are related to Lord Williamson?”

Daniel swallowed hard, suddenly aware of just how much of a shock this was to Miss Smallwood. Her face was ashen, her knuckles whitening with the obvious tension that now coursed through her. Daniel’s heart burst into a racing beat, suddenly fearing that this would be too much for Miss Smallwood to accept, that she might turn from him entirely.

“I am sorry I did not tell you from the very first,” he stammered, taking a stumbling step towards her. “I had promised Miss Martin—Christina—that I would do as she wished and be as a stranger to her. It was the only way I could bring a smidgen of relief to her apparent torment.”

Miss Smallwood blinked. “Torment?” she repeated, as Lord Townend cleared his throat gruffly, a similar expression of confusion on his face. “I cannot… I do not…” Frustrated, she shook her head, lowering her gaze for a moment. “None of this makes sense.”

Daniel made to speak, only for Miss Martin to rise to her feet and, visibly trembling, come a little closer to both Daniel and Miss Smallwood.

“I should tell you the truth from the very beginning,” she said, her voice low and yet with a thread of determination running through it. “It is as Lord Williamson has said. He and I are acquainted, and yes, we are cousins. And, as he has said, I begged him to remove himself from my life for I could no longer bear to be in either his house or his company.”

Moved by his cousin’s tremulous voice and the pain burning in her eyes, Daniel took a step towards her, putting one hand out to her, but Miss Martin shook her head sharply, forcing him to step back. Questions began to burn in his mind, the very same questions that had been there from the first. What had he done—or did she think he had done—that had turned her away from him in such a manner?

“Please,” Miss Smallwood said, making him turn towards her. “Allow Miss Martin to speak. It is clear that she wishes to say a good deal and I fear that interruption will only hinder our understanding further.” Her eyes were clear now, her voice a little stronger, and once again, Daniel was reminded of just how strong a character Miss Smallwood could display. A newfound trait, she had said, but apparently one that was becoming an integral part of her.

“Of course.” He inclined his head and sat down at once in a chair near to Miss Smallwood, whilst Lord Townend took another one, clearly intrigued. Seeing them all seated, Miss Martin drew in one long, shaking breath, set her shoulders, and closed her eyes.

“I know, Miss Smallwood, that you were surprised at my youthfulness when I first came to you as your companion,” she began, Miss Smallwood leaning forward in her chair as if it would help her not to miss a single word that was being said. “There is reason for that.” She paused and opened her eyes. “My parents had been unable to take me to London for the Season as they were both rather unwell, and therefore, I had been required to stay at home.” Again, she took in a long breath, tears glistening in her eyes. “My mother passed away soon afterwards and my father then followed. I had to endure my mourning period, which took yet more Seasons from me—although I was not sorry to miss them due to my grief. Thereafter,” she gestured towards Daniel, “I was left to my charge, Lord Williamson, who was, and still is, my first cousin.”

Daniel saw Miss Smallwood turn her gaze to his, her eyes rounding.

“I did, of course, insist that Miss Martin enjoy a Season in London,” he said hastily, fearing that Miss Smallwood might believe that he had been the one to force Miss Martin into becoming a companion. “We were in London and, from my point of view, things went exceptionally well.” He saw Miss Smallwood give a tiny nod, although Miss Martin said nothing. “There were a good few young men interested in furthering their acquaintance with Christina.”

“But only one that I had any true interest in,” Miss Martin interrupted, her voice shaking badly now as she dropped her head. “One gentleman in particular, one that I thought you would accept.”

Something began to creep into the edges of Daniel’s mind as he looked at his cousin and thought back to the time when she had been making her way through society, when she had been dancing and conversing and laughing with a brightness and a happiness that he had been so glad to see in her. The sorrow that must have been in her heart over the death of both her parents was a pain that he had not thought he would ever be able to understand, and then to see her smiling and enjoying her Season had brought a happiness to his own heart. It had made it all the worse when he had seen how it had been torn away, how she had turned from it all and begged him to allow her to be a companion and nothing more.

Was it because she had been heartbroken over a gentleman that she had come to care for? He had not known of it.

“I did not realize that you had an affection for someone within your heart, Christina,” he told her softly, leaning forward in his chair and trying to get her to look up at him. “Why did you not say?”

Much to his surprise, Miss Martin’s head shot up, her cheeks coloring as her eyes narrowed suddenly. “You were fully aware of the gentleman, Williamson!” she exclaimed, reaching out one hand and pointing at him. “Do not pretend that it is not so!”

Daniel’s mouth fell open at the vehemence in her voice and the fury in her eyes. He had no understanding of what she meant and wanted to protest, but the shock of her anger caught his words and tugged them away.

“I do not think that Lord Williamson knows, in fact, whom you speak of, Miss Martin.” Miss Smallwood glanced from Daniel to her companion and then back again, her eyes betraying a small measure of understanding and, within that, sympathy for both Miss Martin and himself. “Might I ask you to speak of it a little more?” She returned her gaze to Miss Martin, a small, encouraging smile on her face. “Please.”

Miss Martin closed her eyes, fresh tears running down her cheeks. “I heard you refuse him, Williamson. He had told me that he wished to seek your approval before anything further occurred, and yet, when the time came for him to do so, you turned him away.” Daniel could almost feel her pain, hearing her ragged gasps as she fought to keep her composure. “You told him that you were sorry, but you did not think him suitable.” Her eyes opened, piercing his heart like a small, sharp dagger. “How could you do such a thing?”

Daniel’s mind filled with the memory of that day and shock once more overwhelmed his senses. Yes, he had refused a gentleman who had come to ask him if he might court Miss Martin, but it had not been someone he had ever thought she would care for. And yet, now, he realized, it might very well have been the case that they both had an affection for each other which he had not understood.

“Christina.”

Before Daniel could speak, Lord Townend spoke up. Turning his head, Daniel was utterly astonished to see the sheer desperation etched into every line of Lord Townend’s expression, for his eyes were a little wider than before, his gaze fixed upon Miss Martin and his hands clutching the arms of his chair as though he were required to keep a hold of them for some reason.

“No, Christina. It was not I.”

A gasp of shock ripped from Miss Martin’s throat, one hand covering her mouth as Daniel looked from one to the next.

“I had every intention of doing so, but I did not,” Lord Townend continued hoarsely. “I should have done, I know, but the truth is, I was hesitant, overwhelmed with the emotions in my heart and trying to understand them for what they were.” He shook his head, a groan escaping him as he put his head in his hands. “I understand now why you have turned from us both, but you are mistaken, Christina. I did not go to your cousin to seek permission. I should have done, but I did not.”

“No,” Miss Martin whispered, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed a deep red as she stared back at Lord Townend. “No, it cannot be. I thought it was… I was so certain that it was…” Closing her eyes, she let out her breath slowly, her hands trembling as she clasped them together in her lap.

“You have been under a misapprehension,” Daniel said slowly, still trying to work things out in his own mind. “It was not Lord Townend who spoke to me, but rather Lord Montague, Christina.”

Miss Smallwood jerked in her chair. “Lord Montague?”

“Indeed.” He sighed and rubbed at his forehead, feeling a dull ache beginning to form within it. “Lord Montague came to me to seek my permission to court my cousin. Being her guardian and knowing Lord Montague’s reputation, I had no hesitation in refusing him.” Recalling the gentleman’s anger, he shook his head. “I did not think him suitable, but now, mayhap, I wonder if he had a true affection for you, Christina.” Turning his attention back to his cousin, he spread out his hands. “I have never sought to do you wrong. I have only ever sought your good.”

Miss Smallwood shook her head, got to her feet, and then, after a moment, made her way to where Miss Martin now sat on a small couch. Taking a seat next to her, she reached out and took one of Miss Martin’s hand, making her companion burst into yet another flood of tears. Miss Smallwood smiled gently in compassion and understanding, handing the lady her handkerchief with her free hand.

“I am sorry for the torment you must have been through these last few years,” Daniel heard her say to Miss Martin. “You believed that your cousin refused Lord Townend and in the midst of your sorrow and upset, you thought to escape from this life by any means you could, is that not so? You asked to be a companion, you begged your cousin to find you a suitable situation and to never interfere with your life in any way again.”

“And I agreed,” Daniel admitted, throwing a glance towards Lord Townend and seeing how he stared at Miss Martin in utter shock, his face pale and wretched. “I could not understand the grief that filled you, nor the anger that seemed to burn in your every word, and the only way I could seem to relieve some of your torment was to agree to what you asked.”

Miss Martin’s shoulders shook as she dabbed at her eyes, looking towards Lord Townend. “I loved him,” she wept, as Lord Townend closed his eyes tightly. “I could not bear to be a part of society where I was to be kept from the one gentleman I cared for, and so I determined to leave it. I have held such an anger towards you, Williamson, that to know I was mistaken in it is now almost too much to bear.”

Daniel opened his mouth to reassure her, to tell her that he held her no ill will and that he could understand where such a pain had come from, only for Lord Townend to get to his feet suddenly. He watched in astonishment as his friend strode towards Miss Martin, falling on his knees directly in front of her and reaching to take her hands. Miss Smallwood rose at once in a flurry of skirts, her cheeks a little red as she moved away, allowing Lord Townend the space he needed to speak openly.

“I have never lost the love for you that came into my heart when we first met,” he told Miss Martin, who was still sobbing desperately. “It has been within me for so long, wound about with confusion and pain and sorrow. I did not know what to do or what to think, for I feared that you had turned your back on me and did not understand the reasons why.” He spoke with such evident compassion that Daniel looked away, feeling as though he should give his friend and his cousin the space to speak without his interference. Miss Smallwood was watching them both with her hands clasped together, her fingers touching her mouth. Tears were glistening in her eyes, but a small smile played across her lips. His own heart lifted, reminding him of everything he felt for this lady. The time was not at hand when he could speak openly to her, but he had every intention of doing so. Lord Townend would not be the only one to speak of the love that dwelt within his heart.

“I am sorry for what I did,” he heard Miss Martin say, as Miss Smallwood’s gaze met his own, her eyes bright. “I thought you had been refused and I could not bear to even speak to you again, knowing that I was to be kept apart from you. And now, so much time has passed—”

“And yet my feelings have remained the same,” Lord Townend interrupted, gripping Miss Martin’s hands. “Say that you will marry me, Christina. Say that you will bring my happiness to its joyous fulfilment. Promise me that you will be mine for the rest of my days, so that this dark time might become nothing more than a shadow in our memories.”

Daniel looked back to his cousin, seeing how she glanced up at him. He nodded at once, his own heart beginning to ache with an understanding of all that she had gone through, dealing with her pain and sorrow alone. He got up and drew near to Miss Smallwood, and together, they walked towards the window, looking out over it so that the couple might have a few moments alone.

“Yes,” he heard Miss Martin whisper. “Of course I will marry you, Townend. You know that my heart has always belonged to you.”

Beside him, Daniel saw Miss Smallwood wipe at her eyes with trembling fingers, her handkerchief still in Miss Martin’s possession. Quickly pulling out his own, he handed it to her and she accepted it gratefully, giving him a watery smile. Wishing that he could do more, he pressed her free hand for a moment, seeing how she leaned towards him as though eager to go into his embrace, only to pull herself back again. This was Miss Martin and Lord Townend’s moment, he knew, and that was something that both he and Miss Smallwood did not want to interrupt. But by this week’s end, Daniel determined that he would speak to Miss Smallwood of all that he felt, in the hope that she might accept him in the very same way that Miss Martin had accepted Lord Townend: without hesitation, without restraint, and speaking true words of love.

15

Louisa drew in a long breath and walked quickly into Lord Townend’s drawing room. This little soiree had more than one purpose to it, but as yet, she was not to give anything away.

Her eyes searched each and every dark corner, seeking out the one gentleman that she knew would be present, but she did not see him. Her heart quickened as she pressed her hands tightly together, praying that this evening would allow Lord Williamson to have his good name restored.

“Thank you for coming, Miss Smallwood.”

Lord Townend was beside her in a moment, not failing in his duties as host as he bowed in front of her, although she noted how his gaze lingered on Miss Martin, who was still playing the part of companion. Louisa smiled and nodded, her heart filled with happiness for them both.

“Thank you for your kind invitation, Lord Townend,” she replied with a quick bob of a curtsy, glancing about her to ensure that no one could overhear their conversation. “Has he arrived as yet?”

Lord Townend shook his head, his expression a little troubled. “Not as yet, Miss Smallwood, but I am certain he shall do once he is ready. Lord Montague, however, has joined us already. As has Lord Mercer.”

A sense of nervousness settled about Louisa’s heart although she did not betray this to either Lord Townend or to Miss Martin. Instead, she simply nodded and tried to smile, not wanting to show any sort of anxiety.

“Thank you, Lord Townend,” Miss Martin murmured, her eyes fixed upon her betrothed. “I am certain this evening shall bring us the conclusion we all hope for.”

“I am sure it will,” Lord Townend agreed, a smile spreading across his face. “I look forward to being able to tell all of society that I am no longer a bachelor but rather betrothed to the one lady I have loved for such a long time.”

Louisa smiled at how Miss Martin dropped her gaze, seeing her blush and smile at the same time. However, as she did so, she saw that behind Miss Martin, there came Lord Montague, advancing towards them with a dedicated expression on his face. Placing one hand on Lord Townend’s arm, she cleared her throat gently, reminding him that now was not the time for such expressions, giving a slight jerk of her head in the direction from which Lord Montague was advancing.

“If you will excuse me, Lord Townend, I have just seen someone that I must greet,” she said, dropping her hand and making to move away. “Good evening.”

“Good evening,” Lord Townend replied, back to his usual formality and not so much as glancing in Miss Martin’s direction. Clearing his throat, he turned to greet Lord Montague, allowing Louisa to escape without difficulty.

“I did not think that Lord Montague ever had such feelings for me that he would go after Lord Williamson,” Miss Martin murmured, once they had made their way to a quieter part of the room. “I feel truly terrible for my part in this.”

Louisa shook her head. “You have no reason to feel any such guilt,” she told Miss Martin firmly. “You did not know of Lord Montague’s determination to court you and from what I understand, you quite agree with Lord Williamson’s determination to refuse him.”

Miss Martin nodded quickly. “I would not have wanted to court Lord Montague,” she admitted. “I am glad that my cousin refused him, even though I did not know it was he that he spoke to at the time.”

“And yet,” Louisa added softly, her gaze fixed on Lord Townend and Lord Montague as they spoke, “Lord Montague must truly have cared for you in one way or the other. Not that I feel he would have been willing to give up his many flirtations and the like, no matter how much he felt, but to now attempt to bring down Lord Williamson’s reputation in such a way speaks of a long-held anger over his refusal.”

Miss Martin nodded slowly, her expression forlorn. “I believe Lord Montague has been waiting for some time, with the sole intention of ensuring that Lord Williamson is robbed of the happiness that Montague believes should have been his.” She sighed and looked at Louisa. “It is only because Lord Williamson has come to care for you that he has decided to act. I am sorry for that, Miss Smallwood.”

“Miss Martin, please,” Louisa replied warmly. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Christina.”

Louisa laughed softly. “Christina. You have nothing to apologize for. You did not engineer this. You have had nothing to do with it, aside from trying to keep me from Lord Williamson.” She shrugged, not wanting Miss Martin to feel any further guilt. “It will all work out in the end, I am quite certain, and, if I may say, I am glad that it has brought a happiness to both yourself and Lord Townend that should have been there from the very beginning.”

Miss Martin blushed. “I thank you,” she replied solemnly. “It is more wonderous than I could have ever hoped for.”

“And it is as Lord Townend said,” Louisa added, smiling at Miss Martin. “Do not look back and allow this shadow to linger in your future happiness. You will have a joyous future together, I am quite certain of it, and I must hope that, in the same way that Lord Townend and Lord Williamson are fast friends, we might become so also.”

Miss Martin’s eyes glistened with tears as she nodded, her smile wobbling just a little. Were it not for the fact that they were in Lord Townend’s drawing room and about to enjoy a soiree of sorts, Louisa would have hugged her companion tightly, feeling the strain and confusion of the last few weeks fading away completely.

“There he is.”

Miss Martin’s hiss caught Louisa’s attention at once. Lord Williamson strode into the room, his shoulders back and his head held high.

“Good evening, Townend,” he boomed, his voice filling the room and causing practically everyone to turn towards him. “Thank you for the invitation.”

At once, murmurs of consternation rolled about the room, making Louisa all too aware of the rumors and whispers that were running amok through society at this very moment. Her heart pounded as a light sheen of sweat began to form on her brow. This could all go disastrously wrong.

“You are most welcome,” Lord Townend replied with a broad grin. “You know that I do not give credence to any such rumors, do you not?” His voice was loud also, and given that there was near silence in the room, there was no difficulty in hearing what was being said. Looking all about him at the rest of his guests, Lord Townend spread his hands out towards them. “In fact, ladies and gentlemen, I can prove to you that Lord Williamson was not at the bawdy house, as so many of you believe.”

One gentleman cleared his throat and stepped forward, his brow furrowed low and his hands held tightly by his side. “If you will forgive me for speaking bluntly, Lord Townend, I do not think that we should hold your words in high regard, for it is well known that you are closely acquainted with Lord Williamson and, therefore, it is understandable that you would wish to defend him.”

Louisa held her breath, knowing that this was what Lord Townend and Lord Williamson had intended, but still finding her anxiety building rapidly.

“Again, my apologies for speaking with such honesty in front of your guests, Lord Townend,” the gentleman finished with an inclination of his head.

“I quite understand,” Lord Townend agreed as Lord Williamson looked across the room to where Louisa stood, his eyes catching hers and filling her with such an overwhelming longing for him that her breath was taken from her lungs. Miss Martin’s hand grasped hers and she held it tightly, aware that her companion, too, felt a good deal of tension.

“I could produce my butler, my cook, and my footman to tell you that Lord Williamson was here on the night in question, I suppose, but given that they are my staff, I must presume that you would not accept that either.” He spread his arms wide and looked across the room, evidently seeing the nods of heads and hearing the murmur of agreement. “I could also produce a note from the lady who runs the bawdy house, stating that Lord Williamson was not there, but you would not accept that either, for it is well known that such ladies are easily manipulated with a decent amount of coin.” He arched one eyebrow and looked directly towards Lord Montague, who stiffened visibly. “Is that not so?”

Another gentleman cleared his throat, the tension in the room rising with every moment. “I do not understand what you mean by this, Lord Townend,” he said, drawing everyone’s attention. “If you wish to have Lord Williamson here as your guest, then none of us can protest that.”

Lord Townend nodded sagely, as though this was the most remarkable piece of advice. “That is true,” he agreed, his voice soft but yet seeming to fill the room. “The reason I have invited you all here this evening, however, is not merely to enjoy an evening of conversation, music, and the like, but rather to ensure that you each understand and believe that Lord Williamson is not the guilty gentleman that you believe him to be. His reputation is not stained, as you might think it. He is innocent of the slurs thrown at him.”

Louisa closed her eyes momentarily, hearing the full weight of Lord Townend’s words and knowing that those words alone would not convince anyone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you will permit me, I wish this evening to have a few minutes of your time to show you that I am, as Lord Townend has said, entirely innocent of this vicious rumor.” Lord Williamson spoke up, taking a few steps forward, as a few ladies sank down into chairs, their eyes wide and yet taking everything in. Louisa knew full well that this evening would give the gossip mill more than enough to run on for some weeks, no matter the outcome. Both she and Miss Martin sought out a place to seat themselves, sinking down onto plush chairs and praying that all would go well. “I am not the sort of gentleman who would even consider visiting such a place.”

“And yet you were seen,” another gentleman replied, gesturing towards Lord Montague. “The very gentleman who told us of it is now standing before you.”

“Then I must ask,” Lord Williamson replied, “why his reputation does not bear the same stain as mine.” His words were sharp and thrust from him, making a murmur of voices rise louder. “Why does he not bear the same shame as I, given that he was in the very same place?” He turned towards Lord Montague, who pushed himself away from the wall, his expression malevolent.

“I was merely playing a hand of cards, that is all,” Lord Montague replied, his voice thick with anger. “You need not try to convince the beau monde that I was in a similar state of disgrace.”

Silence ran through the room for a moment or two and Louisa gripped Miss Martin’s hand a little tighter, seeing how every eye was fixed upon Lord Williamson and Lord Montague. The truth was soon to come out, but whether or not the ton would believe it, she did not know.

“I was not present that evening, Montague,” Lord Williamson said softly, turning towards the gentleman. “You have made that story up and used your coin and your influence to ensure that some of the ladies who work at such an establishment will confirm your words. I have sought them out and confirmed this with them.” He tipped his head just a little. “Although that will not be evidence enough, of course.”

Lord Montague said nothing, although a smug smile began to form on his lips, sending a wave of anger crashing through Louisa. She wanted to rise to her feet, to demand that Lord Montague admit to everything he had done so that Lord Williamson could be freed from his disgrace, but instead she had to merely force herself to sit quietly. Now was not the time for her words.

“Lord Mercer,” Lord Townend said quickly, shattering the silence. “A bet was supposedly made by my friend Lord Williamson on the evening that you were present at White’s.” Gesturing to a footman, he waited until the fellow had brought him over the piece of paper and, accepting it, unfolded it and read the bet aloud to the gathered crowd. Louisa’s stomach tightened as a few gasps came from the assembled ladies, aware of how they glanced at her and feeling heat climb into her cheeks.

“Might I ask, Lord Mercer, whether you were aware of Lord Williamson making this bet?”

Lord Mercer cleared his throat and shifted from one foot to the other. “I was present but not fully aware of what was going on,” he replied in a slightly haughty tone, as though he wanted to cover up the fact that he had been in his cups. “I did not see Lord Williamson make this bet, however, no.”

Lord Townend inclined his head. “I thank you. So Lord Williamson was not in White’s when you were present?”

“No, he was not,” Lord Mercer admitted as a few murmurs caught up into the air. “I did not see him present.”

“And you were at White’s that evening for a good few hours?”

Again, Lord Mercer cleared his throat, still looking rather uncomfortable. “I was,” he admitted slowly, “but I did not see Lord Williamson attend during that time.”

“The fellow was asleep!”

Louisa’s heart leapt up into her throat as Lord Montague’s voice rang out across the room, making everyone turn to face him. Lord Montague, whose outstretched hand had been pointing towards Lord Mercer, dropped his arm quickly and began to bluster, his face going scarlet as Lord Williamson turned towards him, an expression of keen interest on his face.

“You say, Lord Montague, that you were present at White’s that evening?” he asked as a hush fell on the gathered crowd again. “You were with Lord Mercer at White’s when this bet was made?”

Lord Montague cleared his throat and nodded jerkily, perhaps aware of just how foolishly he had behaved. “Indeed. And… and I saw Lord Williamson make that bet.”

“How interesting,” Lord Townend interrupted in a quiet voice. “First, you are present at the time that Lord Williamson makes this rather inappropriate bet, which no other gentleman can verify, it seems, and next you are the only gentleman to see Lord Williamson at the bawdy house.” He paused for a few moments, allowing the significance of his words to fall upon each person’s mind. “And then we come to Lady Burton.”

At this, Louisa noted, Lord Montague went sheet-white. Her own heart cheered loudly at the sight, feeling that there was now a chance that the ton might believe that Lord Williamson was not the guilty party in all of this, that the stain might be removed from him.

“What of Lady Burton?” Lord Montague hissed, trying to keep his expression scornful but failing terribly. “There is nothing that—”

“Lord Townend has spoken to me at length, Lord Montague.” Lady Burton rose from her chair, her face rather white and her fingers twisting together. “I would not have two lots of happiness ruined, for I am not as cold-hearted as you might believe.” Drawing in a long breath, she turned to the rest of the gentlemen and ladies, seeing how they watched her. This was, Louisa knew, taking a good deal of courage and for that, she was greatly appreciative.

“Lord Montague sought me out and begged me to interrupt Lord Williamson and Miss Smallwood as they walked in the park, under the pretense that Lord Williamson had made an arrangement to walk with me. This was merely to confuse Miss Smallwood and to ensure that she was no longer interested in being accompanied by Lord Williamson.” Lady Burton’s chin lifted, her eyes flashing as she turned her gaze back to Lord Montague, who seemed to be slowly sinking into the floor. “If I did not do as he asked, then there would be consequences for me.”

Another ripple of shock ran around the room.

“What consequences, I will not say,” Lady Burton finished, her face now a little grey. “But they were of the most dire sort and I felt such a fear over it that I knew I had very little choice but to obey.” Her voice trembled as she looked towards Lord Williamson. “I am sorry for my part in this, Lord Williamson, but I felt as though I had very little choice. It was not until Lord Townend came to me and told me what he knew of Lord Montague’s involvement in other matters that I felt safe enough to speak the truth.”

“That is quite all right,” Lord Williamson replied gently. “You may sit down, Lady Burton. I am sorry for the burden you have had to carry, but be assured it is gone from you now.”

Louisa watched Lord Montague as Lady Burton sat, seeing how his eyes flashed but how the arrogance was draining from his expression. He was slowly coming undone and there was nothing that he could do.

“You have tried to separate Lord Williamson from Miss Smallwood, Lord Montague,” Lord Townend began as the rest of the crowd stared, fixedly, at the gentleman in question. “By your own statement, you have confirmed it. It was you who spoke to Lady Burton, you who made the bet in White’s, and you who then supposedly saw Lord Williamson in the bawdy house.”

Lord Montague tried to scoff at this, although there was no certainty in his words. “I have no reason to do so.”

“That is not at all true.”

Much to Louisa’s surprise, Miss Martin got to her feet and spoke loudly, making Lord Montague swing around to face her. His expression was one of shock, as though he had not even noticed her presence before.

“You spoke to my cousin about courting me, did you not?” she continued, rising from her chair and taking a step closer to him. “My cousin being the very man you have now accused of being found in the bawdy house. The one whose potential happiness you have tried to ruin, all for the sake of gaining some sort of revenge upon him for refusing you.”

The sense of shock that ran about the room was, to Louisa’s ears, practically audible, for only in that moment did people realize that Miss Martin was speaking of Lord Williamson. She looked at every face, seeing the open mouths, the widened eyes, and the bright expressions on one or two faces as they considered what gossip they might be able to chew upon next.

“You deny this?” Miss Martin asked as she took another step closer, her back rigid with both tension and anger. “You deny any of this?”

Lord Montague swallowed hard, his chin lifting. “I wanted to court you, Miss Martin,” he stated darkly. “But he refused me.” He jerked his head towards Lord Williamson, a furious expression rippling across his face. “And then he sent you to some young woman as her companion!” The word ripped from his mouth with force, making it slam about the room, burning into Louisa’s mind like a fiery dart. “He took you from this place and forced you to become something you are not worthy of.”

For a long moment, Miss Martin said nothing. She merely looked back steadily at Lord Montague, her chin lifted and her gaze fixed.

Then, she spoke.

“You are mistaken, Lord Montague,” she began, her voice soft and yet filled with such determination that Louisa felt the weight of her words settle on her shoulders. “Lord Williamson did not send me away. I chose to leave.” She glanced behind her towards Louisa, who could only give her the smallest of smiles, such was the tension that ran through every sinew. “I need not go into my reasons for such a decision, but I did so without even a thought directed towards you, Lord Montague.”

Louisa caught her breath, aware that every eye was fixed upon Miss Martin. Her every muscle seemed frozen in place as she waited for her to continue.

“I would not have accepted you even if you had wished it of me,” Miss Martin continued. “You may have thought you cared for me, may have believed that you wanted me for your own, but I knew the gentleman you were and the gentleman you still are today.” She shook her head. “You would not have given up your pleasures, Lord Montague. You would not have given up your flirtations, your coy smiles, and your delights taken at your leisure. You would have wanted a marriage where you could go about as you had always done, whilst knowing that I remained at home, waiting for your return.” Again, she shook her head, before turning back towards Louisa. “I warned Miss Smallwood away from you, Lord Montague, and would have continued to do so had you shown any continued interest in her. You have no true consideration for others. Instead, you seek only your own pleasures and for that, I would have had no consideration for your desires, such as they were. I would have refused you and am more than glad that my cousin and guardian sought to do the same.”

“He should not have refused me! He deserves the consequences!”

The words shot from Lord Montague’s mouth before he could stop himself. His hands were curled into fists, his mouth one hard, angry line, and his face whiter than Louisa had ever seen it before. The way he glared at Miss Martin suggested that he almost hated her, hated her with more passion than he had ever thought he had for her. Miss Martin remained standing steadfastly before him, whilst Louisa put one hand to her throat, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. With her considerable courage, Miss Martin had unmasked Lord Montague entirely, had proven to them without doubt that he had been attempting to stain Lord Williamson’s reputation and remove any chance of happiness from him.

“I believe, Lord Montague, that you have shown your true colors to us all,” Miss Martin murmured, her voice cutting through the air and making Louisa’s heart clamor all the more. “You have lied and manipulated and done all you can to ruin Lord Williamson—but not because you care for me. It is because he has slighted you, because you believe that he is guilty of treating you poorly, and because, to your mind, you deserve better than such treatment. Lord Williamson needs to be punished because he has slighted you by refusing to accept your courtship of me, is that not so?” She waited but Lord Montague said nothing, clearly aware that what he had said had revealed too much already. “There is nothing more to be said, Lord Montague. Lord Williamson bears none of the stains you have tried to throw at him. These ladies and gentlemen present this evening are witnesses.”

The first gentleman who had spoken at the very start now cleared his throat and stepped forward.

“We are indeed,” he agreed, his bushy brows low over his eyes. “Lord Montague, you shall have no escaping from this. The beau monde shall not be enticed to give Lord Williamson the cut direct, nor remove him from our society. Instead, it shall be you who will find yourself rejected. Your plan has failed, sir. You are no longer welcome in our company.”

Louisa closed her eyes against the swell of tears that rushed to her eyes, hearing the hurried footsteps and the sudden slamming of a door. Lord Montague, she knew, was gone. It was at an end. Lord Williamson would not be pulled from her any longer.

“And might I announce,” Lord Townend cried, before the hubbub could begin in earnest, “that Miss Martin and I are now engaged! We are to be married within the month.”

Louisa began to laugh with the sheer delight of it, looking out across the crowd that was now swarming around Miss Martin, only to see Lord Williamson looking back at her. His face was alive with happiness, his eyes warm and fixed upon her own. Her heart swelled with love, knowing that there was nothing now to hold her back. All she had to do was go to him.

Epilogue

“It is at an end.”

Louisa practically melted into Lord Williamson’s arms as he stepped out onto the terrace, reaching for her at once. They had managed to escape the hubbub for a few minutes, knowing that no one would miss them and that they would have all the opportunity they needed to speak in private. She let out a long breath, leaning into him and settling her head on his shoulder. It was more intimate than she had ever been before, but it felt right, felt as though she belonged right here, safe in his arms.

Lord Williamson sighed contentedly, his arms about her waist as he held her close.

“You do not fear me now, I think.”

Louisa looked up in surprise. “I have never feared you,” she said honestly. “I did not understand, did not know what everything meant or whether I could trust my own heart.”

He nodded slowly, his face lit by the moonlight that seemed to brighten all about them, as though seeking to envelop them in particular. “Your heart, Miss Smallwood… what does it say?”

She smiled tenderly, taking a small step back so that she could look into his face. His eyes were gentle now, with every trace of anxiety and fear gone from his expression. Louisa took one hand in hers, feeling her heart quicken and enjoying the tumult of sensations that rushed through her at his touch.

“My heart wanted to believe that everything I knew of you was the truth,” she told him, seeing him smile. “I wanted to believe that you were honest, that the words you spoke and the affections you presented were entirely true. And yet, there came so much trying to force me to do the very opposite.”

He nodded, clearly not holding anything against her. “I can well understand that,” he replied quietly. “And I am sorry that I could not tell you the truth about Miss Martin. I had made her a promise that I would not reveal my connection to her, and by the time she returned to London with her charge, she looked and behaved so very differently that I fear only myself and Lord Townend recognized her.”

Louisa put her free hand against his chest, not wanting him to feel any guilt whatsoever. “I understand why you could not break your promise,” she answered, her heart free of all fear and doubt. “I am glad that the truth has been revealed now, however, such is the happiness that I see in Christina’s eyes.”

“And in Townend’s,” Lord Williamson replied with a chuckle, although he began to lower his head, to look into her eyes with a little more intensity. “It is a happiness I would seek for myself also, Louisa.”

Her name spoken with such tenderness made Louisa’s heart jump in her chest, sending a flush of heat to her cheeks.

“I would not hold myself back from you,” he continued, his words quick as though he could not wait another moment to speak them. “I would not keep a single word when it comes to telling you the truth about how I feel.” His hands took both of hers and raised them to his chest, as he held them tightly. “Lord Townend told me that I should not wait, that I should not hesitate when it came to telling you the truth about how I felt, and therefore, Louisa, I shall do so at this very moment.” Pausing for a long moment as if to regain some courage or to allow himself the time he needed so that he might find the perfect words, Lord Williamson raised her hands to his lips and kissed them.

Louisa’s very soul seemed to burn with a passion that seared right through her, her breath escaping from her as a myriad of sensations coursed through her all the more. Her skin burned hot, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain he could hear it.

“I love you,” Lord Williamson said softly, looking into her face earnestly as he lowered their joined hands again. “When the thought of losing you from my life was upon me, it was only then that I realized just how much I cared for you.”

“And when I realized the truth,” Louisa interrupted, feeling the urge to speak of her own feelings growing within her steadily, “I knew then that there was nothing that need hinder my own affection for you, Williamson.” Her lips trembled as he began to lower his head, knowing what was coming and yet wanting to prolong the moment. “I have found a happiness with you that I did not even imagine was possible. My heart is yours, for it can never belong to another. And there is no need to ask. You know that my only hope is to become your wife.”

His lips touched hers just as she finished speaking, enveloping her in a cloud of dazed excitement, wonder, and love. Leaning into him, she let his mouth play over hers, feeling such a joy that it could not be contained. Throwing her arms around his neck, she pulled him tighter, making Lord Williamson laugh softly against her mouth.

“Your determination has seen you through, my love,” he murmured, his head still low. “You have sought the truth and you have found it. I cannot think of anything better than making you my bride.”

* * *

Bewildered Earl

Brides of London

Prologue

“Lord Kingsley, I must not!”

Miss Henrietta Preston blushed furiously as Lord Kingsley inclined his head, his eyes gleaming as he continued to look at her.

“A short stroll around the gardens cannot be too much to ask, surely?” he murmured, looking at her in a beseeching fashion. “It is much too busy for anyone to notice; I am quite certain of it.”

Again, Henrietta felt her cheeks burn with color, her defenses slowly diminishing as she looked up at the handsome face of Lord Kingsley and felt quite overawed that he would be interested in escorting her around the gardens. He was quite right, she supposed. It was very busy this evening and, most likely, they would not be missed. Her mother, Lady Cuthbert, would not even notice she was gone, given that she was already a terrible chaperone and cared very little for what Henrietta did. Henrietta had, of course, always sought to behave with propriety and yet could not help but feel Lord Kingsley’s presence and interest in her battling against the urge to always do what was right.

“We will be but a few minutes,” Lord Kingsley said softly, offering her his arm and allowing his gaze to soften as he looked back at her. “There will be nothing untoward, I assure you.”

Henrietta let out a small sigh and then smiled at him, wondering whether or not Lord Kingsley intended something more from this short walk together than merely stepping out for a time. Mayhap he would ask to court her. Mayhap he would ask for even more than that. After all, he had been rather attentive the last few days—to the point that Henrietta had begun to hope, beyond all hope, that she might mean something to the gentleman.

“Very well,” she said, seeing how his face lit up with a grin as she spoke. “But only for a few short minutes, Lord Kingsley.” The warning in her heart began to rise up within her as she settled her hand on his arm, but Henrietta dashed it away with barely even another thought. Lord Kingsley could be trusted, could he not? He had been very attentive towards her and she did not think there was anything about his character that was of concern. He would return her to the ballroom within a few minutes, just as he had said, and all would be well.

However, within a few minutes, Henrietta was regretting her trust in Lord Kingsley. He had taken her from the path and had walked with her to a darker part of the gardens, making her slippered feet quite wet from walking in the damp grass. He had not asked her to walk with him that way but had simply led her from the path, clearly believing that she would accept him without question. When she had tried to question it, he had merely laughed and settled his hand over hers as it rested on his arm, effectively trapping her there.

Henrietta was afraid.

“I want to return to the ballroom now, Lord Kingsley,” she said, somewhat unsteadily, as she tried to pull her hand away. “I do not have any intention of—”

Before she could finish, however, Lord Kingsley had chuckled, turned around, and caught her up in his arms, lowering his head and trying to capture her lips with his. Henrietta tensed at once, feeling his lips press hers but having none of the joy or excitement she had thought she might feel at such an experience. Instead, she felt nothing but fear, wanting to step back out of his arms but feeling quite lifeless, quite weak, and, therefore, entirely unable to do so. It was only when Lord Kingsley lifted his head that Henrietta felt a modicum of strength return to her limbs and she stepped back, forcing Lord Kingsley to drop one of his hands although the other hand snagged her wrist.

“I am not that sort of lady, Lord Kingsley,” she stammered, feeling sweat run down her spine as she battled against her fear. “Unhand me at once.”

Lord Kingsley did nothing of the sort. Instead, he merely chuckled and tugged her back towards him, even though she fought to release herself from his grip. Henrietta, suddenly deeply afraid of the gentleman, pulled herself away as hard as she could, her breath coming in quick, short gasps, but Lord Kingsley only chuckled again, evidently taking great delight in her fear. Her skin grew clammy, her mind screaming with a deep sense of panic that made her heart hammer.

“What is going on here?”

Another voice cut through the gloom, making Henrietta’s skin prickle with fright.

“Ah, Lady Starling!” Lord Kingsley did not appear to be in any way disconcerted by the appearance of the lady, who came to stand next to Henrietta. She looked down at Henrietta’s hand, held captive by Lord Kingsley, before looking up at the gentleman himself. “I recognized your voice at once, my dear lady. Do not fear for Miss Preston. She has come quite willingly.”

“I am not willing to remain,” Henrietta exclaimed, somewhat breathlessly. “I do not have any intention of remaining here, Lord Kingsley. You know very well that I wish to leave your side. This was not what I thought your intentions were when we first—”

“I believe the lady has made her requirements quite clear, Lord Kingsley,” Lady Starling interrupted, her very presence reassuring Henrietta. “Do allow her to depart from you and might I suggest that, thereafter, you find someone who is a good deal more willing to remain here with you than this poor creature, whom you have evidently terrified with your much too forward advances.”

Henrietta staggered back as Lord Kingsley let go of her hand, swamped with relief and thankfulness towards this Lady Starling. Nothing more was said between herself and Lord Kingsley, for he simply let out a harsh laugh and turned away, walking through the darkness towards the ballroom again.

“I—I cannot express the depths of my gratitude,” Henrietta breathed, her hand pressed against her heart as she heard herself gasping for air. “If you had not discovered us, then I fear that…” She closed her eyes and shuddered visibly, not even questioning for a moment how the lady had managed to find both herself and Lord Kingsley in what was a very dark part of the gardens. Mayhap God Himself had sent the lady to her, knowing her trouble and knowing that she needed to be rescued from her own foolishness.

That relief was shattered the very next moment.

“I shall keep what I have seen to myself, of course,” Lady Starling said firmly, her sharp voice cutting through the darkness towards Henrietta. “But you shall have to do something for me in exchange, Miss Preston.”

Henrietta stared at the lady in the gloom, only just able to make out her expression in the moonlight as it cut through the tree branches over their heads.

“In fact, you shall do whatever I wish, whenever I wish it of you,” Lady Starling continued calmly, as though she were quite used to making such demands and thought nothing of it. “Do you understand, Miss Preston?”

Henrietta could only stare at the lady, slowly beginning to realize that mayhap there had been more to Lord Kingsley’s attentions than she had first been aware of.

“Do you understand me, Miss Preston?” Lady Starling asked again, her voice sharp and her eyes narrowing. “I cannot return you to the ball unless I have your agreement. You know what will occur if you refuse me.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat and battling the tears that came to her eyes, Henrietta tried to speak. “You intend to tell my mother of what I have done if I do not,” she said, speaking her thoughts aloud. “Is that not so?”

Lady Starling laughed softly, shaking her head, and for a moment, Henrietta wondered if she had mistaken the lady’s intentions.

“No, not your mother, my dear girl,” Lady Starling replied with a wave of her hand. “The entirety of the beau monde!” She laughed again as Henrietta doubled over, feeling as though she had been struck hard in the stomach. “The ton shall know of your foolishness this night and you shall be quite ruined. That is, of course, unless you agree to do as I ask you whenever I ask it of you, Miss Preston. Only that way can you be guaranteed my continued silence on the matter.”

“Then you have it,” Henrietta replied faintly, seeing no other way out of her dreadful situation. “I agree, Lady Starling.” Her cheeks grew hot, her whole body burning with shame as she looked down at her feet, realizing that Lord Kingsley and Lady Starling had been working together in order to arrange such a thing. He had not had any particular interest in her. Instead, he had used flattery to encourage her and she had stepped forward into his embrace with barely a second thought.

“Very good,” Lady Starling said with a hint of sweetness that sickened Henrietta. “Now, come along, Miss Preston. I shall return you to the ball and to your mother and no one will know of what has occurred here this evening. And I thank you for your assistance in this matter. It has all worked out rather well, do you not think?”

Henrietta could not bring herself to say anything. Instead, she remained silent as she walked alongside Lady Starling, her shame burning furiously through her. She had been taken advantage of, had been caught by flattery and the desperate hope that a gentleman of quality was interested in her, and now she had been left with nothing more than mortification and embarrassment. Her head low, Henrietta made her way back to the path, each step heavier than before. She had been utterly foolish and now she was to pay the price for her idiocy. Lady Starling held her head high as she walked, whilst Henrietta’s head sank all the lower. There was no way out from this now. She would have to do as Lady Starling asked, whenever it was asked of her, no matter what it might be.

There was no way out.

1

Two years later

“You know what is expected of you this Season, Henrietta.”

Henrietta nodded slowly, looking out of the window and feeling her heart lifting just a little at the sight of the London street below her. It had been two years since she had last been in London, two years of having her mother and father repeatedly go over what had occurred and just how foolish she had been, and two years of her continuing to agree with every word that they had said. Sighing heavily, Henrietta passed one hand over her eyes and tried not to allow that same, clinging fear to bite at her heart once more.

Some two years ago, Lady Starling had, in fact, used Henrietta for her own devices. It had turned out to be a matter of the worst sort, leaving Henrietta dreadfully frightened but still forced to be obedient. When the truth had come out, Henrietta had been required to speak of the whole thing in its entirety, going right back to when Lord Kingsley had tried to press his advantage and Lady Starling had first come to her aid.

Unfortunately, that had meant her mother, Lady Cuthbert, became aware of all that had occurred and this, of course, had brought the lady a good deal of distress. Horrified by what her daughter had done and what shame she had almost brought upon the family name, Lady Cuthbert had not allowed Henrietta to remain in London for the rest of the Season but had brought her back to her father’s estate, where Viscount Cuthbert, Henrietta’s father, had been deeply angry with what Henrietta had done. He had demanded that she stay away from London and from society for the remainder of that year and, indeed, the year after that so as to ensure that she had adequate time to reflect on her behavior, and also to make quite certain that there were to be no rumors of her behavior in London. Her father and mother had been so concerned that there would be whispers about Henrietta that they had written to almost every one of their acquaintances in town, on more than one occasion, seeking to discover what gossip might be making its way through the rumor mills.

Thankfully, though there had been plenty about Lady Starling, there had been nothing about Henrietta—none to damage her even a little.

Now, she was returned to London and, with the promise to behave with utter propriety and to do exactly as her mother required, Henrietta was finally to be allowed the chance to seek out a suitor. She was a little older than before and certainly would not pass for a debutante, but still was not past the age for marrying. She was hopeful and her spirits rather buoyant. There was a chance for her now and she was not about to let it fly from her.

“Now, your cousin is to—”

Henrietta whirled about almost at once, facing her mother and seeing how Lady Cuthbert’s eyebrows rose as she looked back at Henrietta.

“My cousin, Mama?” Henrietta repeated, as a touch of nausea swirled about in her stomach. “Surely you cannot be speaking of Statton!” She narrowed her eyes just a little as her mother held her gaze, her chin lifted and her expression severe.

“I speak of Mr. Statton, yes,” Lady Cuthbert replied firmly, her green eyes almost the very same shade as Henrietta’s. “He is come to town and seeks an audience with you.”

Henrietta shook her head. Over the last two years, George Statton had called at the estate on a few occasions when, previously, he had not called upon her father for long periods of time. She had begun to suspect that he was being invited to the house for one sole purpose and now that he was, apparently, in London at the same time as she, Henrietta became convinced that her concerns were correct.

“He is a kind man, Henrietta,” Lady Cuthbert continued, rising to her feet and beginning to pace up and down in front of the drawing room hearth. “He has a good income, even though he is in employment, and would suit you very well.”

Henrietta shook her head. Her parents might think well of Mr. Statton, but she certainly did not. She did not like the dark look that came into his eyes at times, did not like the slightly crooked smile that hid more than it revealed, and certainly did not like how he continually spoke of himself rather than even consider others. He had not once asked her how she fared, nor sought to discover more about her or her character. Instead, he had talked at length about his own life and all that he enjoyed from it, as though she ought to find this utterly fascinating. What made it all the worse was that she had caught Mr. Statton with one of the maids, who had not seemed to be particularly interested in his advances. She had been walking from the library to her bedchamber to seek out a book in order to help her fall asleep, when a muffled cry had caught her ears. Mr. Statton had been standing in the passage, with a maid pressed up against the wall and his hands tight against her wrists. Upon seeing her, Mr. Statton had merely chuckled and shrugged, clearly in his cups as he staggered back. The maid had stared up at her with terrified eyes, clearly afraid that she was about to lose her position, but Henrietta had only made certain that the girl was quite all right before sending her back downstairs. Mr. Statton had said nothing to her but had only laughed harshly before turning away.

Henrietta had despised him from that moment.

“Mr. Statton may be my cousin, Mama, but we certainly would not suit,” she said firmly, seeing her mother frown. “You need not concern yourself that something untoward is going to happen this Season. I am quite able to seek out a decent suitor, for I am quite certain that there must be someone amongst the ton who will look at me.” She tried to smile, even though the confidence she spoke of did not truly fill her. “Mr. Statton is, as you said, in employment and does not carry a title.” Trying to soften her expression, she looked at her mother, who was still pacing. “Do you not want me to marry well?”

Her mother sighed and waved a hand. “Your father and I are greatly concerned that someone will know of what occurred previously and that the news will travel all through town!” she exclaimed, her expression tight. “Your brother and his wife are now expecting a child and we cannot have any sort of scandal.”

Henrietta sighed inwardly. Her brother, Frederick, was married and his wife already in her confinement. He was the one they were most concerned for, even though Henrietta was the one here in town. They did not want any such scandal to touch him and his family’s name and clearly were still quite afraid that something like that might occur.

“I am certain nothing will happen, Mama,” Henrietta insisted, trying to be as persuasive as she could.

“Lord Kingsley might be present in town,” Lady Cuthbert protested, throwing up her hands. “What if he says something?”

Hesitating and trying to throw aside the concern that wrapped about her for a moment, Henrietta shrugged. “I do not think that he would do so, Mama, for it might link him further to Lady Starling and I am certain he would not want such a thing to happen.” Injecting as much confidence as she could into her voice, Henrietta tried to smile. “You need have no concern, Mama. I am certain this Season shall go very well and I certainly do not think that I need Mr. Statton’s presence here either.”

Lady Cuthbert stopped walking and looked at Henrietta directly.

“You will consider him, Henrietta,” she said with a good deal more firmness than before. “He might make you an excellent husband.”

Henrietta shook her head, hating that she was disagreeing with her mother but knowing that there could be no future for herself and Mr. Statton. “Mama,” she said gently, “I am aware that you seek my best, and for that, I am truly grateful.” She saw her mother’s expression soften. “But I cannot lie to you. I will not consider Mr. Statton, not in any way. He is not the sort of gentleman that I can think well of.” It was on the tip of her tongue to tell her mother how she had seen him behave with the maid, but she quickly prevented herself from doing so. Lady Cuthbert did not need any further distress. “I will not allow him to court me and certainly will never marry him, even though I am aware that you and Papa wish it.”

Lady Cuthbert sighed heavily, shaking her head so fervently that her grey hair, so carefully in place, wobbled in a slightly alarming fashion.

“I must do what I believe is right, Mama,” Henrietta continued, knowing that her parents expected her to obey them without question after what had been a severe lack of judgment. Henrietta, however, was quite determined that she would not fall into such a trap again and was, therefore, certain that she would have an excellent Season—although whether or not that concluded with her finding a suitor, she could not say.

“Henrietta, you are being very difficult,” her mother said mournfully. “Your father and I wish for you to—”

She was interrupted by a rap at the door, forcing both Lady Cuthbert and Henrietta to end their conversation. Calling for the butler to enter and sending a meaningful glance in Henrietta’s direction, Lady Cuthbert stepped forward, ready to meet and welcome their guest.

“Mr. Statton,” she said warmly, as Henrietta sank into a bow. “How very good to see you again.”

“Thank you for your kind invitation,” Mr. Statton gushed, bowing towards Lady Cuthbert and then towards Henrietta. “It is so very good to see you both again.”

Henrietta did not smile, although she did drop into a quick curtsy, as was expected. She did not think it at all pleasurable to see her cousin again, taking in his expression and thinking him to be a rather false gentleman. He was tall but thin, with a mop of thick, dark hair that fell untidily over his angular face. Henrietta felt that she never quite knew what Mr. Statton was thinking, for he almost always had an oily smile on his face that hid the truth of what he was considering or feeling. There was a falseness about him that Henrietta did not like and certainly did not trust. The only reason her parents were pushing her towards him was simply because they feared that, somehow, a rumor or whisper about her previous misdemeanors might escape from someone and, thereafter, be spread through London and bring the family name into disrepute. Her role in Lady Starling’s schemes had been small, but certainly would be more than enough to bring a fresh shame to Henrietta. However, after two years away from London and without hearing a single whisper, Henrietta was quite certain that what her parents feared would not come to pass, even if they did not believe it.

Nothing could induce her to marry Mr. Statton, not even her parents’ fear. No, she would rather face spinsterhood than marry someone such as he.

“Sit for tea, Mr. Statton,” Lady Cuthbert said hurriedly, sitting down quickly and gesturing for the gentleman to sit in a chair opposite. “Henrietta, do come and join us.”

Sighing inwardly, Henrietta went to join her mother, her feet unwilling yet obedient nonetheless.

“You are to start your Season, I hear,” Mr. Statton said as Henrietta sat down. “Let us hope it will be more successful than your last one.”

Henrietta bristled at once, lifting her chin and arching one brow. “I am quite certain it shall be very successful indeed,” she replied, aware of her mother’s warning look but ignoring it entirely. “Although I thank you for your concern.”

“You are aware, I am quite certain, that there might well be an agreement between us, Henrietta,” Mr. Statton continued, referring to her in such an intimate manner that Henrietta felt herself grow a little angry. “Your parents have made it quite clear to you now, I presume?” He threw a glance towards Lady Cuthbert, who merely smiled.

“They have,” Henrietta replied quickly, “but I have no intention of doing as they think best, Mr. Statton.” She saw his brows knot together as she spoke, wondering if he had the impression from her father that she would accept him unequivocally. “I intend to enjoy my Season as best I can, Mr. Statton, and do not have any particular concerns that I shall struggle to do so.”

“Oh, Henrietta,” Lady Cuthbert said sorrowfully. “I cannot understand you.”

“Nor I,” Mr. Statton replied, sounding a little angry. “Your father has arranged for you to have a Season, yes, but I understood it was to be with the intention to allow me to court you, Henrietta. We were to enjoy a few soirees and the like, but the suggestion has always been that—”

“I have not been involved in any such discussion,” Henrietta said softly, seeing how Mr. Statton’s brows furrowed all the more. “That may have been my father’s intentions, but it was never discussed with me. Had it been so, then you can be certain, Mr. Statton, that I would not have hesitated to make my feelings on the matter quite clear.” She saw him bristle but merely tilted her head, not afraid of his anger. “I do not think we would suit and, whilst I am flattered at your consideration of me, I must decline it.”

“Henrietta,” her mother groaned softly, but Henrietta remained unmoved. Getting to her feet, she did not wait for the tea tray to be brought nor did she sit back down as her mother requested. She had to make her feelings and her intentions about Mr. Statton quite clear and this was precisely how she had to do it.

“You will excuse me now,” she told him, seeing how his expression had turned rather ugly. “I am sorry for the trouble such a misunderstanding might have caused you, Mr. Statton, but I can assure you that it was not intentional.” Bobbing a quick curtsy and keeping her head high, she turned away from Mr. Statton and her mother and walked towards the door, pulling it open and stepping through it almost at once. Her heart was hammering furiously as she did so, making Henrietta wonder if she was a little afraid of Mr. Statton’s dark looks, or whether it stemmed from the realization that she was about to be berated rather heavily by her mother soon after.

Closing the door behind her, Henrietta told herself it did not matter. She was not about to be cajoled into a marriage with her cousin, not when she thought so little of him. Her parents were too afraid, too scared, that something terrible would occur now that she had returned to London. All she had to do was prove to them that they were mistaken and surely, their intentions for her and Mr. Statton would begin to fade.

“I will prove it to them,” she told herself aloud, her voice echoing off the walls of the passage as she made her way to her bedchamber. “They will see that there is nothing to concern themselves about.” Her heart began to slow as a gentle smile tugged at her lips. There was nothing to be overly concerned about. No one would remember her and, even if they did, her part with Lord Kingsley and Lady Starling was entirely hidden. She had no doubt of that and she was not about to let the shame of her past dictate what she now did in the present. Her parents might expect her to wear it as a cloak about her shoulders, making her small and weak and entirely obedient to their every wish, but Henrietta had determined not to become such a creature.

Sighing to herself at the thought of the letter her mother would write to Lord Cuthbert, and having no doubt as to the reply she herself would soon get from her father thereafter, Henrietta pushed open the door to her bedchamber and stepped inside. Closing the door tightly, she turned the key so that it was tightly locked and then fell back to flop onto her bed, not caring about her skirts and the wrinkles and creases that would come from her behaving so. Her heart was heavy, her mind heavier still, and this silence, this aloneness, brought her a little peace.

“They will see,” she whispered aloud, her eyes closing for a moment as she took in long breaths of air. “And they will be reassured. Mr. Statton will become nothing more than a momentary thought, a past consideration that no longer holds any weight. You are quite safe from him. Quite safe.”

2

James, the Earl of Carrick, sighed inwardly as his younger brother, Oliver, stepped into the study with a rather guilty look on his face.

“You are come for a reason, I must surmise,” James said heavily as his brother bowed low. “And not a good one, I think.” He studied his brother with a sharp eye.

“I am sorry, brother,” Oliver began, muttering something unintelligible under his breath as he shoved one hand through his fair hair, which was only a little lighter than James’. “It was a mistake, only.”

James sighed again, but loudly this time, making his brother look up at him with the guilty look remaining in his eye.

“I went to play cards down by the docks,” Oliver continued, throwing himself into a chair opposite James’ desk and rifling one hand through his hair again. “I had enjoyed a little too much liquor, I grant you, but I had enough sense to know that such a thing held a little more danger than playing in White’s.”

“A little more danger?” James repeated, throwing one hand up into the air in exasperation. “You know that the docks are filled with rogues and thieves and the like. They do not care for the nobility down there! You ought not to have—”

“Spare me the lecture, brother,” Oliver muttered darkly. “I have had enough on my conscience of late and know very well that I made a somewhat foolish decision. It is not of any benefit to me for you to state what I already know.”

With an effort, James stayed his tongue, knowing that he wanted to say a good deal more but choosing not to do so. His brother was quite right to say that he already knew the dangers of playing at the docks and that he did not need James to state it again, but still the urge to rail at his brother remained.

“And now, it seems, I have to return to the docks,” Oliver continued, after taking a long breath. “I have debts and it seems the seafarers do not take vowels.”

James snorted at the ridiculousness of this statement. “Of course they do not!” he exclaimed, seeing how his younger brother seemed to sink lower into his chair. “Might I ask just how much you owe?”

The sum that his brother named made James flinch visibly, causing his brother to squirm in a most uncomfortable manner.

“I am sorry,” Oliver finished plaintively. “And I know it is wrong for me to come to you to beg yet more coin when I have already run through my allowance for this quarter, but I cannot think of what else to do.”

James grimaced. His younger brother was precisely that—younger. His late mother had given birth to two children before bearing Oliver, but sadly, both had died in infancy. Therefore, there were a good few years between him and Oliver and James still felt a great deal of responsibility for him. He had his own small house and grounds and was expected to have some sort of income of his own using his grounds for cattle, sheep, or grain—whatever was the most profitable—but as yet, Oliver showed no sign of having any such interest in it. And James continued to give him more money from his coffers, feeling almost guilty that Oliver had been left without a father to guide him.

Mayhap he had been too soft-hearted, however. Oliver continued to behave in such a way whether he was in Bath or in London, and this time, just as before, he was showing no inclination to do anything other than squander his time and his money. It was only a few weeks into the Season and already, Oliver had lost so much money that he was now forced to come and beg James for more. Grimacing, James shook his head. Now was the time to be a little more forceful, to be a trifle more determined. His brother would never change his ways unless James made it clear that he was not about to aid him any longer.

“This shall be the last time I will help you,” he said slowly, seeing how Oliver’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I shall not come to your aid again, Oliver. You have a good steward and excellent grounds. There is no reason for your lands not to become profitable. Therefore, I shall not be aiding you again.” He rose to his feet, leaning on his table so as to fix his gaze more intently upon his brother. “I will expect you to return home now and tend to your duties there. That is, of course, unless you intend to find a young lady and marry her?”

This was met by a sudden, swift shake of the head, which James could not help but chuckle at. No, his brother was not at all inclined to wed, which James could not criticize, given that this was his sixth Season and, as yet, he had not found any young lady to interest him.

“Then, you will return home?” he inquired, seeing Oliver’s brows hang low over his eyes. “You will not remain in London?”

“I do not see that I have any other choice but to do as you ask,” Oliver replied gruffly. “Although I should not like to give the impression that I am ungrateful, brother. I am truly glad that I am able to come to you with such difficulties.”

“You shall not be able to come to me any longer,” James replied starkly, making certain that his brother understood that things were about to change. “This is the last, brother. I mean it.”

Oliver nodded, rose, and stuck out his hand. “Thank you.”

Sighing inwardly and wondering if Oliver would truly do as he had been asked or if, in time, he would fall back into such habits as he had already displayed, James shook his brother’s hand firmly. It would take a good deal of strength for him to refuse to help Oliver again, for if his brother came to him in dismay and regret, as he had done so often, there was a good deal of compassion within James’ heart that almost always rose to the surface. James supposed it came from his feelings of responsibility toward Oliver. Since their father had died when Oliver was still at Eton, James had felt determined to be the one to care for his brother in the place of their lately deceased father. It had been a struggle to teach Oliver what a father ought to have taught his son, and in many ways, James felt as though he had failed.

“You will come to the docks this evening, then?”

Tugged from his thoughts by Oliver’s quiet voice, James looked up to see his brother standing at the door, looking uncertain.

“What I mean to ask is whether or not you would be able to attend with me this evening,” Oliver said, appearing rather self-conscious. “I will not pretend that I am entirely confident about returning there alone, brother, for I cannot be certain how I will be treated should I return alone.”

“No, that is wise,” James replied honestly. “I will, of course, attend with you and shall have the money spread between three of us—for I will take one of my men also. One of the tigers might do very nicely.”

Oliver nodded, giving James a half smile. “Thank you, Carrick,” he said, the smile dropping from his face. “I do hope that I will not have to come to speak to you again in such a way. I believe I have quite learned my lesson.”

“I can only hope,” James replied fervently as his brother walked from the room and closed the door tightly behind him.

Frustrated and still somewhat uncertain as to whether or not he had made the right decision, James got up from his chair and began to pace about the room, pausing only to pour himself a measure of brandy from the decanter in the corner of the room. The glass of amber liquid he swirled about gently, his thoughts running over one another as he considered matters. Oliver was young, yes, but not young enough to be freed from all responsibility. When James had given him the smaller house and lands, he had expected Oliver to do as much as he could with it, to make it as profitable as he could. That had not been the case. Was it because he had given Oliver too much responsibility? Or because Oliver was not inclined to do so knowing that James would help him with any debts or difficulties he had thereafter?

Groaning, James rubbed his forehead with one hand before throwing back his brandy in one big gulp. Letting it run through him, he took in a long breath and let it out slowly, looking around the study as though it would provide him with some answers.

None came. Making his way to the window, he looked out of it with a rather bored stare, still thinking about what he ought to do with Oliver. He watched the gentlemen and the ladies go by, the carriages and phaetons being driven slowly, and felt the tension begin to uncoil somewhat. He had changed how he treated Oliver and mayhap that was all that would be required. Mayhap Oliver would understand that this was the very last that James could give him and would respect that.

Either that, or he would come begging for help again and James would have to find enough strength within himself to refuse. That would be difficult indeed, but he would have to remain strong, believing that he was doing what was best for his younger brother.

Suddenly his eyes caught on someone. She appeared quite unremarkable at first glance, which was why he was surprised that his gaze snagged on her. She was walking slowly alongside an older lady, whom he presumed to be her mother or, if not that, a relative or companion. This lady was gesticulating in all directions, whilst the young lady appeared to be entirely disinterested. She was not even looking at the older lady, for her eyes roved about the street as though searching for anything that could take the place of the conversation she was meant to be engaging in. Her eyes were bright and sharp, with a few dark curls escaping around her face as her bonnet fought to contain the rest. She had a comely shape and was wearing a walking gown of light green, which made James wonder whether the shade matched her eyes.

He caught himself. Whatever was he doing, staring at a young lady walking in the street? It was quite inexplicable, for he had never once found himself interested in a young lady before—they all appeared much the same to him, truth be told. They were all milk-and-water misses, or if not that, then overly confident, flirtatious gossips who wanted nothing more than to parade themselves through society without even a moment of consideration for anyone else. He tolerated them, coming into society each year so that he might enjoy cards, White’s, and the good company of his friends and acquaintances who arrived here every Season also. He did not want to be interested in any young lady and certainly could not understand why this young lady, stranger that she was, had suddenly caught his attention.

It was rather odd, for as much as he wanted to look away, he found he could not. In fact, his eyes were fixed upon her, watching her every step, taking in her expressionless face and wondering what it was that she was trying so desperately to ignore. The lady beside her, still talking in a most animated fashion, was somewhat red-faced, mayhap becoming upset with how little the young lady was listening to her. Her frown and sharp expression made it quite clear that she was upset about something and try as he might to ignore it, James wanted to discover what it was that they were discussing.

The young lady turned her head away from her companion, apparently caught up by something in a shop window, which seemed to distract the older lady for a few moments. When they turned back to walk again, the young lady had a small yet triumphant smile on her face, which, upon seeing it, made James laugh out loud, the sound echoing around his study. Goodness, he had never reacted so strongly to a young lady before in his life! And yet, this stranger, this unremarkable creature, had quite caught his attention merely by walking on the street below his house.

“I must discover her name,” he murmured to himself, feeling his heart quicken and allowing himself to enjoy the experience of it. “I must know who she is and see why she has intrigued me so.” Realizing that the sight of this young lady had pushed all thoughts of his brother from his mind, James turned away from the window with a small sigh of regret and sat back down at his desk. Thinking for a few moments, he rang the bell and waited for his butler to arrive. There was much to arrange for this evening and he would have to ensure that his staff were prepared, including the tiger who would accompany them.

“The last time,” he told himself as the silence of the room enveloped him, giving him no peace but instead, a feeling of deep frustration and concern. “This must be the last time and then…” Sighing, he rubbed his hands down his face, forcing himself to remain strong. “And then, no more. No matter what occurs, he will have to deal with the consequences of his actions. I can do no more.”

3

“Yes, Mama.”

Henrietta tried her best not to roll her eyes as she alighted from the carriage, knowing that it was best not to further intensify her mother’s ire.

“You are to retire at once,” Lady Cuthbert insisted, leaning out of the carriage door. “You are not to go hurrying off somewhere and hide yourself away. Do you understand?”

Henrietta, who had no intention of leaving the house given the late hour and the fact that she was rather tired, merely nodded, turning about to face the carriage rather than the steps that led to the front door.

“Of course, Mama,” she said as fervently as she could. “I am to retire immediately. I will do as you say, of course.”

“No one is to call upon you,” Lady Cuthbert ordered, her brows low over her eyes. “And you are not to set foot out of this house!”

The anger that ignited in Henrietta’s veins began to burn all through her. She knew full well that her mother’s concern came from the worry that Henrietta would do something foolish, given what had occurred some two Seasons ago. No matter how much Henrietta tried to reassure her mother, tried to tell her that she well understood the consequences of behaving in such a way again, Lady Cuthbert simply would not be pushed from the belief that Henrietta would do something like that again.

“I am going to my bedchamber, Mama,” she stated, gritting her teeth and letting her hands curl into fists in order to try and contain her fury. “I have no intention of setting foot out of doors, nor have I made arrangements with anyone to call upon me.” Not that I would have been able to do so, even had I wished it, she thought to herself, far too aware of how her mother had been watching her every step at the ball that evening.

Lady Cuthbert’s eyes remained fixed upon Henrietta, who felt the fierceness of that stare even in the gloom. The street lanterns were lit, yes, but they flickered rather sadly and did not do much to chase the darkness from them.

“I shall not disobey you, Mama,” Henrietta said again, now wanting nothing more than for her mother to depart. “Please. Return to Lady Whitaker’s. You know very well that she is waiting for your return.”

This seemed to bring to mind to Lady Cuthbert that her friends were, in fact, waiting for her and that she ought not to be tardy. Having been unwilling to settle into a game of cards with Henrietta still in the ballroom, Lady Cuthbert had insisted on taking Henrietta back to their townhouse under her supervision before returning to Lady Whitaker’s ball. The implication of this had stung but Henrietta had agreed quietly, not saying a single word of dissent.

“Very well,” Lady Cuthbert muttered, sitting back in her seat and indicating that the footman could close the door. “But this carriage shall not leave until I see you safely inside.”

Henrietta did not hesitate but turned around at once in a flurry of skirts and hastened towards the door. Only when she was greeted by the butler did she hear the carriage roll away. Her mother had finally gone.

“I shall retire, I think,” she said to the butler with a rather rueful smile. “Might I have some warm milk sent up? I shall change directly.”

“But of course.” The butler bowed and Henrietta made her way up the stairs to her bedchamber, feeling glad that she was no longer in the company of her mother, who had become somewhat unbearable of late. Ever since Henrietta had refused Mr. Statton some two weeks ago, Lady Cuthbert had been angry and easily irritated, and seemed to find fault with everything Henrietta did. This did not surprise Henrietta, who had expected as much, but still, it was growing rather wearying. Even now, she was bringing up the subject of Henrietta’s disgrace with Lord Kingsley some two years ago as a reason not to even allow Henrietta a moment of solitude. It was as though she expected Henrietta to repeat her mistakes, even though Henrietta had made it abundantly clear that she would never behave in such a way again. Even earlier that afternoon, Lady Cuthbert had done nothing but criticize Henrietta for refusing Mr. Statton. It had made her want to tell her mother the truth about Mr. Statton and what she had seen him do with the maid, but she had chosen not to do so, for fear that her mother would simply find a way to justify what Mr. Statton had done.

Sighing heavily, Henrietta waited for her maid to arrive with the warm milk and to help her to change into her night things, sitting down heavily on the bed and putting her head in her hands. Why could she not be permitted just to enjoy this Season without continually being reminded of her past mistakes? Could her mother not allow her even a modicum of trust? It was both irritating and saddening and Henrietta had to do her best to try and keep her spirits high, in the desperate hope that her mother might change her attitude soon.

It was an hour later and Henrietta had sent her maid away yet again, still not quite prepared to retire to bed. In fact, she had not even changed out of her gown, for her mind was still too heavy with thoughts. She had drunk her warm milk and tried to read a book so as to bring peace to her mind and help her to sleep, but as yet, nothing had taken the burden from her. The behavior of her mother brought an ache to her soul that she could not easily remove. It was saddening indeed and made her fear that she might never find a suitable gentleman, not with her mother so protective and always so near.

A sudden sound caught her attention and she turned her head, expecting to see her maid opening the door. The door was not locked, for there was no one else in the house, and she had not yet retired to bed. Thinking that it would be best to change at the very least, so that her maid could retire, Henrietta got up to speak to her, only for the door to remain firmly closed. Confused, she took a few steps nearer, wondering what the sound had been, and spotted something on the floor only a few inches away from the door.

It was a note. Frowning, Henrietta picked it up at once, mystified as to what it might be. Was there something wrong? Had one of the staff written to her by way of warning? Surely not!

The note was sealed but the wax held no mark. Breaking it open, Henrietta began to read—and felt her heart slam into her chest with such force that she had to catch her breath.

‘Your mother is with me,’ the note began. ‘I have taken her from Lady Whitaker’s and shall not return her unless the rubies are brought to me.’

Henrietta swallowed hard. The rubies? She did not know at first what the note referred to—only to recall that her mother’s priceless ruby necklace and earbobs were kept safely in another part of the house. They were something she had brought with her into her marriage and, as such, wore them very rarely, such was their value in terms of both money and family importance.

‘You shall bring them to the docks this very evening,’ the note continued. ‘Find the boat named ‘Solitude’ and leave them on the box by the gangplank. Then depart and your mother shall be returned to you. Speak to no one of this or the worst shall occur and her blood shall be on your head.’

Henrietta did not know what to do. She shook violently, not quite certain whether this could be true or not. Most of the staff had gone to bed, which meant only her maid and mayhap the butler would still be present in the house. She closed her eyes tightly, her heart beating so painfully that she could barely breathe. The note had said not to speak to a single person about what she was expected to do. Did that include the staff? How was she to get to the docks without the carriage? Surely someone had to know of what she was doing, for if she left the house without warning, then they might fear for her safety.

A vision of her mother lying, bound and mayhap gagged, in the back of some carriage, burned into her mind and left her almost nauseous with fear. She had no other choice but to do as she had been instructed. If her mother’s life was at risk, then she would do all she could to save her.

Trembling, she staggered toward the door, pulling it open and hurrying to her mother’s bedchamber. The door was, thankfully, open, and she began to search for the rubies as quickly as she could, tears burning in her eyes and clouding her vision.

“Mama,” she whispered, trying desperately to remember whether or not her mother had brought the rubies to London. “I am coming. I am coming to your aid, just as quickly as I can.” For a moment, she stopped and wondered whether she ought to seek out her maid and ask for her help, only to remember the dire warning in the note, and she felt a chill run down her spine. If she did that, then the worst might occur and her mother might be left to die alone in the dark.

Then I must find them alone, she told herself, taking in a long breath and filling her lungs with air. Trying to find some sort of strength, some sort of resolve, she continued to search the bedchamber as quickly as she could, trying not to give in to the fear that caught at her heart, but instead focusing on what she must do in order to save her mother.

The moment she found the large velvet box, Henrietta felt such relief swamp her that she could not breathe. Sinking down to the floor, her skirts pooling around her, she opened it carefully and saw the ruby necklace and the earbobs sitting there quietly, as though waiting for her to discover them.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, unbound and unrestrained. Her hands shook as she closed the lid, holding the box tightly to her chest for a moment. This was all she needed to do, she told herself. She simply had to do as the note had instructed and all would be well. She could not even begin to think who might be behind the note, for so many people knew of her mother’s ruby necklace, such was the rarity of it, that anyone might have sought it for themselves. Her heart pounding, she tried her best to breathe slowly so that she would not go into a panic. There was a good deal yet for her to do and she would have to find more courage than ever before if she were to succeed.

Quite how Henrietta made it to the docks, she did not know. She had managed to change from her gown into a walking dress in dark, muted colors and thrown a dark cloak over herself, which she now had lifted over her dark curls. The box of rubies, encased in a thick, cotton bag, was held tightly in her hand as she climbed down from the hackney.

“You will wait for me?” she said to the driver, knowing that she had paid him well for this journey and praying that would encourage him to linger. It was just as well she had used very little of her pin money thus far, for otherwise she might have been required to walk to the docks.

“No, miss,” the driver growled, looking about the dark docks, his face illuminated by the small lantern that hung on the side of his seat. “No, I will not wait here. This is not a good time to be at the docks, miss, and I cannot understand why you are so insistent on coming here this late at night.” He shook his head, looking at her beseechingly. “You ought to come right back into town, miss. I’ll drive you back home, no charge.”

Everything in Henrietta wanted to agree, wanted to jump right back into the hackney and feel herself safe again, but she knew she could not. Why, at this very moment, the perpetrator might be waiting for the rubies, with his hand stayed only by the hope that she would be coming with them. If she did not appear, then her mother’s blood would be on her head and that was something she could not bear.

“I cannot,” she whispered, shuddering violently. “I would return if I had the choice, but that is not something that I can do. Please, will you not wait for me?”

The driver hesitated, then shook his head, clearly thinking that the money he had made might very well be stolen from him.

“Then I must go on alone,” Henrietta said shakily, having no knowledge of how she would manage to return home after leaving the rubies where she had been directed. Without another word and feeling her legs trembling violently beneath her, she turned and began to make her way slowly toward the ships in the dock, grateful that there was a little moonlight with which she might see her way.

On more than one occasion, her foot slipped on something she could not quite make out, forcing her to reach out for whatever she could and to hold onto it tightly. Crates were piled high, nets thrown carelessly to one side or the other and, thankfully, there appeared to be no one else around.

Her heart hammered, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as she approached the ships that lay like great giants, towering over the rest of the docks. In the darkness, the shadows they cast made them seem like tormented beasts, swathed in gloom and all manner of evil. Shuddering violently but forcing one foot in front of the other, Henrietta continued toward the first, knowing that she would have to draw near in order to see the names of each ship.

To her surprise, a lantern had been tied near the name of each one. Was this done each night or had it been done specifically for her own sake? Feeling as though eyes were watching her from some dark, unknown place, Henrietta continued on her way as quickly as she could, still fearing that someone might leap out and attack her at any moment.

And then she saw it. Solitude. The name was written there boldly with the lantern light illuminating it like a beacon. Coming to a stop, Henrietta leaned back against a stack of crates, trying to catch her breath. She would not step out straight away, fearing that someone might be waiting for her. No, instead, she would be careful. Waiting until her heart had slowed just a little, she looked all about her, but it was futile. She could see nothing, could hear nothing aside from the waves and the wind coming from the sea. Her hands still shaking violently, she held the ruby box tight and stepped forward, seeing the box sitting alone just in front of the ship.

Swallowing her fear and feeling every sinew tense, she set the bag down carefully and stepped back, looking all about her. Nothing jumped out at her, nothing moved in the darkness. There came no creak of footsteps, no stifled cough or sneeze. Perhaps this was all as it seemed. All she had to do was step back and return home, in the hope that her mother would be returned to her. If she was not there when Henrietta stepped over the threshold, then Henrietta did not know what she would do.

Turning around, Henrietta began to hurry back the way she had come, her hands curling into fists. She did not see a dark figure step out in front of her, did not see how they raised their hand, a club held within it. She did not even feel the blow as it smashed down on the back of her head, nor did she feel the cold cobbles hit her face as she fell. She felt nothing, saw nothing, and could do nothing other than accept the darkness as it wrapped itself around her and held her captive.

4

The darkness did tend to unsettle him, James had to admit. As did walking through the docks in the knowledge that there were more than a few scoundrels about—scoundrels who would think nothing of attacking him and taking all he had. He had tried his best to dress in such a manner that would not allow him to be noticed by others, although his valet had been utterly horrified when James had asked to be dressed in the worst manner possible. James had not explained the particulars but had told his valet it was required so that he would not be attacked for being a gentleman in a place where nobility were not particularly welcome, and this had satisfied his valet somewhat.

Oliver was dressed in a similar manner, although they were both grateful for the sturdy boots they had chosen to wear. There were all manner of things down at the docks, all sorts of stenches and stains everywhere, which only made James’ stomach churn all the more. He did not want to admit that he was a little anxious about what was to come, but that was the truth of it.

“At least your tiger is a sturdy enough looking fellow,” Oliver muttered as he led the way towards a small, dimly lit building. “He is good in a fight, I hope?”

James shrugged, throwing a look over his shoulder at the broad-shouldered yet rather slim fellow who was carrying a small lantern so as to guide their way a little better. “I should think so,” he commented as Oliver lifted one eyebrow. “But let us hope it does not come to that.” He could already hear the sounds of men shouting and reveling, wondering if this would be a simple matter of paying what Oliver owed and then retreating.

Oliver grunted but said nothing, which did not allay James’ fears in the least. Instead, he pushed the door open and walked inside, leaving James to follow.

The room was not overly large but seemed to hold a good deal too many men for the space. A wall of liquor and bile seemed to hit him, the smell making him want to retreat outside even though the docks themselves were not much better. The men inside all slowly began to go silent, turning one by one to look at James and Oliver. James could feel his mouth go dry, far too aware that there was very little chance that, should they be attacked, he would be able to fight them off. He was not often afraid for his life, but in this case, he had to admit that the fear was there.

“I have come to see Jack,” said Oliver in much too loud a voice. “I have something to give him.”

A rumble ran around the room as the men looked at each other, before turning around to look at one man who sat in the corner. James caught his breath as the fellow stood, seeing just how tall and broad-shouldered he was. He wore breeches and a torn shirt and, as he rose, it seemed that almost all the men in the room moved back from him, clearly intimidated. James swallowed hard, lifting his chin and trying to appear as calm as possible without betraying even a modicum of the sudden anxiety that flooded him. Little wonder that Oliver had been so afraid of this fellow, given the man’s stature!

“Ah, if it isn’t the little boy who’s in over his head,” the man said, his voice low and grating as some of the other men began to chuckle. “Come to tell me that you ain’t got the money and you’re going to need another day or so?” He laughed harshly and cracked his knuckles. “Can’t you guess how that’s going to work out for you?”

Oliver cleared his throat and took a step forward. “No, I have not come to beg for mercy or anything like that,” he said, just as loudly. “I have the money here for you. You’re welcome to count it but I can assure you—”

“And who’s this?” Jack interrupted, coming right up to James and looking down at him with dark, angry eyes. “Your guard, come to make sure you get back in one piece?” Behind him, the men chuckled. “Didn’t you trust that I’m a good, honest man, who only wants what’s owed him?”

James drew himself up to his full height, his chin lifting. “My brother is quite able to look after his own affairs,” he replied, sending a sudden silence through the tavern. “I am here only to ensure that the money reaches you safely.”

Jack narrowed his eyes for a long moment, then shrugged. “You mean to say you trust him as little as I do, when it comes to money,” he said, making the men in the tavern laugh loudly. “Very wise, sir. But yes,” he continued, turning to Oliver, “I will count it, if you don’t mind. Brother or not, I still have to be sure it’s all there.”

“It is,” James said firmly. “Not a penny missing.”

He turned to see Oliver giving him a sharp glance, before looking towards the tiger. Nodding, James gestured for the tiger to take out the money to hand to Oliver, murmuring quietly for the man to stay with Oliver whilst he stepped outside.

This transaction ought to be done between Oliver and Jack and did not require James’ presence. In fact, it was probably better for Oliver if he was not present. Making his way to the door, he pushed it open and stepped outside, feeling almost grateful for the less-than-fresh air that he pulled into his lungs. The moon shone brightly, the clouds chased away by a fresh wind that seemed to bring a taste of salt to the air. Sighing to himself and desperate to remove some of the tension from his limbs, James wandered away from the tavern, quite certain that he would be sent for if something untoward occurred.

His heart heavy in his chest, James could hardly believe that Oliver had managed to get himself involved in something so foolish as to play with a man like Jack down at the docks. He should be grateful that Jack had not demanded the money immediately, as he had every right to do. Had the money not been paid, James had very little doubt that the man would have, somehow, made certain that Oliver paid what was due—and more besides.

Shaking his head, James meandered slowly towards the ships that were tied up at the docks. They looked rather magnificent, he had to admit, with the moonlight clothing them in an ethereal glow. He could almost imagine what it would be like to step up onto the gangplank and lean out to see the waves crashing with all their might. It would be a new sort of freedom, he supposed, looking up at them and letting his mind wander... only for him to trip over something large, his feet falling from under him and sending him directly down onto his hands and knees.

A cry of frustration wrenched itself from his lips as he picked himself up, wondering what he had tripped over and thinking it to be, most likely, either a crate or a large coil of rope. Muttering darkly to himself, he kicked out at it—only to hear a tiny sound coming from whatever it was.

His heart stopped in his chest as he stared hard at the ground, trying to see what it was amongst the dark shadows. He could not make it out, no matter how hard he tried—and yet, he was certain that a low sound had come from it. Was it a dog? A poor creature left tied up or injured and alone? Bending down, he carefully stretched his hand out and felt something soft and warm beneath his hand.

His breath caught as he realized he was holding onto fabric, onto clothing. The thing he had tripped on was not a thing at all. It was, in fact, a person of some description. Could it be a cabin boy? An injured sailor? James rolled his eyes to himself as he got to his feet. Most likely, it was someone who had drunk too much and then attempted to make their way from the tavern back to wherever they stayed, only to trip, fall, and lie there in an inebriated state. Bending over, he nudged the person with his foot, trying to get some sort of response from them.

“Are you quite all right?” he asked loudly, hoping that this would rouse the man somewhat. “Can you get up? I will help you back to wherever it is you’re going. I certainly do not want you to end up in the sea!” He chuckled but there came no response, making him sigh in frustration. Bending down, he reached to shake the person hard, only to grasp at something that ran through his fingers as he tugged it away.

Long hair.

His breath caught with the sudden realization of what this was. This was no man, lying drunk on the docks. This was a woman. Of course, there were plenty of ladies of the night about these parts, but even still, he could not simply leave her here alone.

“Are you injured, miss?” he asked, a little more gently, as he tried to find her shoulder. “Are you able to stand?”

No sound came, leaving James with the uncomfortable task of lifting the lady up into his arms, which was rather difficult and somewhat embarrassing when he could not quite make out which part of her was which. Eventually, he managed to do so, carrying her carefully back out of the shadows until the moonlight caught her features.

Blinking rapidly, James looked down into the face of the young lady, seeing how the cloak she wore was now wrapped all about her and how her dark curls were tangled around her face and neck. A lady of the night did not wear a cloak such as this, did she? Surely not! But why else would a lady be out near the docks at such a late hour? Sitting down on a crate, he began to carefully lift her curls away from her face, only to feel shock running straight through him, freezing him in place.

He knew this face. He was certain he knew this face although he could not quite remember from where he had seen her before. Nor could he understand why she was not awakening. Had she been drinking liquor? Down at the docks? Frowning, he looked into her face once more—and suddenly, he remembered her. She had been the lady he had seen only earlier that day walking with the lady he had thought to be her mother beside her. The one who had made him smile, who had made him laugh, simply by being so obviously dismissive of her mother’s warnings. Why was she here? By all appearances, she was a lady of quality and that certainly did not explain her presence here at the docks or her reason for being either inebriated or injured. Her face was white in the moonlight, leaving James with a growing concern for her welfare.

“Miss?” he said, gently shaking her. “Miss? Might you…?” He trailed off, feeling something warm on his arm where he cradled her head. Instantly aware of what it was, he lifted her carefully and looked down at his arm, seeing the dark stain on his shirt sleeve and knowing all too well that what was there was blood. Blood that was coming from the back of the lady’s head, meaning she had not only been attacked but had been hit hard when she had not known it was coming. Why she was at the docks in the first place, he did not know, but the awareness that she was injured began to burn into his mind. Lifting her into his arms again and going as carefully as he could, James began to make his way to the tavern, his heart racing as he felt the warmth begin to seep into his arm again.

“I have to get her to a doctor.”

Shoving the door open hard with his elbow, he somehow managed to maneuver both himself and the lady inside the tavern, seeing again how every face turned towards him.

“I found her at the docks,” he said as Oliver turned to look at him, his eyes widening at the sight. “She is a lady of quality. I do not know what has occurred, but she is injured and I must get her to my townhouse before she becomes worse.”

Jack, who had been leaning over the money that Oliver had been counting out, put up both hands in a gesture of defense.

“Ain’t me,” he said, as though James had blamed him. “I ain’t done nothing to this lady.”

Another few voices began to chime in with the same protestations, making James grow hot with anger.

“I do not care about declarations of your innocence!” he exclaimed as the tiger came over to him, looking down at the lady with concern. “I do not know what has occurred, nor do I care, for at this present moment, my only hope is to have her taken to my townhouse before she succumbs to her injuries. Come, Oliver,” he commanded as the tiger hurried to open the door for him. “We must go at once. Jack, if there are any discrepancies, then I shall make them right.”

Jack, who was a little more white-faced than James had seen him before, was looking down at the lady in fright. Wordlessly, he shook his head and then gestured for Oliver to make his way to the door. James understood exactly what the man feared. To attack a lady of quality was a severe offence, especially if that attack led to death. No one wanted to be implicated in the crime for fear of what would become of them. That was why the men in the tavern had all been so eager to proclaim their innocence—but James did not care. The lady in his arms was still unconscious and had not said a word or even moved ever since he had caught her up. He was ashamed of how he had prodded her at the first, thinking her to be a drunk gentleman who had quite lost his senses, for now he feared that he had made her injuries worse.

“Where did you find her?” Oliver asked breathlessly as he hurried along beside James. “What is wrong with her?”

“I tripped over her prone body,” James muttered darkly. “I cannot tell what has occurred save for the fact that she has an injury to the back of her head.”

“But why?” Oliver asked, voicing the very same question that currently ran in James’ head. “Why would someone attack a young lady of quality?”

James shook his head, his throat constricting and anger burning in him at what he considered to be a despicable act. “I do not know,” he answered honestly. “But I intend to make sure that the person responsible pays for their sins.” Seeing the carriage and the tiger waiting to help him into it, he grimaced. “But first we must pray that this young lady recovers, for without knowing who she is, we can do nothing.”

Oliver nodded but said nothing. Waiting until James had sat down, he climbed in and kept his eyes fixed upon the young lady, even though the shadows now passed over her face as the carriage began to return home. James, too, could not help but look at her, silently praying that she would not slip into darkness and death, but instead would remain with them and be able to, thereafter, help him in his search for who had done such a truly terrible thing.

5

Henrietta woke with a start.

Pain thundered through her head and made her cry aloud, before she sunk back into a softness that seemed to envelope her. Fear grasped at her heart and made her cry out again, suddenly afraid that she was in the home of some cruel gentleman, the man who had taken her mother and now had taken her.

A strong hand grasped hers, but she tried to pull away, tears beginning to stream down her face.

“You have no need to cry, my lady,” said a soft voice as Henrietta squeezed her eyes closed, too afraid to look at the man who spoke to her. “I must apologize, for I do not know your name.”

Henrietta tried to shake her head but the pain was too great. “Of course you know my name,” she whispered, unable to make her voice any louder. “You wrote me that note. You took my mother.” Tears burned in her eyes as she cried all the more, her heart an agony of suffering and torment. This man, whomever he was, had taken her mother, taken the rubies, and now had her in his clutches. Everything had come back to her at once, the very moment she had awoken. The pain that clutched at her head was, most likely, from his hand, she realized, struggling all the more to pull her hand from his.

“Please, miss,” the man said gently, his voice so quiet that she felt herself drawn into its tenderness, her breathing ragged. “I mean you no harm, truly. I do not know anything about a note or your mother. I do not even know who you are.”

She tried to speak but all that came out was a harsh sob, her throat aching as she tried to keep herself in check. She had no idea where she was, no knowledge of this man who spoke to her, and no understanding of what he would demand from her next.

“Please,” the man said again, his voice still gentle as he let her hand go so that she would not fight him again. “You must understand, miss, that I am entirely at a loss. I am not the man you think me to be. I found you at the docks and brought you here.”

Swallowing hard, Henrietta took in a shuddering breath and forced her eyes open, struggling to find the courage she needed to continue. The gentleman by the bed surprised her, for he did not look like a criminal. In fact, from the way he was dressed, he appeared to be a gentleman.

“There we are,” he said softly, giving her a small smile, his expression filled with concern. “You are looking at me, at least.”

Henrietta closed her eyes for a moment, her tears draining away. “You did not write the note?” she asked, not at all certain whether or not she should believe him. “You say that but I have no evidence of it.” Opening her eyes again, she saw him lift one shoulder in a half shrug.

“I do not know what to say to you, my lady,” he said, spreading his hands as he sat back in his chair, looking at her. “I can only tell you the truth.”

The pain in her head began to grow steadily, making her wince, and he reached forward at once to hand her a glass of water from the table beside her. About to refuse it, a sudden, angry thirst rose deep within her and she reached for it without hesitation, drinking it eagerly. Her body cried out in relief, taking in every bit of moisture it could.

“You have been here for three days,” the man said as she finished drinking. “I have been waiting for you to awaken, fearing that the injury to your head would be too severe for you to waken from.”

Henrietta blinked in confusion, her pain ebbing slightly. “Three days?” she repeated, a sudden terror clutching at her heart. “My mother! Is my mother returned to me?”

Again, the gentleman spread his hands. “I do not know who your mother is, my lady,” he told her carefully. “Nor do I know your name. Being that I think you are a lady of quality, I have told none of your presence here save for my brother, the honorable Mr. Grieves, who has come to enquire after you from time to time. He has remained in society in the hope of discovering an absence of some lady or other, but none has been mentioned as yet.” Tipping his head just a little, he looked at her again. “I cannot help but wonder as to your name, my lady.”

Henrietta swallowed the lump in her throat and refused to let another tear fall. Her mother might well be at home again, waiting for Henrietta to return and praying, as Henrietta had done, that she was quite well. Most likely, her mother would not have said a word about Henrietta’s absence, for fear of staining her reputation in the most dire manner. Looking up at the gentleman again, the ache still deep within her head and her heart pounding with a furious terror, Henrietta knew she had to make a decision. Was this gentleman involved in what had occurred or had he, as he had claimed, merely found her at the docks? If it was the former, then she ought not to say a word to him. But if it was the latter, then she would need his help.

“You say you were at the docks,” she began slowly, seeing him frown and wondering if it was because she was prying. “Why were you there, my lord?”

The man shrugged. “My brother owed a good deal of money to a gentleman there,” he replied with a small, rueful smile. “Although I would not call the man a ‘gentleman’, I suppose.” His smile spread. “As the money was being exchanged, I stepped out of the tavern to allow my brother to conclude his business without my interference. That was when I came across you.”

Henrietta looked at him carefully. “You say that you discovered me?”

“You were by one of the ships,” he said, making her heart burn with the memory of what had occurred there. “I do not know why you were there, my lady, but it was obvious that you had been attacked.”

Henrietta nodded slowly, still watching the man carefully.

“I picked you up and, upon discovering your injury, returned to the tavern and demanded that we return at once. We did so quickly and had a doctor sent for almost at once. And this is where you have been since then.” His smile gentled, reaching his eyes. “It is a relief to me to see you awake.”

Henrietta did not smile back, recalling how she had set the bag with the rubies down by the boat, in the small wooden crate that had been waiting for her. Had someone taken it? Had this gentleman taken it?

“You did not see a cloth bag?” she asked him, looking up to see if his eyes flickered in a way that might betray his guilt.

“No,” he said, frowning in puzzlement. “There was nothing there that I could see, but then again, I did not leave the tavern for long. Once I had discovered you, I did not continue to look about me but rather hurried you to the carriage.”

There was something in his eyes that made Henrietta question what she thought of the gentleman. She looked at him again, taking in his features and wondering whether or not she could trust him. He had a square jaw and large, blue eyes that seemed a little too large for his face. His nose was straight, with a firm look about his mouth, and his dark blond hair cut in the most fashionable of styles. His cravat was perfect, she had to admit, although she knew this gentleman very little indeed. So, he had saved her from what might have been a dreadful fate indeed, and it did seem that he appeared to know very little about what she spoke of when it came to her mother.

“You will tell me your name, will you not?” he pressed. “I must know it.”

Her lips pressed together as she studied him, her heart still filled with warning.

“I know you have endured a very great ordeal,” he said gently, “but I cannot help you unless you speak the truth to me. Please, my lady, tell me your name so that I might treat you with every propriety.”

Nodding slowly to herself, Henrietta held the gentleman’s gaze. He was quite right. He had to know her name if he was to help her and the more she was in his company, the more she felt herself wanting to trust him.

“Henrietta,” she said slowly, seeing how he nodded fervently, as though to encourage her. “Henrietta Preston, daughter to Viscount and Lady Cuthbert.”

The gentleman inclined his head, as though they were at a formal meeting. “Lady Cuthbert’s daughter, then,” he said slowly, lifting his eyes back to hers. “How very good to meet you, Miss Preston. I am Lord Carrick.”

Her eyes flared, the pain in her head reducing all the more. “Lord Carrick…” she repeated, the name familiar to her. “You mean to say that you are the Earl of Carrick?”

“I am,” he agreed at once. “And have no doubt, Miss Preston, I shall do all I can to ensure that the truth is found in all its completeness. Whatever has occurred, I shall do my very best to help you.”

Much to her embarrassment, Henrietta’s eyes flooded with tears again, and she suddenly felt very tired. Closing her eyes, she felt herself sink into the pillows as a reassurance filled her. A reassurance that Lord Carrick was not about to demand yet more payment in order to return her to her mother. There was an honesty about him that she wanted to trust, and she became aware of a slowly growing gratitude that she was not to be left alone.

“Where is your mother?” he asked gently, taking her hand in his again and squeezing it lightly. “Do you have a townhouse?”

“They took her,” she whispered, her eyes still closed as she began to sink into sleep, lulled by the promise of relief from the pain in her head. “There was a note… it will still be in my bedchamber. The staff…” Hardly able to get the words from her mouth, she fought to keep herself from sleep. “They will wonder where I am. My mother, if she has been returned, will be beside herself.”

“Have no fear,” she heard Lord Carrick say, his voice seeming to come from a great distance away. “I will find her for you and bring her here. Soon you will be back in your own home, Miss Preston, ready to recover completely. I am quite certain of it.”

There was a reassurance in his voice that made her want to believe him, want to trust that what he said would come true. Clinging to that hope, she let herself drift into sleep, her hand still tight in his as he held it carefully. This Lord Carrick, whomever he was, seemed to be one of the best gentlemen in all of London. He would make sure that she was safe and protected, kept away from the darkness that seemed to surround her at present. Drawn back to sleep, she let the gentleness take her away from her confusion, from her pain and her agonized mind. Rest was what she needed and she went into it gratefully.

When she awoke, her mind felt a good deal clearer than before. Her head no longer held the same pain, although a dull ache remained. She tried to sit up, turning her head to see a small bell on the table.

Reaching for it, she rang it but winced as she did so, for the sound seemed to rattle her head a little more. A maid opened the door at once, her eyes widening as she saw how Henrietta was trying to sit up.

“Let me help you, Miss Preston,” she said quickly, hurrying towards the bed and helping Henrietta to sit up before plumping up the pillows behind her back. “Goodness, you have slept for a long time, but the doctor said that it is a good sign. A sign that you are recovering.” She scrutinized Henrietta’s face, as though she expected her to fall back into unconsciousness again, but Henrietta managed a small smile which the maid returned at once.

“Are you hungry, Miss Preston?”

Henrietta opened her mouth to say that no, she was not, only for her stomach to growl in a most undignified fashion.

“I shall have tea and perhaps toast and marmalade sent up?” the maid continued, not waiting for Henrietta to answer. “What say you to that, Miss Preston?”

Finding the maid very jolly indeed, to the point that her cheerfulness thrust the rest of Henrietta’s concerns away, Henrietta nodded and managed to smile a little more. “That would be quite wonderful,” she replied, praying that her stomach would remain silent. “I thank you.”

The maid nodded and made to leave the room, only to be stayed by a word from Henrietta.

“Pray tell me, is Lord Carrick still in residence?”

The maid paused but shook her head. “After he spoke to you yesterday afternoon, he left the house and did not come back until late,” she told Henrietta, surprising her by just how vehemently Lord Carrick seemed to be pursuing Henrietta’s confusing situation. “He is gone out again this morning, but I was to inform him the minute he returned as to whether or not you were awake. I am certain he will be glad to see you looking so recovered, Miss Preston.”

Henrietta swallowed hard, her voice rasping just a little. “I thank you,” she said, as the maid bobbed a curtsy and then left the room. She felt a strange sense of awkwardness fill her when she thought of Lord Carrick. It was very odd to be residing under a gentleman’s roof when she did not even know the gentleman very well, and even though her mother might understand what had occurred to permit this to happen, Henrietta had no doubt that Lady Cuthbert would find a way to be vastly displeased with the entire situation.

Sitting back, Henrietta rested her head back just a little and looked around the room. It was a beautifully decorated chamber, with delicate furnishings here and there and gentle touches that made her feel quite welcome. She prayed desperately that Lord Carrick would have discovered her mother quite well, that she would soon hear her mother’s voice and have her arms about her again. Surely her mother would understand that what had happened was not Henrietta’s fault, that it had not been her doing in any way. Once Lord Carrick returned with Lady Cuthbert, she would be able to explain everything.

Some three hours later, Henrietta was still waiting. Lord Carrick had not returned home. Lady Cuthbert had not come into her room, flinging her arms about her daughter and weeping over her safe return. In fact, the only people who had come into her bedchamber had been the same cheerful maid, who had brought another with her so that they might help Henrietta prepare herself for Lord Carrick’s return. She had eaten as much as she wished until she was satisfied and had even been permitted to bathe and dress in a gown that was not her own, but which had been provided for her by Lord Carrick.

Now Henrietta was quite certain that Lord Carrick could be trusted. He had nothing to do with what had occurred, she was quite certain, and as such, she felt a good deal more reassured than before. The pain in her head was lessening with every moment that passed and certainly had reduced significantly by the time she was onto her third cup of tea.

Closing her eyes for a moment and grateful for the warm fire that burned in the hearth, Henrietta tried to recall exactly what had happened that dreadful night. She could remember making her way to the docks, could remember setting down the rubies in front of the ship, but thereafter, she could not recall what had happened. Her head ached as she opened her eyes, frustrated that she could not remember a single thing, that she could not recall anything about her assailant. And then came that usual bite of fear—fear that she had, somehow, been outsmarted and that the person responsible had both her mother and the rubies. Perhaps they would demand more now.

“But why did they attack you?” she murmured aloud, frowning heavily. “What was the reason for it?” She could not think of any particularly good reason for someone to have done so, for it had been so dark that she had been in no danger of recognizing anyone. The rubies had been left, as she had been instructed, so why had she then been attacked?

A cold hand grasped at her heart, making her gasp. Had someone tried to kill her? Had they thought that their blow had rendered her not only unconscious but drawing near to death? Most likely, they had not expected anyone to come down to the docks until the early morning, and had it not been for Lord Carrick, she would have lain there until morning, by which time her body might have succumbed entirely.

Henrietta shuddered violently. Was this the reason behind the attack? Had someone wanted her gone from this earth? Closing her eyes, she fought to keep her composure, knowing that she would have to tell her mother everything the moment she came into the room. Mayhap they would not be able to stay in London. Mayhap they would have to return to the Cuthbert estate to ensure that both Henrietta and Lady Cuthbert would be protected from any further attacks.

“Miss Preston?”

Her eyes flew open as the maid began to make her way towards the door, her eyes on Henrietta. Henrietta nodded and tried to get to her feet, swaying just a little as she did so and accidentally staggering forward.

“Please, Miss Preston, do not rise on my account!” Lord Carrick was beside her in a moment, his face filled with concern. “Please, sit down again and rest.” His hand was about her waist, the other capturing her hand as he took her the two short steps back towards her seat and helped her down into it. Grateful, Henrietta looked up at him, seeing the concern in his eyes and wondering at it. He was a very amiable gentleman, she had to admit, particularly when she was nothing more than a stranger to him and he had, quite literally, stumbled across her.

“There,” Lord Carrick said softly, looking down at her with a good deal of concern. “You are quite all right now, I think, Miss Preston. Although I must say I am glad to see you out of bed and appearing to be so well recovered.” He sat down in the small seat opposite her, his smile present but fading quickly. “Does your head ache still?”

“It does,” Henrietta admitted, looking back at him and feeling her expectation shift into worry. Her mother was not present. She had not come. Was something wrong? Surely Lady Cuthbert had not decided that Henrietta had done wrong in some way and had, therefore, refused to come to Lord Carrick’s house?

“It will become completely healed in time,” Lord Carrick said firmly, as though she required some encouragement in this. “You are to remain here, Miss Preston, at the present, and indeed, for the significant future also, I believe.” A tight expression came over his face as he looked at her, making Henrietta’s stomach twist. “I do not wish to alarm you, Miss Preston, but there are some matters that I must discuss with you.”

Henrietta laced her fingers together and squeezed them tight, showing no outward sign of fear but inwardly feeling quite terrified.

“It is to do with your mother, Miss Preston.”

“My mother,” Henrietta repeated, her heart trembling within her. “My mother. Is she unwell? Has she been injured?” She took in a long, shaking breath, trying not to allow terror to capture her entirely. “Where is she?”

Lord Carrick cleared his throat, but rather than looking afraid, he appeared to be quite uncomfortable. “Lady Cuthbert was not at home when I went to call upon her. Indeed, Miss Preston, the house itself was shut up tight.”

Ice trickled down her spine.

“I sought to find someone who knew what had occurred—indeed, it has taken me the best part of a day to discover it, but it seems that the staff and Lady Cuthbert have returned to their estate.”

Henrietta blinked rapidly, not able to make sense of what Lord Carrick said.

“What I can surmise, Miss Preston, is that your mother is gone back to the estate and all the servants with her. There is not one left in London.”

Henrietta shook her head, feeling tears beginning to burn in her eyes as panic gripped her heart. Panic that she had been left behind, that she had been left here in London to fend for herself.

“I do not understand,” she whispered, leaning forward and shielding her eyes with her hands so that he would not see her cry. “Does she think that I am gone? Does she not seek me out?”

He hesitated. “I cannot answer that, Miss Preston,” he said slowly. “I did make enquiries for you, but none were able to answer, save to say that they believed you returned with your mother. But we shall discover the truth, I am quite certain of it. That is what I mean when I say that you are to remain here. I shall not have you concerned over that, Miss Preston. You are to reside here for as long as is required.”

Such was the hubbub that rose in Henrietta’s mind that she could barely even hear Lord Carrick’s voice. She could not quite accept that such a thing had happened, that she had been left behind in London whilst her mother returned to the estate. It did not make any sense whatsoever!

“Miss Preston?”

She did not look up, hearing Lord Carrick’s voice but feeling as though it came from very far away.

“Miss Preston, you are not alone,” Lord Carrick said quickly, leaning forward in his chair and finally catching her eye. “When you are recovered, I would know what has occurred in all its fullness.”

“Oh, yes,” Henrietta replied faintly as the maid came in with a fresh tea tray. “I shall tell you everything, Lord Carrick.”

“But only when you are ready,” he said, trying to reassure her. “Do not rush yourself in any way, Miss Preston. This is a great burden for you, I can see. I would not have you injure yourself any further, not when you have so much to deal with already.”

Henrietta barely nodded, her mind working over and over what Lord Carrick had revealed. She had no other choice but to remain here, for she did not know what awaited her back at her father’s estate. She did not understand why her mother had departed from London so quickly, or why she had not sought Henrietta out. It was all too much to bear, and even though she tried to keep her tears at bay, fought to keep her composure in front of Lord Carrick, it all became overwhelming. Her shoulders shook as sobs escaped from her, her head aching terribly all over again as she gave in to her sadness, confusion, and doubt.

6

James waited until Miss Preston had been encouraged to lie down before making to quit the room. His heart ached for her, his mind trying to work through the tangled knots of why her mother had departed London without her daughter. It did not make any sense, for no young lady of quality would ever be left behind by their parents.

“Wait, Lord Carrick.”

He turned his head, just as he was about to step through the door, to see Miss Preston’s eyes fixed upon his.

“I shall tell you what occurred,” she stated, her eyes red but free from tears.

“No, Miss Preston,” he replied, making his way back to her. “I think you should rest.”

She shook her head, wincing as she did so. “No,” she said, leaning back against the pillows as she sat up a little more. “I must tell you everything and thereafter, I shall rest.” She took in a long breath and closed her eyes, the pain etched into every line on her face. Despite the warnings in his mind that he ought to leave her to sleep, James sat down carefully in the chair by the bed and placed one hand over hers. She did not jerk nor move away, nor did she even open her eyes for him. Instead, she simply sighed and squeezed his fingers gently. James’ heart quickened but he ignored it entirely, knowing full well that he ought not to react in any way towards this young lady aside from in a protective, concerned fashion. And yet, it seemed quite right to take her hand in his, to offer her that support and to feel how she accepted it without hesitation.

“My mother took me home from Lady Whitaker’s ball,” Miss Preston began, her eyes still closed and her breathing shallow. “She had not thought to stay, for she wanted to return in order to play cards with some of her acquaintances.” A slight flicker of dismay crossed her face. “My mother does not trust me, Lord Carrick, although I think I shall spare myself the embarrassment of having to explain why.”

“Indeed, there is no reason to do so,” he said at once, ignoring how his interest was piqued, for surely Miss Preston could have done nothing so terrible so as to make her mother fear for her safety. “Continue, Miss Preston.”

Miss Preston’s eyes opened and fastened upon his, her expression one that spoke of anxiety and fright. “I returned home and made to retire, only my mind was much too caught up with various matters. I had some warm milk and tried to read, but it was to no avail. I thought to send for my maid to help me change into my nightclothes, only to receive a note.”

“A note?” he repeated, frowning. “Do you mean to say that someone wrote to you?”

She nodded slowly, although her eyes were clouded. “I do not understand how someone could have made their way into the household and put such a note under my door without being seen, but it was done so regardless.” Quickly, she told him the contents of the note and James felt his alarm begin to grow steadily.

“I did not know what to do,” she said softly, looking away from him as her lips trembled. “The staff were entirely absent, for they had, of course, retired to bed and I did not want to disobey the instructions for fear that my mother would bear the consequences.”

“So you went in search of the rubies and—”

“And found them, yes,” Miss Preston interrupted, not quite looking at him. “I took them to the docks and placed them where they were meant to go. When I made my way back, in the hope of finding another hackney and returning home, I presume that someone hit me from behind, although I do not recall it.”

A chill ran over James’ skin as he looked into Miss Preston’s white face and wondered if the reason she had been attacked had been solely to try and take her life from her. He could not understand why else she would have been knocked out in such a way, for if she had done what the note had instructed and had brought the rubies, then surely there was no need for her to be so treated. She could not see anyone in the darkness, and yet someone had planned to hit her so hard that she would lose consciousness. Had they hoped that the blow would kill her? And if it did not, that being left for hours on the cold, wet cobbles of the docks would take the last of her life from her?

“And now I do not know what to think,” Miss Preston finished quietly, looking away from him. “My mother is gone to my father’s estate, it seems, without question as to where I might be. I thought she would not be safe, that she feared for her life, and yet it appears that my fears have come to naught.”

“It may be that she has received a note such as the one you received,” he said thoughtfully, trying to come up with a reason for her mother having behaved in such a fashion. “Mayhap she is trying to save your life in the way that you sought to save hers.”

Miss Preston pressed her head back against the pillow and closed her eyes again, and James saw a single tear escape from under her closed lashes. Resisting the urge to reach up and brush it away, he satisfied the desire to comfort her by pressing her hand a little more tightly. She returned the pressure but did not look at him, keeping her eyes closed.

“Thank you for telling me, Miss Preston,” he said sincerely, aware of how his thoughts tangled into each other, banging together in a deeply confusing fashion. “I cannot understand what has occurred, but I am determined to see it through until there is a satisfactory conclusion reached.” He pressed her hand again. “And you will not have to fear about your reputation, Miss Preston. No one aside from my brother knows you are here.”

“And the rest think I am returned to my father’s estate,” Miss Preston added sadly, sniffing delicately. “Thank you, Lord Carrick, you are very kind.”

James had nothing else to say to this and so, after a moment or two, reluctantly let go of her hand and made his way from the room, turning his head to give her one last, long look before he did so. The maid had thrown a blanket over Miss Preston and was tucking it around her. Miss Preston’s head was turned a little to the left, her lines of fatigue and sorrow miraculously faded by the gentle protection of sleep. His heart began to ache for her, and he wondered what she must be experiencing and how she could have the strength to speak of it to him.

She must have a strong character indeed, he thought to himself, wondering if there was any other young lady of his acquaintance who would have had the courage to step out of their house in the middle of the night to bring rubies to the docks in order to ensure their parent’s safety. She must have been deathly afraid and yet had the fortitude to do precisely what was required.

Shaking his head, James made his way quietly and slowly back down the staircase towards his study, not quite certain what he ought to do next. He wanted to help Miss Preston in any way he could, but what was it he should do? What was it that she needed to discover? Answers? What sort of answers?

“Brother.”

Looking up, he saw his younger brother walking along the passageway towards him, seeing the same flicker of concern in Oliver’s expression.

“How does the lady fare?” Oliver asked quietly. “Has she recovered?”

“She does,” James answered quickly. “But there is a good deal more to her story than first appears, brother. In short, I am quite at a loss as to what to do.” Briefly, he told his brother everything as they walked along towards the drawing room, with Oliver looking more and more concerned.

“Good gracious!” Oliver muttered, when James had finished his story. “That young lady has more courage within her than any gentleman I know, that is for certain.”

“Indeed,” James replied with a small smile, which quickly faded. “But she cannot be strong forever. I must do something to help but, in short, I do not know what I should do next.”

Oliver shrugged. “Find some acquaintances of Miss Preston who might be able to help you,” he suggested as James opened the door to the drawing room. “This is not something you can tackle alone, I fear.”

James shook his head. “But what if they are involved in some nefarious way?”

This made Oliver hesitate.

“I must ensure the safety of both herself and her reputation,” James continued fervently. “The only people I would tell of her presence here would be the very best of friends, the closest of acquaintances and, as yet, I do not know if she has any at all.”

“Then ask her,” Oliver proposed, draping himself into a chair and looking lazily about the room. “And why do you not write to Lord Cuthbert, enquiring after his daughter? You should state that you were briefly acquainted with her and wished to further your acquaintance all the more, but can no longer find her in London.”

A slowly dawning light crept into James’ mind, seeing wisdom in his brother’s idea. “There will be some explanation as to where she is gone,” he said, seeing Oliver nod. “Although what if he states that she is back at the estate with her mother?”

Oliver shrugged again. “Make it very clear in your letter that you wish to see her again and would be glad to call upon her at the estate, should that become necessary,” he told James. “That will ensure that Lord Cuthbert will tell you as much of the truth as he is able, I think.”

James nodded again, his teeth catching his bottom lip as he considered the suggestion. “Indeed,” he said softly, thinking that this sounded like a rather good idea. “Thank you, Oliver. That is undoubtedly a wise idea.”

“And,” Oliver continued, now looking a little embarrassed as he shifted in his chair, “I must tell you that I have decided to quit London.”

James’ head shot up.

“That is, once matters with Miss Preston have been resolved,” Oliver corrected hastily. “I would not leave you to deal with this alone, brother. But after what has occurred, and now that I realize just how foolish my behavior has been of late, I have decided to return to my home and to make the best of what I have there.” He cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter, showing James that there was a little more maturity about him than before. “You paid a great debt for me, Carrick, and I will not forget it—nor can I continue on as before. You have said that this was to be the last time and I am glad that you have made such a decision. It has forced me to consider my behavior and to change it from what it was.”

“I am glad to hear this,” James declared, seeing how his brother nodded in a most decisive fashion. “Your estate will do very well if you would only put significant time into it.”

“Which I shall do,” Oliver replied firmly. “And I will return to London next Season with the sole intention of taking a wife.” He grinned at James’ astonished expression, his eyes twinkling. “It is necessary, is it not?” he asked, as James tried to rearrange his face into something less astounded. “I have to produce children and the like and I can only do so with a pleasing young wife.”

“That is very true,” James agreed, feeling a slight stab of guilt that he himself had not done such a thing and that his brother would be the first one of them to marry. “I congratulate you on your decision, brother.”

Oliver chuckled and leaned forward, pinning James with a strong gaze. “And you, yourself? You will marry, will you not?”

James cleared his throat, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable. “I—I could not say,” he replied with a shrug that was not as nonchalant as he had hoped. “My dear brother, I have enough to consider at the present without worrying about whom I might marry.”

Oliver’s brows rose. “You do not think that Miss Preston might make you a suitable wife?” he asked quietly, making James’ heart leap in his chest. “She is, after all, the daughter of a viscount.” He tipped his head, but James shook his head.

“She is only residing in my house because there is nowhere else for her to go,” he said, spreading his hands and ignoring the fact that he found himself quite taken with the lady when he ought not to be thinking of anything but trying to discover the truth about what had occurred. “That is all.”

“But she is genteel,” Oliver pressed, a small smile playing about his mouth. “And she may very well require a husband, Carrick. Why should it not be you?”

James opened his mouth to answer, but no response came out. Oliver chuckled, making James wince ruefully as he tried to brush off the question and turn his attention to other things.

“I should write that letter,” he said, getting up and ignoring how his brother laughed a little more loudly. “To Lord Cuthbert, I mean.”

“Indeed, you should,” Oliver agreed as James fought back the rising heat that threatened to come into his cheeks. “And thereafter, you must speak to Miss Preston again and discover if she has any acquaintances who might be trusted enough to help.” The smile was gone from his face, the laughter fading from his voice. “This is a serious matter, Carrick. I will do whatever I can to help.”

James turned to his brother, considering things carefully. “Thank you,” he said eventually, wondering what response he would receive from his letter. “I must do all I can to help Miss Preston and I am certain I shall need as much help as possible.”

“Be assured of it,” Oliver replied, his hand on James’ shoulder. “I am here to do whatever is required, Carrick. Just say the word and I shall do it.”

James nodded his thanks, feeling his heart lifting. “We shall discover the truth, I am certain of it,” he said firmly. “Come now, brother. Help me to write this letter and then I shall see if Miss Preston is awake and able to speak to me.”

With the letter written and Oliver determined to have it delivered as soon as could be, James watched his brother leave with the letter safely entrusted to his care. It surprised him that Oliver was now appearing to be so decisive, so determined to help, as though it would make amends for what had gone before, but James had to admit that he was grateful for it. Sighing inwardly, he turned to climb the stairs, feeling his heart quicken at the thought of seeing Miss Preston again.

As he climbed the staircase, his thoughts turned back to what his brother had said. Yes, Miss Preston would need a husband and he would need a wife, but that did not mean that they would satisfy each other’s desires in that way. For all he knew, she might be engaged to another, or have been courted by a gentleman who now did not know what had become of her.

At that thought, James’ stomach dropped low, a heavy weight landing on his shoulders. Shrugging it off, he held his head high and settled his shoulders, reminding himself that the most important thing at the present was to discover the truth about what had occurred with Miss Preston and who was behind it. There was a deepening mystery here and he could not allow his strange feelings as regarded the lady to cloud his judgment.

“Is she awake?”

The maid sitting outside Miss Preston’s bedchamber looked up, scrambling to her feet at once from where she had been sitting.

“My lord,” she stammered, her cheeks pink. “Yes, I believe Miss Preston is awake, my lord. It is only that she wanted a bit of time alone.”

James smiled to reassure the maid. “Might you ask her if I could steal a few moments of her time?” he asked, not wanting to step inside just in case Miss Preston was not decent. “It would not take very long.”

The maid nodded, dipped a curtsy, and hurried inside, closing the door behind her. A murmur of voices could be heard before she returned, keeping the door open wide and stepping to one side so that he could walk in. Taking it to mean that Miss Preston was more than willing to speak to him, James walked quickly inside and bowed before looking up. Miss Preston was lying back against her pillows, although he was concerned to see her looking paler than before.

“Miss Preston,” he said quickly, coming closer to her as the maid returned to her seat, leaving the door ajar. “Are you unwell?”

“I am just tired,” she replied, her eyes closing, but with an expression of pain on her face. “Whenever I sleep, nightmares catch me and I awake again in a matter of moments.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” he said gently. “I come to ask you if you have any acquaintances that we might ask to come and join us in our search for the truth, Miss Preston.” He saw how her eyes flared open and quickly sought to reassure her. “It is only because I feel that we would be much quicker in discovering it should we have more than one person seeking it.”

“Oh.” Miss Preston blinked slowly before closing her eyes again. “I have been away from London for almost two full Seasons,” she told him, surprising him by such a statement. “I have not made any firm acquaintances as yet.”

“I see.” He cleared his throat a little gruffly, thinking that this was not the answer he had hoped for. “Then I—”

“Wait!” Miss Preston’s eyes flew open abruptly, her countenance suddenly changed. “Wait a moment, Lord Carrick. There might be someone who would be willing to aid me, although…” She trailed off, now looking a little uncertain as a blush touched her cheeks. James, not knowing what else to do, simply stood quietly, waiting for her to speak. He did not know why she blushed, or what it was that made her appear so embarrassed, but silently he begged for her to finish so that they might benefit from some additional help.

“If Lord and Lady Ancrum are in town, then you might speak to them,” Miss Preston said eventually, looking at him with a hint of unease in her expression. “Although I cannot state unequivocally that they will be willing to help.”

He nodded, feeling a slight surge of hope. “That is very good, Miss Preston,” he told her, seeing how a flicker of a smile caught her expression. “I shall do so almost at once.” She closed her eyes again, and he felt the urge to help her rising within him. “But first, shall I remain here with you until you fall asleep? I do think that you need to rest and—” Catching sight of a small book by her bed, he picked it up and turned it over. “Might I read to you, Miss Preston? Would that aid you at all?”

Her eyes turned to his and he felt his breath hitch. Her eyes were such a lovely shade of green that he felt himself lost within them for a moment. They flickered with hints of gold in between the emerald shades, searching his expression as though she needed to know that he was truly willing.

“I would be glad to, Miss Preston,” he found himself saying, his hand landing atop hers as though it belonged there. “Truly.”

She smiled at him gently, her eyes softening and making his heart quicken all the more.

“Then I would be very glad of such generosity,” she murmured, closing her eyes and resting back against her pillows. “For I do so long for sleep.”

“Then I shall stay here until you have fallen into a deep sleep and can finally slumber peacefully,” he said with determination. “Have no fear, Miss Preston. You are not alone.” And, so saying, he picked up the book with his free hand and, unwilling to let go of Miss Preston’s hand, managed to maneuver it so that the first page was open for him. Beginning to read aloud, he glanced towards her and saw her expression grow peaceful, the lines of worry fading from her face. Feeling a good deal more content than before, he continued to let the words drift from his mouth for some minutes, feeling her hand relax in his until, finally, her head slipped to one side as she was wrapped in the comforting arms of sleep.

7

A few days later, Henrietta was well enough to wash, dress, and break her fast in her room. Thereafter, she rested for a short time and then made her way to the library to read. When it came time for luncheon, she again made to approach the dining room, wondering if there was anyone else in the house at all. It had been very quiet this morning and she had not seen any sign of Lord Carrick.

Putting one hand to her head, Henrietta paused for a moment until the small stab of pain disappeared. Her head still ached from time to time, but it certainly was not as bad as it had been before. The tiredness and weakness had long since left her, hastened by the fact that Lord Carrick had come to read to her each evening, although they had met in the library rather than in her bedchamber. This was, she felt, a good deal more proper and certainly was helped by the presence of her maid with her at all times. It was, she knew, quite improper for her to be residing under Lord Carrick’s roof without either her mother, a relative, or another companion with her, but such was her situation that there was very little else for her to do. Her heart was, she discovered, becoming quite inclined towards Lord Carrick, even though she knew she was utterly foolish to feel that way. Her consideration of him knew no bounds, for he was more wonderful a gentleman than any she had met before. His kindness towards her, his consideration and his determination to come to her aid overwhelmed her. How could she protect her heart when he had such a fine character and such generosity of spirit?

Sighing inwardly, she pushed open the door to the dining room somewhat cautiously, not quite certain whom she would discover within. This house, whilst welcoming, was certainly still rather unknown to her and though Lord Carrick had told her of his brother, she had never met the gentleman and did not know if he would be residing in the house also.

“Oh.”

A surprising sense of relief swamped her as she saw the room was entirely empty. Stepping inside and glad that her maid would soon follow so that she would not be alone should Lord Carrick come to join her, Henrietta picked up her plate and helped herself to some of the delicacies that were waiting for her. The tea was, she decided, quite excellent, for taking a sip of it refreshed her entirely. Her heart settled into a calm rhythm as she began to eat, feeling a good deal more relieved than she had at the first.

Chewing carefully, Henrietta let her mind fill once more with the questions that had dogged her for so many days. Where was her mother? Why had she left London? The more Henrietta thought of it, the more she realized that her mother must have been present in London before quitting it to return to the estate, for the staff would not simply have packed up the house and left, as they had apparently done. They would have needed to have been given direction by someone—and that someone would have been Henrietta’s mother. Did Lady Cuthbert think that Henrietta was in danger? Had she, like Henrietta, been ordered to do something or go somewhere solely to protect Henrietta’s life? Henrietta presumed that the rubies she had given in exchange for her mother’s safety had been taken by the perpetrators and mayhap, in seeing how easily they had managed to procure them, they had then decided to blackmail Lady Cuthbert also. Mayhap she had returned to the estate so that she might fetch more jewels.

Henrietta shuddered. Those who were behind this wicked scheme might think that she, Henrietta, was deceased and were blackmailing her mother with the promise that Henrietta would be kept safe when, in fact, they thought her already gone from this world. Her heart ached. She could not imagine what her poor mother was feeling or what her father would think. All she could do was pray that their spirits would not be too distressed.

A sudden flurry of voices came along the hallway as Henrietta finished eating. She tensed immediately, wondering who it was that was approaching the dining room. Was it Lord Carrick? She had not seen him at all this morning and the maid had made no mention of him being in the house. It was not as though Henrietta missed his presence but rather that she found herself very aware of him whenever he stepped into the same room as she. Her tension mounted as she settled her hands in her lap, trying to appear quite calm as she looked toward the door, ready and prepared to rise and curtsy to whoever appeared.

The door flew open and a rather excited voice began to fill the room—a voice she did not recognize. Trying to keep calm, she waited while two gentlemen walked into the room, the second being Lord Carrick. He was busy watching the first gentleman, who was gesticulating furiously. Glancing into the room, Lord Carrick started in surprise, then bowed quickly to cover his astonishment.

“Miss Preston,” he said, lifting his head just as the first gentleman turned around also. “Good morning. I mean, good afternoon. I do apologize for the intrusion.”

“It is no intrusion at all,” she replied, getting to her feet and curtsying quickly. “I was just finishing here and can leave you to discuss matters in peace.”

“No, please do not!” said the first gentleman, looking at her with a kind expression. “I do apologize for interrupting your solitude, Miss Preston, but there is no need to depart. Especially when I have some news for you that I am certain you will want to hear.”

Henrietta blinked, not quite certain who this gentleman was but slowly beginning to see a similarity between Lord Carrick and this man. They both had fair hair and the same strong jaw. Was this Lord Carrick’s brother?

“Oh, I do forget myself,” Lord Carrick said hastily, seeing the direction of her gaze. “May I present my brother, Miss Preston? I forget that you have not met him before.”

“The honorable Mr. Grieves, my lady,” said the first man, bowing beautifully. “I am sorry we have not been introduced properly before, for I have been greatly troubled by the distressing situation you have found yourself in and, as I am determined to become a better man, I have done all I can to help you and my brother.”

A little overwhelmed by this speech, Henrietta tried to smile but found herself staring at the gentleman, wondering what it was he had to say to her.

“Please, do sit down again, Miss Preston,” Lord Carrick said gently, coming towards her and holding out the chair for her again. “You look a little pale and I would not like you to become overwhelmed with all that is to be said.” He smiled at her and touched her hand, helping her to sit down again. Henrietta swallowed the sudden swirl of fear that settled within her and sat carefully, looking across at Oliver and seeing how he smiled at her, evidently trying to put her at ease. Looking up at Lord Carrick, she managed a small smile of thanks, which he returned quickly.

She had to admit that, even amongst her fear, she was glad to see him again. He was always so reassuring, his presence so warm and welcoming. The way he continued to watch her as he moved to take his seat sent a fire burning in the pit of her stomach, chasing away some of her anxiety. He sat at the head of the table, only a little away from her, whilst Oliver began to pour some coffee. Shaking her head when he offered some to her, she held her breath as he added a little milk, feeling her anxiety mounting with every second that passed.

“My brother has only just returned from the Cuthbert estate, Miss Preston.”

Her breath left her in a rush, rendering her completely weak and feeling rather lifeless.

“I did not ask him to go but he was quite determined to make certain that the letter I sent them reached without delay,” Lord Carrick continued, leaning forward in his chair and looking directly at her. “He discovered both your parents present and in excellent health.”

Henrietta closed her eyes as a swell of relief threatened to overwhelm her, making her want to both laugh and cry in equal measure. Her breath came in shaky gasps as she lowered her head and clasped her hands together, her fingers digging into her palms as she let her eyes close tightly against the swell of tears.

“They are all right,” she heard Oliver say. “They are both well. No harm has come to either of them.” He cleared his throat, making her look up. “In fact, Miss Preston, your mother did not show any indication that she had been in any danger whatsoever.”

Henrietta blinked rapidly, the cloud of relief lifting to let the questions she had now begin to fill her head all over again. “I do not understand,” she said slowly, looking at him in confusion. “You mean to state that my own dear mother was not in danger at all?”

Oliver shook his head, sitting back in his chair and looking at her with the same steady gaze that Lord Carrick had so often settled upon her. “No, Miss Preston. I do not believe she was.”

“I do not understand,” Henrietta said, rubbing at her forehead with her hands and trying to make sense of what Oliver was saying. “Do you mean to tell me that my mother was in no danger at all, and I, in all my foolishness, took the rubies to the docks when she was quite happily playing cards at Lady Whitaker’s?” She closed her eyes and slammed one hand down on the table, making the crockery rattle. “I should never have done such a stupid thing. I should have gone directly to Lady Whitaker’s and sought my mother there, to be quite certain that what had been said about her was true!”

Lord Carrick rose at once, coming around to her side of the table and seating himself beside her, his hand grasping hers tightly as it sat, clenched and angry, on the table.

“You did nothing wrong, Henrietta,” he told her gently. “You were afraid for your mother’s life. Of course you would do what was asked of you! There is nothing here for you to regret, nothing here for you to berate yourself with. You acted accordingly, truly. Do not consider this to be your fault.”

Anger and frustration at her own foolishness burned within Henrietta’s heart as she closed her eyes again, letting out a long, slow breath to try to lessen some of her fury. Over and over, she saw herself reading the note, felt the same, furious reaction, and grew upset over her lack of thought. It was as Lord Carrick had said—she had behaved without consideration, had done precisely what she had thought would be best and all because of the fear that had ripped through her over the fact that she might lose her dear mother.

“And regardless,” Oliver said kindly, “it does not answer the question as to what your mother was doing leaving London without you. If she is in fine health and if nothing has happened to her, then why was she quite happy to leave London and to pack up the house without your presence?”

Slowly, Henrietta looked up at Oliver, her hand tightening in Lord Carrick’s. “Are you about to tell me?” she asked him, her heart hammering furiously. “Can you give answers to such a question?”

Unfortunately, Oliver shook his head. “I am afraid that, when I asked your mother about your whereabouts and handed your father the note from my brother, they simply informed me that you were gone to reside with some family for a time and not to expect you to return to London this Season.”

Henrietta shuddered violently, things becoming more and more fragmented within her own mind as she tried to make sense of what was being said. If her mother was not in danger, and had never been in danger, then why had Henrietta been so violently attacked after leaving the rubies where she had been directed? What need had there been for it? And why were her parents now telling others that she was gone to stay with relatives when, in fact, her mother had simply left London without so much as a backward glance in search of her? Did she think that Henrietta had gone somewhere alone? Were they afraid that she had eloped or behaved in such a dire manner that they could no longer support her? A sudden sense of shame filled her and before she knew what she was doing, she had let go of Lord Carrick’s hand and had risen from her seat, pushing herself away from the table and hurrying towards the door.

Her mind screamed with agony as she hurried away from the dining room, not at all certain as to where she was going but knowing only that she was not worthy of being in Lord Carrick’s household, not when she had behaved in such an improper manner with not only Lord Kingsley but also, thereafter, being blackmailed by Lady Starling. Most likely that was why her parents had no eagerness to seek her out. Her mother must have returned home from the card game to discover her missing and, believing her to be quite able to behave improperly and with poor judgment, had decided to turn her back completely on her daughter and return home. Henrietta had been left to herself, to make her own choices and to deal with the consequences of what had come thereafter. Lord and Lady Cuthbert had, it seemed, washed their hands of her. It was the only explanation that made sense.

“Miss Preston! Miss Preston.”

She did not dare glance behind her but heard Lord Carrick hurrying towards her, his footsteps hasty and his voice filled with concern.

“Lord Carrick,” she stammered, turning towards him but not lifting her head. “I—I am sorry but it—”

“It has overwhelmed you,” Lord Carrick said gently, catching both her hands and looking down eagerly into her face. “That I quite understand.”

Swallowing the ache in her throat, Henrietta tried to find the words to explain. “I do not think that you need do any further deliberations for my sake, Lord Carrick,” she said brokenly. “I believe that my parents have decided that my absence from the house when my mother returned meant that I had behaved in an improper manner and, from that, they have decided to turn their back on me entirely.”

Lord Carrick let out a huff of breath, which Henrietta thought was a half chuckle of clear disbelief. “I should not believe it,” he replied firmly. “That cannot be so. Surely not, Miss Preston!” His hands squeezed hers, speaking to her of the warm intimacy that had sprung up between them in the last sennight. “Your mother and father would not think so ill of you.”

Closing her eyes, Henrietta let out a slow breath as she felt her cheeks fill with color. Heat climbed up her spine as she tried her best to find a way to be honest with him.

“Come,” Lord Carrick said, clearly not seeing her struggle. “Come for a short walk in the gardens, Miss Preston. It is a fine day and whilst it is best that your presence here remains as unnoticed as possible, I should like to ensure that you are kept in the very best of health.” He smiled at her, let go of her hands, and offered her his arm. “What say you?”

Henrietta dropped her head, quite certain that Lord Carrick would remove himself from her and perhaps remove her from his house once she had told him of Lord Kingsley and Lady Starling. “I must tell you the truth, Lord Carrick,” she whispered, not daring to look up at him. “Then, mayhap, you will understand.”

He shrugged, took her hand, and settled it on his arm. “But you can speak out of doors, can you not, Miss Preston?” he asked with a good deal of tenderness in his voice. “I truly do think that it would do you very well to spend a little time out of doors.”

She nodded, having no other recourse but to accept him.

“Then we shall meander slowly and return when you are ready,” he said decisively, not giving her any reason to argue. “Come, Miss Preston. Let me show you the way.”

Henrietta went at once, her heart beginning to ache within her as she walked. Lord Carrick had shown her such kindness and consideration and yet he did not know everything about her. The moment she told him of what had occurred two years ago and why she had been forced to miss a Season, he would understand why she had been so rejected by her parents. Everything would fall into place and he would shun her, not wanting a creature such as she under his roof.

Her heart tore into pieces as she walked alongside Lord Carrick. She had been in his house for almost ten days—although for the first few days, she had been lost in unconsciousness—and during that time, a strong acquaintance had sprung up between them. She had a great regard for him, she knew, for he had treated her as no other gentleman had done. To know that he had saved her, had rescued her from the docks and, in doing so, had most likely saved her life was entirely overwhelming, making her heart crash into her chest every time she thought of it. Not once had he tried to press his advantage. Not once had he tried to suggest repayment for his kindness in some way or other. No, he had been entirely decent and had shown her a great respect in everything that he did and said.

And now, she was to tell him of her foolishness, her idiocy, and her shame in having to help Lady Starling, whom she had no doubt he would know of. Most likely, Lord Carrick knew about Lady Starling’s involvement in the dark happenings that had gone before and now she would have to admit to him that she had been involved in some small way. The shame of it burned within her heart, making her sag into him for a moment.

“You are weary, Miss Preston,” Lord Carrick said at once, looking down at her with concern as they stepped through the French doors of the ballroom and out into the sunshine. “Come, there is a bench where you might rest for a time.”

She said nothing but walked with him, wanting to lean into him, wanting to take a hold of his strength, but finding that she could not. Not when she knew that such happiness would soon come to an end.

“Here,” Lord Carrick urged, seating her down and patting her hand before letting her go. “I am certain the sunshine will revive you.”

Henrietta looked up at him, squinting a little in the sunlight. Lord Carrick was tall, broad, and handsome and she wanted to revel in his company for a moment, before it was torn from her.

“Lord Carrick,” she began, her voice hoarse. “There is something I must say. It is to do with—”

“Miss Preston!”

Lord Carrick grinned and stepped to one side to reveal none other than Lady Ancrum hurrying towards her, with Lord Ancrum following steadily behind. Henrietta’s mouth fell open in astonishment, for not only had she quite forgotten that she had spoken to Lord Carrick about seeking out Lady Ancrum, she had not thought for one moment that they would be willing to come to her aid.

“Lord Carrick spoke to us last evening,” Lady Ancrum said, reaching for Henrietta’s hands as Henrietta struggled to her feet. “And we came just as soon as we could. Good gracious, Miss Preston, whatever has happened to you?” Her eyes, filled with concern, clung to Henrietta’s face. “And what is it that we can do to help?”

Henrietta, overcome by the arrival of Lady Ancrum and quite taken with how kind she was being towards her after what she herself had done to bring difficulty upon Lord Ancrum, bent her head and squeezed Lady Ancrum’s hands.

“There is a lot to tell,” she whispered, not quite trusting her voice. “I cannot believe that you have deigned to come and speak to me, Lady Ancrum. Not after what I did.” She shot a quick glance towards Lord Carrick, who frowned at this remark but made no comment of his own.

“Nonsense,” Lady Ancrum said blithely. “You know very well that we do not consider you responsible in any way, Miss Preston. Rather, at the time, we were grateful for your courage and your honesty. My dear husband might not even be my husband had it not been for you!” She smiled into Henrietta’s eyes, who only just managed to return it. “And you are to call me Lydia, for whilst we might not have been friends before, we shall be now. I am very glad that you thought to ask Lord Carrick for our help, Miss Preston. It was good of you to think of us, for we are truly glad to be here with you now.”

Henrietta wanted to press her grateful thanks towards Lady Ancrum, wanted to tell her that she was overwhelmed by her kindness, but instead, she felt a wave of tears, sorrow, and regret burst all through her. Lowering her head, she began to cry pitifully, fearing that everything she had come to trust in would be taken from her the moment Lord Carrick knew of what she had done. She felt as though she did not deserve this, did not deserve the compassion that was being shown her. All she could do was weep.

8

“And because Lady Starling saw Lord Kingsley and me in a rather… improper embrace—although it was one that I struggled to remove myself from—she then decided that she would use me to her advantage.”

James frowned heavily, seeing how pale Miss Preston looked.

“She used Miss Preston very ill,” Lady Ancrum said firmly. “But we do not hold her responsible in any way, Lord Carrick.”

“No, indeed,” he agreed, seeing how Miss Preston looked up at him in astonishment. “I quite understand, Miss Preston. Truly.”

Miss Preston blinked rapidly, her green eyes still a little glassy.

“It is a roguish gentleman who dares treat a lady with such disregard,” he stated. “I do not hold the blame against you, Miss Preston, but rather against Lord Kingsley and, of course, against Lady Starling.” He shook his head and harrumphed, wondering if this was why Miss Preston had appeared so ill at ease earlier. “You did not fear that I would turn my back on you for revealing such a thing, I hope?”

Again, Miss Preston blinked furiously, her hands toying with the lace handkerchief that had been used to wipe so many of her tears away. She said nothing but stared at him as though she could not believe what he was saying.

“I believe that she did, Lord Carrick,” Lady Ancrum said gently as Lord Ancrum rose to pour himself another brandy. “But that is your own guilt placing burdens upon your shoulders that do not need to be there, Miss Preston. Surely you must know that Lord Carrick does not see the same shame as you do?”

Miss Preston closed her eyes and took in a shaky breath. “I fear that my parents consider me to be a brazen, improper sort of lady,” she admitted, opening her eyes and looking back at him. “I think that this is why my mother returned to the estate without so much as a backwards glance.”

James frowned. “You mean to say that you believe she thought you had gone out of the house in order to behave in a most improper manner and, therefore, decided to leave almost at once?” This did not seem to make sense to him, for surely a parent, no matter how upset they might be, would still be concerned for the whereabouts of their child.

“I think that must be the case,” Miss Preston said sadly. “I cannot think of any other reason as to why my mother left London without explanation and now states that I am staying with relatives somewhere. It is as though she wants to ensure that no shame comes to the family name by distancing herself and my father from me.”

“That would make them rather hard-hearted,” Lady Ancrum commented, looking at Miss Preston with concern. “They do care for you; I am quite certain.”

A sudden memory of Miss Preston and her mother walking through the London streets came back to James with a great rush. The lady he now knew to have been Lady Cuthbert had been waving her arms around and seeming to berate Miss Preston with all of her might. Had her fear been so great that her daughter would behave foolishly again that she had decided just to leave her to herself?

“It would surprise me if such a thing were true,” he said slowly, seeing Miss Preston’s eyes flicker. “There are still too many questions, Miss Preston. Questions as regards the rubies and what occurred to you thereafter. Why were you struck so forcefully? What was the reason for doing so?” He saw Miss Preston shudder but continued to speak regardless. “There must be a reason for someone to wish you gone from this earth, Miss Preston.”

“Which is why we must be very careful not to allow anyone to know of your presence here,” Lady Ancrum interrupted, her eyes lit with concern. “That is so, is it not, Lord Carrick?”

He nodded fervently. “I have done my utmost to ensure that such a thing does not occur, Lady Ancrum. My brother and I are the only two to know of her residence here.”

“And whilst I would like to have you removed to my own residence, I cannot think it wise at this stage,” Lady Ancrum remarked, looking towards Miss Preston. “If someone were to see you when we still have very little understanding of what is occurring, then you might be in grave danger.”

James nodded fervently, finding that the thought of Miss Preston leaving his residence was not, in fact, a pleasant one. This was the second week that she had been with him and he had enjoyed her company, now that she was recovered. They had spent some evenings in the library where he had continued his habit of reading to her, which seemed to take her mind from all of her troubles and helped calm her fractious thoughts. He had enjoyed being with her, even though there had always been a maid or footman present also, to keep things as proper as they could be in these unusual circumstances. That, he thought, keeping his thoughts entirely to himself, he did not want to end. Whilst he was quite determined that Miss Preston should have all the answers she sought, he did not want her to leave his house. It was a very strange sensation, for he had never drawn close to anyone before in such a manner as this. He had always enjoyed the company of young ladies and the like, but had never sought to further his acquaintance with any of them. He supposed that, given the circumstances, he had not had any other choice but to further his acquaintance with Miss Preston and, in doing so, his regard for her had begun to grow steadily.

“We will aid you as much as we can, however,” Lord Ancrum said, sitting back down beside his wife. “What is it that we can do, Miss Preston?”

Miss Preston’s mouth opened and shut, and she shook her head as she glanced down at her hands.

“There is just so much confusion,” she said faintly. “I do not know who wrote the note and threatened me in such a way, although a good many of the beau monde would know of my mother’s rubies, for they were very rarely seen but very often spoken of.”

“So we must discover who it is behind such a scheme,” Lord Ancrum said, throwing a quick look towards James, who nodded in agreement. “And what else must we do?”

James cleared his throat. “If you are quite certain that your parents will not accept you back, Miss Preston, then might I suggest that we find a way to ensure that your suspicions are entirely correct?” He smiled at her, seeing the way that the corner of her mouth lifted. “There may yet be a reason as to why they have refused to see you, one that you cannot know for certain.”

Miss Preston lifted one shoulder in a half shrug and looked away. Clearly, she was unconvinced by such a suggestion. “Mayhap they might even believe that it is I who have taken the rubies,” she said sorrowfully. “But I suppose you are correct to state that one ought to discover the truth in its entirety, Lord Carrick.”

“I think it would be wise,” Lady Ancrum agreed. “I shall write to your mother at once and state that I was seeking to invite you to reside with me at my husband’s estate for a time after your marriage and see what response she gives me.” Tipping her head and looking thoughtfully at Miss Preston, she lifted her shoulders in a delicate shrug. “I shall say that I have seen you in town but that you have gone again from it with your new husband and that I am most eager to pass on this invitation. I will say that I have a very poor memory and cannot recall where I have put your card or even if you ever once gave me your new address.” She gave Miss Preston a warm smile. “It may take some time, but some clarity might very well come from it, Miss Preston.”

“I do hope so,” Miss Preston replied wistfully.

“And I must insist that you stay for dinner this evening,” James declared. “Although thereafter, Oliver and I are to go to White’s for a time.” He chuckled, seeing Lord Ancrum’s interested look. “It is nothing more than a few acquaintances gathering together but we thought it an opportunity to see if there is any fresh gossip that might aid us in some way.” He gave a small shrug. “You would be welcome to join us, Lord Ancrum.”

Lord Ancrum turned to his wife, who laughed and smiled up into his eyes. “You may do as you please, my love,” she said, making Lord Ancrum grin. “I shall stay with Miss Preston, of course, and await your return when, thereafter, we shall make our way home. Does that suit?”

“Indeed it does,” Lord Ancrum said, looking quite delighted. “You are perfection itself, Lady Ancrum.”

For some reason, James found his eyes turning toward Miss Preston as this was said, as though he wanted to see her reaction to this statement. Miss Preston was, he saw, looking back at him with the same warmth in her eyes that he was certain lingered in his own. Then, she blushed and looked away as silence fell across the room.

“You are all very kind,” she said softly, her voice tremulous. “I came to London with very few acquaintances and certainly none that I would call friends, and now, when I am in the direst of circumstances, I find that I have found not only the help I need but more kindness and compassion than I could ever have expected from those I knew not at all and from those I considered to be already slighted by my lack of sense.” Her head lifted and she looked at Lord Ancrum, Lady Ancrum, and then back to James. “I cannot express my gratitude enough,” she finished, her eyes lingering on his. “This would have been much too difficult for me to endure alone.”

“You are most welcome,” he replied, feeling as though the rest of the room were fading away, leaving only himself and Miss Preston within it. “I could not leave you there on the docks, Miss Preston, and thereafter, I have found that my only wish is to aid you in your difficulties. Such a thing ought not to happen to anyone, and certainly not to a young lady.” He smiled warmly and saw how her eyes glistened with what he hoped were tears of happiness and relief. “You are becoming a matter of great importance to me, Miss Preston, and I do not think I shall be satisfied until you are happy and content once more.”

Lord Ancrum cleared his throat, making James start visibly. He looked at the gentleman, who was grinning with a knowing look in his eye.

“Shall I ring the bell for tea?” James said hastily, getting to his feet so as to cover his embarrassment. “And I must inform the cook that we are to have company for dinner.”

“Thank you,” Lady Ancrum replied as he rang the bell. “You are goodness itself, Lord Carrick. How fortunate Miss Preston has been to fall into your waiting arms rather than those of a rogue!” She smiled at him as he walked to pour himself a brandy, a twinkle in her eye. “I am certain you will do everything in your power to aid Miss Preston.”

“I will,” he said, a little more stiffly than before, “for I am very much resolved. Of that, Miss Preston need have no doubt.”

* * *

“Do be careful, Ancrum!”

James could not help but grin as his brother narrowly avoided Lord Ancrum as he carried back three glasses of the very best French brandy that White’s had to offer.

“We are to sit here now, I see,” Lord Ancrum muttered, clearly having enjoyed a good few glasses of brandy already. “Why did we move from where we first sat?”

James chuckled. “Because we have to talk to as many gentlemen as we can,” he explained, waving a hand towards the next few gentlemen who were seated in various places. “You have not forgotten the reason we have come here, have you?”

Lord Ancrum set the glasses down carefully on the table, frowned, and shrugged. “I have not forgotten.”

“We are to see if there are any rumors or the like,” Oliver said, accepting a glass from Lord Ancrum and swirling the brandy around in the glass. “I have heard none yet, although…” He looked about him and then got out of his chair. “We might have more success if I spoke to those over there and you remained here, Carrick.”

James frowned. “You will be careful, will you not?” It had been less than a month since his brother had come to him with the request for help and James was not yet convinced that Oliver could easily manage his liquor with the determination that he spoke of.

Oliver lifted his glass, smiled, and nodded, his eyes clear. “I am well able to be careful,” he said, clearly aware of what James meant. “I know what you require of me, Carrick, and I am more than willing to be of assistance to Miss Preston.” His expression became a little darker. “After all, you forget that I was present when you brought her to the tavern. I shall never forget the sight of the blood.” Closing his eyes momentarily, he cleared his throat and put a tight smile on his lips. “I am as determined as you to ensure that the truth is discovered,” he finished, before inclining his head and making his way past James towards another part of White’s. James tried his best not to follow his brother’s progress, telling himself that he had to make certain that Oliver was permitted to behave just as he wished without James watching over him continually. After all, such a statement seemed to have forced Oliver to consider his actions and, thereafter, change them.

“Lord Ancrum!”

His attention was caught by a large man with a bulging stomach and a cravat that was no longer perfectly tied.

“Good evening, Lord Charleston!” Lord Ancrum exclaimed, getting up to greet the older man. “How do you fare this fine evening?”

Lord Charleston chuckled, his face rather red and his eyes nothing more than narrow slits as he laughed. “Very good indeed,” he said, raising a glass. “Especially if they keep bringing in this very fine brandy. Excellent, I must say!” Draining his glass, he set it down on the table and sighed, pouring himself into the chair that Oliver had only just vacated.

“What news of society?” Lord Ancrum asked whilst James attempted to look nonchalant. “My wife and I are only just returned to London and I must hope we have not missed too much.”

Lord Charleston snorted and rolled his eyes, looking as though he were about to fall asleep at any moment. “Oh, there is the usual nonsense,” he said, shrugging. “A debutante has been found in a rather compromising situation and is to be wed by the end of the month.” His mouth, half open, remained so for a moment. “And there is talk of a young gentleman being in a good deal of debt, although that has not come to anything, it seems. I do not even know the fellow’s name.”

James closed his eyes, letting out a long, slow breath and fearing that should Lord Charleston have known the name, he might well have spoken of Oliver.

“Oh, well, that does not give too much for the gossip mongers to chew over,” Lord Ancrum chuckled, reaching forward to get his own brandy glass from the table. “There will be something more very soon, I am quite certain!”

“It would not be the Season if there was not,” Lord Charleston agreed, waving a fat hand about. “Although there was a whisper of one young lady eloping, but that has come to nothing.”

It took all of James’ strength not to sit up straight and demand to know who this young lady was, seeing how Lord Ancrum shot him a hard glance that told him to remain entirely silent.

“A young lady, indeed?” Lord Ancrum said, trying to sound quite nonchalant. “What was her name?”

Lord Charleston sighed, his brow furrowing low. “I think that it was something or someone to do with Lord Cuthbert, although he was not in town himself.” He sighed again and shrugged, his eyes closing now. “Not that it came to anything, as I said. Think the chit got herself hitched and there was just a whisper that it was an elopement.”

Lord Ancrum’s brow lifted and he turned towards James, a hundred questions in his eyes. James could say nothing, thinking of Miss Preston and trying to convince himself that she had not been about to elope with anyone. A girl did not go to the docks to escape to Scotland. No, they would have to be traveling by carriage and go through the night were they to make it safely and before anyone noticed. Besides which, Miss Preston had not spoken of a gentleman courting her, or someone who wished her to marry him.

A sudden doubt hit him full force, like a punch to the stomach. Miss Preston might well have hidden such a truth from him, for he had never asked her specifically whether or not she had someone important in her life. Someone who had asked her to escape with him, someone whom her parents disapproved of. Surely the rubies story could not be a ruse, simply to hide her disgrace from him?

“I think Lord Charleston is a little worse for wear,” Lord Ancrum murmured, getting to his feet and stretching a little awkwardly. “That is enough to ask Miss Preston about, surely?”

James nodded, his throat feeling dry and scratchy. He did not want to believe that Miss Preston had been lying to him, did not think that this was an elopement that had gone wrong, but it was still something that he would have to ask her about.

“It is just a rumor,” Lord Ancrum reminded him, slapping James on the arm as they turned to make their way from White’s. “A rumor that only adds to the mystery that surrounds Miss Preston.”

“Unless it is the truth,” James muttered, his doubts still filling him. “The rubies might have been taken to ensure that she and her husband-to-be had a good living ahead of them.”

Lord Ancrum shook his head. “She would not go to the docks in order to elope,” he said confidently, echoing James’ own thoughts. “Not unless they were planning to escape to the continent.”

James swallowed hard and looked at Lord Ancrum, whose confident expression quickly began to fade.

“It is possible, I suppose, but hardly likely,” he said, trying to evidently convince James of it.

James shook his head, brushing one hand down his face as they left White’s. “It could be true,” he said slowly. “Miss Preston might have had an attachment to someone that her parents disapproved of. Waiting for the opportunity to escape, she took the rubies and went to meet her lover at the docks where they intended to board ship and wait until it set sail.” He climbed into his carriage and sat down heavily, rapping on the roof the very moment that the door had been shut behind Lord Ancrum. “But her gentleman turned out not to be a gentleman at all. He stole the rubies and left her behind. Could that not be so?” He searched Lord Ancrum’s expression, seeing the same uncertainty that he felt growing in his eyes.

“It could be,” Lord Ancrum agreed reluctantly as the carriage made its way back to James’ townhouse. “But I do not think it likely. I know Miss Preston. She is not the kind to lie.”

“She did before,” James pointed out starkly.

“That is unfair,” Lord Ancrum replied, suddenly sober. “I thought you understood, that you were sympathetic to her plight.”

James found himself growing cold towards Miss Preston, his doubts and fears that she had not been telling him the truth making his compassion die away. If she had been about to elope with a man only to have him trick her, steal the rubies, and run away, then was that not her own doing?

“Carrick!” Lord Ancrum said loudly, snapping James from his thoughts. “You must not allow a single rumor to turn you against Miss Preston! That is entirely unfair.” He leaned forward across the carriage. “I believe that you feel a good deal more for Miss Preston than you are willing to admit to yourself. Do not ruin that now by permitting a whisper of gossip to damage all that you feel.”

With an effort, James tugged himself out from the dark thoughts he had toward Miss Preston, realizing that Lord Ancrum was speaking wisely. “You are correct,” he muttered, rubbing at his forehead. “You are right to suggest that I feel a good deal more for Miss Preston than I am willing to say at present and I must also confess such feelings have me greatly tangled, for I have never experienced such a thing before.” He gave his friend a wry smile as Lord Ancrum sat back in relief. “Perhaps because I am so unused to such feelings, I find myself deeply uncertain as to what I am to do next. What Lord Charleston said has quite thrown me, for it has made me realize that I have trusted Miss Preston’s word ever since the day she first awoke.”

“That is not something to be criticized,” Lord Ancrum replied as the carriage began to slow. “Miss Preston has, I am quite certain, learned very quickly that gentlemen who suggest all manner of inappropriate and outrageous things ought not to be trusted. I know that she will have struggled to gain the trust of her parents again and I cannot imagine that she would have done something so foolish again.” He shrugged. “Besides, did you not think her both distraught and ashamed when she told you of what had happened in the past?”

James sighed and rubbed at his forehead. “Yes, you are quite correct again,” he conceded, a little embarrassed at having been so confused for a moment. “But I must speak to her of this and see what her reaction is.”

Lord Ancrum blinked suddenly, looking around the carriage as though he had just realized something.

“What is it?” James asked as the footman pulled open the carriage door. “Is something the matter?”

“Grieves,” Lord Ancrum exclaimed, making James’ heart stop for a moment. “Where is your brother, Lord Carrick?”

James groaned, closing his eyes in frustration. “In my anger and upset, I left White’s without even recalling that I was to seek him out,” he grumbled, throwing himself back into his seat. “If you would wait with Miss Preston and Lady Ancrum, then I shall return to fetch him.”

Lord Ancrum chuckled and shook his head. “No, indeed, I can tell that you are quite desperate to speak to Miss Preston. You go inside, Lord Carrick, and I shall return to White’s. Please.” He grinned as James shook his head ruefully. “Go and speak to Miss Preston and I shall be back with Grieves not long thereafter.”

“Very well,” James agreed, knowing full well that his relief was more than a little apparent. “Thank you, Ancrum.” So saying, he climbed out of the carriage and hurried into the house, desperate to speak to Miss Preston and to confirm that all the doubts that had plagued him only a few minutes before were nothing other than that—doubts that had no substance and would be blown away like smoke with just a word from Miss Preston.

9

“You have found Lord Carrick to be a very gracious host, then?”

Henrietta blushed at once, dropping her eyes to her lap. “I think that Lord Carrick has put up with a good deal,” she said softly. “I am a complete stranger to him and even now, he is putting his reputation at risk by continuing to allow me to reside here.”

“Your reputation would suffer also,” Lady Ancrum—who had insisted that Henrietta call her Lydia—stated, quite calmly. “But that does not seem to concern you.”

Considering this for a moment, Henrietta spread her hands. “I have so many things that concern me at present that I suppose that does not seem of such great importance,” she said honestly. “But you are quite correct that if I was discovered here, then there would be a great deal of difficulty.”

Lydia smiled, her eyes gleaming. “I do think that Lord Carrick would marry you in order to save you from any disgrace.”

“I should not ask him to do so,” Henrietta replied fervently. “He has been nothing but kindness itself and I should not like him to have to do something that he would be entirely unwilling to do.”

Tilting her head, Lydia regarded Henrietta with sharp eyes, making Henrietta feel as though she were being studied in a most probing manner.

“I would rather remain a spinster than insist on any such thing,” she said, when silence grew between them both. “A disgrace such as this would be easier lost from a gentleman than a lady. He would still have the opportunity to marry someone of his own choosing.”

“I suppose that is correct,” Lydia acknowledged, looking at Henrietta with a gentle expression. “But he is very committed to your safety and to the conclusion of this matter, Henrietta. What if he is beginning to think of you in the way that you think of him?”

Henrietta shook her head, refusing to accept such a consideration from Lady Ancrum. “I would not even consider such a thing possible,” she declared. “I will not allow my mind to become even more conflicted than it is at present.” Sighing, she spread her hands. “I have parents who have left me in London, without reason or explanation. I have my mother’s rubies gone from me. I have an injury to my head and now I have my own difficult heart deciding that it prefers Lord Carrick to any other.” Sighing again, she closed her eyes for a moment. “No, Lady Ancrum—I mean, Lydia. No, I shall not think of him with that sort of hope.”

The silence grew between them, leaving Henrietta to consider what she had said, and she slowly realized that she had admitted to Lady Ancrum that she had more regard for him than she had wanted to admit. Squeezing her eyes closed, she let out a long breath and rubbed at her forehead.

“There is no shame in having affection for a gentleman, Henrietta,” Lydia said gently. “And it is quite natural that it should come within your heart when you have been flung into such a situation as this. Lord Carrick is known to my husband and Lord Ancrum has often commented that Lord Carrick often shows very little consideration towards any young lady of his acquaintance.” She smiled as Henrietta dared a glance in her direction. “Except now, he shows a great interest in you.”

“That is only because he feels he has a responsibility towards me,” Henrietta protested. “Because I have been flung into his world and he knows that I have no other place to go, given that I fear my parents would refuse to admit me.” Grimacing, she shook her head, not letting her heart flicker with delight at what Lady Ancrum had suggested. “I cannot let myself believe it.”

Lady Ancrum laughed and got to her feet, although the sound was not unkind. “Mayhap you will have time to examine your heart a little more once these strange circumstances have revealed themselves,” she told Henrietta, who sat and looked down at her hands again. “There may be a happiness there waiting for you, should you only be brave and bold enough to grasp it.” She began to meander towards the window, giving Henrietta a quick backwards glance. “And do not fear that you shall make a similar mistake to the one that was made with Lord Kingsley, Henrietta. Lord Carrick is not such a gentleman.”

“I know he is not,” Henrietta agreed in small voice, feeling a nervous anxiety mixed with excitement begin to fill her. “But I must be on my guard.”

Nothing but silence met her words, making Henrietta consider Lord Carrick all the more. Was there any truth in what Lady Ancrum said? She did not dare to believe it, feeling as though she were already unworthy of the consideration that Lord Carrick had shown her thus far.

“Oh, they are returned!”

Henrietta, pulled from her thoughts, looked up from where she had been watching the flickering flames of the fire to see Lydia beckoning her towards the window. A little relieved that their conversation was at an end, she rose, feeling that Lady Ancrum had managed to uncover a good deal more from Henrietta than she had intended to share.

“Although neither have come out of the carriage as yet,” Lydia said, sounding confused. “I do wonder what is happening.”

A little reluctantly, Henrietta came to join Lydia at the window, looking down to see the carriage and horses on the street below, lit dimly by the lanterns.

“Oh, I see that one is coming into the house,” Lydia said, gesturing to the figure who had climbed out of the carriage. “And now the carriage is moving off again. How odd.” She turned a quizzical eye upon Henrietta, who merely smiled.

“I am certain all will be explained in a moment or two,” she suggested as Lydia took her arm and led her back towards the small fire that kept the library warm this late in the evening. “Although I do wonder if they have discovered anything.” Her heart beat a little more quickly at the thought, although there was a gladness in her heart over the return of Lord Carrick. It was very odd, she considered, seating herself, to be sorrowful over the absence of someone who had only been absent for a few short hours and to feel such joy at their return.

“You must not hide your feelings from Lord Carrick when the time comes,” Lydia urged under her breath, making Henrietta blush. “If you are bold, I believe he will be bold also.”

Henrietta wanted to say something in return but found she could not, for the door opened and Lord Carrick strode in, stopping only to bow.

“Lord Carrick,” Henrietta said, rising to curtsy quickly, only for him to gesture for her to sit down again. “Did you have a successful evening?”

“And where is Ancrum?” Lydia asked, looking quizzically at Lord Carrick. “I saw the carriage drive away again.”

Lord Carrick cleared his throat, looking a little self-conscious. “We—I—forgot my brother,” he said awkwardly. “Lord Ancrum has gone to fetch him for I had something that I had to speak to Miss Preston about.” His eyes turned toward her and Henrietta resisted the urge to press one hand against her heart, such was the fervent beating that accompanied it.

“Oh, but of course!” Lady Ancrum said at once, a brightness about her voice that made Henrietta blush. “I shall just fetch a book and sit over here, so that I do not disturb you.” She smiled knowingly at Henrietta as she removed herself to another corner of the room, taking a candlestick with her.

“Miss Preston,” Lord Carrick began, pacing up and down in front of the fire, his arms behind his back. “I have heard a rumor that I must put to you.”

“Of course,” she said, her heart beating furiously as Lord Carrick stopped only for a moment to look down at her. “What is it?”

Lord Carrick let out a long breath and ran one hand through his wheat-colored hair, which seemed to be nothing more than strands of dark gold as the light from the fire and the candles caught it.

“I confess, Miss Preston, that I did not know what to make of this rumor at first,” Lord Carrick said slowly, his head low as he resumed his pacing. “It was said that Lord Cuthbert’s daughter had eloped.” He paused and looked at her, a question in his eyes. “But the whisper was nothing more than that, for now it is believed that you are, in fact, wed.”

Henrietta blinked in astonishment, taking in what Lord Carrick had said and trying to make sense of it. She had not a single gentleman caller who could have sparked such a rumor, and certainly no proposals of marriage.

“I did wonder if you had gone to the docks to meet this gentleman, whomever he might have been,” Lord Carrick continued carefully, now no longer pacing but turning to face her, looking more like shadow and darkness. “The rubies were, perhaps, taken so that you might start your life together. But then I realized that—”

“I beg your pardon?”

Henrietta pushed herself up out of her chair, looking directly up at Lord Carrick and feeling her heart sinking slowly into her shoes.

“It was a consideration only,” Lord Carrick said hastily, holding up both hands in defense. “I was wrong to think it.”

“Indeed you were,” Henrietta agreed as a spike of anger began to burn up into her chest. “I would not even consider doing something like that, Lord Carrick! I have only just returned to society, if you might recall, and certainly did not have any gentlemen callers or offers of marriage. I have never had any intention of eloping or the like.” Her voice was rising, heat racing up her spine and burning into her cheeks. “I have brought shame on my parents once before and I shall not do it again.”

“I know,” Lord Carrick said, sounding humble and apologetic as he took a small step closer to her, his head bowed low. “I should not even have thought it, Miss Preston. And mayhap, I ought not to have mentioned that I even considered it.” There was a rueful note to his voice that began to soothe Henrietta’s anger, making her brows lift from their angry lowering and her fists begin to loosen. “I should have merely told you that these are the whispers I have heard but that I am quite assured that there is no truth in them.”

“No,” Henrietta maintained, feeling her anger begin to ebb away at the apology in his voice and expression. “No, there is no truth in it, Lord Carrick. As you can see, I am not wed.” She arched one eyebrow and saw him smile, feeling her own lips curving in response. “But that is a very odd rumor, I must confess.”

Lord Carrick nodded, letting out a long breath that spoke to her of relief and regret over his foolishness. “It is indeed,” he concurred, “but it is one that has come to naught, for there is no evidence of your elopement.”

Henrietta bit her lip for a moment, her gaze drifting away from him. “And there is no mention of the gentleman that I have supposedly married?” she asked, seeing Lord Carrick shake his head. “How very odd.”

Lord Carrick chuckled and then shook his head. “I fear I have added yet more mystery to what is already a confusing situation,” he said, reaching out to grasp her hand for a moment, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand. “I am sorry for it.”

“I am glad you have heard something,” Henrietta replied honestly. “Although no, it does not bring any clarity to the circumstances.” She sighed heavily and rubbed at her forehead. “Mayhap there will be an answer from my parents to Lady Ancrum’s letter sooner than we think.” She smiled up into his eyes, seeing that he was still holding her hand, and she heard Lady Ancrum’s previous words coming back to her. “That might help to add to our understanding.”

“We may be required to arrive at their estate and demand some answers,” Lord Carrick said softly, his head lowering just a little as he looked keenly into her eyes. “I know you believe that you would not be welcome, but it may be the only way for us to find the truth in its entirety.” He studied her carefully. “Would you be willing to return to them with me?”

Her stomach fluttered with a million butterflies, not caught up by what was said but by the look in his eyes. “I would go anywhere if you were to come with me, Lord Carrick,” she said sincerely. “You have been a stalwart and I know that I can rely upon you.”

His eyes flickered as a small smile tugged at his mouth. “Even though I thought ill of you for some moments?” he asked regretfully. “I am sorry that I thought you might have been lying to me, Miss Preston. It is only because I am unused to being in such a situation that I have struggled to comprehend things in a clear manner.”

Her heart turned over in her chest, feeling herself drawing nearer to him still, wondering what it was that he meant and trying to find the courage within herself to ask him.

“It is a very strange circumstance that we find ourselves in,” he murmured, still looking at her with a slight tilt to his head. “And yet I consider myself almost blessed to have been the one to discover you, Miss Preston.”

“Oh?” She could say nothing more, aware of how his thumb was rubbing across the back of her hand again and of how streaks of heat were running up her arm from the contact.

He nodded slowly, still looking fixedly at her as though he were seeing her as she truly was but for the very first time. His eyes were roving about her face, his lips twisting together and his brow furrowing.

“That is not to say that I am glad someone treated you ill,” he added hastily, making the sudden tension of the moment begin to disappear. “That is not it at all, Miss Preston.”

“I am aware of that,” she replied with a small smile that hid her frustration over his lack of clarity, his lack of expressing himself further. “I would never think such a thing of you, Lord Carrick. I know you to be a good-hearted gentleman, for I was only just saying to Lady Ancrum that I did not think I knew anyone who is as considerate, as kind, and as generous as you are.” Her heart began to race in her chest as Lord Carrick took a small step closer, his hand still closed over hers. His eyes were fixed on her, his jaw set for a moment as though he were fighting against the urge to say something that would change things between them for good. Henrietta found herself willing him to speak it, wanting to hear what it was he had to say. Her hand tightened in his and he looked across at their hands, as though he had only just realized what he was doing.

“Miss Preston,” he said, so quietly that she had to strain to hear him, “I suppose I must tell you the truth that is within my heart. This may not be the best time to do so, for I am aware that there is a good deal already going on and a good many questions still left unanswered, but I must do as I see fit. Besides which, I think that it may be best for me to be truthful with you, for the sake of my own heart which is, at this present moment, burning hotly within me.”

“I would hear anything you have to say, Lord Carrick,” Henrietta replied hoarsely, her eyes searching his face as a fountain of joy began to bubble up within her. “Please, do continue.”

The eagerness must have been evident in her voice for Lord Carrick smiled suddenly, the warmth of his eyes and the happiness in his expression making Henrietta blush. The difficulties of her current circumstances began to fade away, the pain and confusion over her parents return to their estate no longer seeming to burn with such an agony within her heart. She forgot about Lady Ancrum sitting in the corner of the library, forgot about all that had been said between them and instead found herself entirely caught up with Lord Carrick. He took over her world, slowly spreading himself out towards every corner until she could see nothing but him.

“Miss Preston,” Lord Carrick whispered, reaching out to grasp her other hand and holding it tightly. “Miss Preston, I must tell you that—”

“He is gone!”

The sound of a door being thrown back hard against the wall made Henrietta jump visibly. Dropping Lord Carrick’s hands, both she and Lord Carrick turned to see Lord Ancrum striding into the room, coming directly towards Lord Carrick and shaking his head in what appeared to be a concerned manner.

“What did you say?” Lord Carrick asked, looking at his friend in confusion. “Who is gone?”

“Your brother,” Lord Ancrum said firmly as Lady Ancrum rose from her chair and hurried toward him. “Grieves is missing.”

Henrietta swallowed hard, her stomach twisting itself into painful knots as she glanced from Lord Ancrum to Lord Carrick and back again. Lord Carrick was staring at Lord Ancrum in confusion, only for his expression to become one of dismay.

“My brother has returned to what he knows best,” he muttered darkly, shaking his head and turning away. “He promised me he would not lose his head, would not give into that vice that had caught him for so long, but I think that he has done so regardless of his promises.”

Warning rose in Henrietta’s heart and she caught Lord Carrick’s arm just as he was about to turn away.

“Pray, Lord Carrick, consider for a moment longer,” she said quickly, looking at him urgently. “You fear that your brother has returned to indulging himself and the like, and if that is the truth, then I have no doubt that you will rail at him when the time comes. However,” she continued, taking in a quick breath and trying to contain the panic that was rising within her, “what if it is not as you suppose, Lord Carrick?”

He frowned at her but did not continue to turn away. “What do you mean, Miss Preston?”

“What if he has been injured in some way?” Henrietta said, seeing Lord Carrick’s frown deepen. “What if he has been taken by someone to a place he does not want to go? You might be willing to come immediately to the conclusion that he has returned to his familiar vices, but there is still the chance that something more has occurred.”

“Miss Preston is quite correct,” Lady Ancrum agreed, her voice ringing out across the room. “We must go in search of him and, until he is discovered and returned to us, we cannot make any assumptions.”

Henrietta watched as Lord Carrick weighed up what had been said, rubbing one hand over his eyes as he let out a long breath.

“If there is any chance at all,” he grumbled eventually, “no matter how small, then I suppose I must do him the honor of thinking of it. Although I still believe that he has done nothing more than indulge himself a little too heavily and has been cajoled to go somewhere else by one of his many companions.”

“I will fetch my cloak,” Henrietta said decisively, seeing Lord Carrick frown. “Lady Ancrum?”

“I will attend also, of course,” Lady Ancrum agreed as Henrietta made for the door. “The carriage is still prepared?”

“And waiting,” Lord Ancrum stated. “Although you will have to remain in the carriage, Lydia.”

Lord Carrick nodded. “As will you, Miss Preston.”

Henrietta had no time to disagree, feeling more and more concerned for the welfare of Mr. Grieves. Hurrying from the room to fetch her cloak, her heart pounding furiously, she began to silently pray that Mr. Grieves would be kept safe from all harm, and that, even if it would bring the ire of his brother, he would be found in nothing more than an inebriated state but in the best of health.

Anything else would be quite horrifying.

10

“I think we must return home.”

James shook his head as he spoke, feeling the same ball of misery return to his stomach once more. His brother had, he was quite sure, simply overindulged and was now, most likely, at another establishment or at a gentleman’s townhouse, throwing away yet more money and trying his best to recover it thereafter.

“I cannot agree with you there,” Lord Ancrum said heavily. “Your brother might still be—”

“I told him I would not indulge his vices any longer,” James interrupted, his voice hard as his hands curled into fists. “And I have to remain determined, Lord Ancrum. That means that I cannot allow myself to ride all over London in search of him when, most likely, he will have drunk far too much and will be almost unconscious by the time we find him.” He shook his head again, muttering darkly under his breath about his brother’s lack of self-control, before gazing again out of the window, seeing how gray everything looked. The dawn had brought with it neither glorious sunshine nor a beautiful sunrise, for the clouds hung low in the sky and made the morning quite overcast. It matched his mood entirely, for the longer they searched for Oliver, the more certain he became that his brother was indulging himself in the same way he had done so many times before.

“Lord Carrick?”

The gentle voice of Miss Preston caught his ears, making him glance away from the window towards her for a moment.

“Is there any other place where we might look before we return to the townhouse?” she asked, her face pale and tired but with a determination in her eyes that spoke of her urgent desire to find his brother. “I know that you are quite certain that he has hidden himself in one of his usual places, but given that we have been unable to find him, does that not mean that there might yet be some concern over his welfare?”

He shook his head, aware of how kind and compassionate Miss Preston’s heart was and yet feeling that his brother did not deserve it.

“Miss Preston, we have searched every haunt that my brother has ever set foot within,” he told her firmly. “And even now, I do not feel the same concern that you have within you. He has not gone to one of his usual places, but that does not mean that he is not just as I fear him to be. Rather, it means that he has gone somewhere else, that is all.”

Miss Preston bit her lip, her eyes shifting this way and that, battling against her own fears and against what he himself had revealed.

“This was a foolish errand,” he murmured, looking out of the window again. “Let us return home. I, for one, must take some rest for I am truly very weary.”

“As am I,” Lady Ancrum agreed, “but ensure that you are not too hasty, Lord Carrick. Is there nowhere else he might be?”

Growing irritated with the ladies’ insistence that his brother might be in trouble, James grimaced and kept his gaze on the passing streets. “No,” he said firmly, hoping that this would be enough to prevent them from asking anything more. “There is not. We should return, Lady Ancrum. I have had enough of chasing my brother.”

Silence rang through the carriage, filling James with a strange, awkward tension that did not dissipate as the minutes passed. Rather, the tension seemed to grow steadily until it filled every part of him, until it rang through him in a most uncomfortable fashion. He closed his eyes and let out a ragged breath, aware of the anger that was coursing through his veins as he did so. He was angry with Oliver, angry that he had returned to the very vices he had only recently thrown asunder. Had he not promised James that he would be careful, only to go and then throw himself headlong into the liquor and the gambling all over again? He should never have brought Oliver with him to White’s. Whilst his brother had been more than a little helpful when it came to matters with Miss Preston, James ought to have known that there was a difficulty there given that liquor flowed quickly throughout White’s. Shaking his head, he ran one hand through his hair, his hat on his lap, and tried not to groan aloud. He had been foolish. Foolish for taking his brother with him to White’s and foolish thereafter to go in search of him.

“Wait!”

Miss Preston’s voice, louder and more shrill than he had ever heard it before, pierced his thoughts and sent a shudder through him.

“Wait! Stop!” She was half out of her seat now, banging furiously on the roof of the carriage, which came to a sudden, jerky stop. She did not hesitate but threw open the door, her skirts sweeping past him as she awkwardly clambered out.

“Miss Preston!” he shouted, seeing her running hard across the street and finding his limbs a little stiff and unwilling to follow her with the same urgency. “Miss Preston, whatever is the matter?” His feet hit the cobbles and he began to hurry after her, seeing her make her way to the edge of what was the river Thames, her hands grasping the rail as she looked down over it.

And then, to his horror, she made to try and climb over it…

“Miss Preston!” he exclaimed, grasping her hand and tugging her back. “You cannot…” His eyes glanced at the water below, horrified to see a man struggling against the water. His mouth was gagged and his hands held out in front of him, tied together tightly. It was only when James saw his fair hair that he realized who it was.

“Oliver!” Bodily lifting Miss Preston away from the rails and handing her to Lady Ancrum, who was now standing by them, James did the only thing he could think of. Taking off his coat, he climbed over the rail and jumped into the water.

His brother was white-faced, his eyes wide with fear as a trail of red ran down one side of his forehead. Catching his wrists, James spluttered furiously as the water surged into his mouth.

“I have you!” he exclaimed, before lowering his head into the water so that he might swim underneath his brother’s tied wrists. Now safely around his neck, and with no easy way for Oliver to escape from him , James began to look for somewhere to climb out. He was growing weary now, the cold of the water only just beginning to take hold of his limbs.

“Here, Carrick!” Lord Ancrum shouted, leaning over the wall as three other men, whose faces James did not recognize, leaned over also. They were holding out hands to him, with one lowering a rope into the water. “Here, Carrick, take a hold of the rope!”

His legs were so weary that he could barely kick them against the cold, writhing waters of the Thames. Fixing his eyes on the rope and gritting his teeth, he made to reach for it but missed.

“Brother,” he heard Oliver say, his voice sounding distant and far away. “I am sorry.”

“You have done nothing wrong,” James replied, spluttering again as the foul water entered his mouth. “Let us get you home and dry, Oliver. Then you can tell me all.” So saying, he reached for the rope again and this time, managed to capture it. Winding it about his arms for fear that he would not be able to hold onto it with any strength, he looked up to see Lord Ancrum taking a hold of the rope whilst the other men were leaning forward as far as they could with their arms outstretched.

“Come on, then!” Lord Ancrum cried, beginning to haul at the rope as James held on as best he could, his fingers slipping on the rope as his limbs began to grow numb. Somehow, he managed to reach the waiting hands of the men, feeling the weight of Oliver practically hanging from his shoulders. There were shouts, exclamations, and screams, but somehow, both he and Oliver were pulled to the top of the railing and brought over to the other side.

James collapsed, his legs trembling and weak as he looked at his brother, who was on his knees with his head bowed.

“What happened, Oliver?” he panted as Miss Preston took off the cloak she was wearing and threw it around his brother. “Why did you end up in the Thames?”

Oliver looked up at him, his face white and his lips tinged blue as he shook violently.

“We must get you both back to the townhouse,” Lady Ancrum said firmly, not allowing James another word. “You must both recover before anything can be explained.”

Lord Ancrum nodded, his hands on his thighs as he bent forward, trying to catch his breath. “With all urgency,” he said hoarsely, as some of the men who had come to James’ aid began to crowd around them all, trying to look at the men they had saved. “The danger to his life—and to yours, Carrick—is not yet over.”

It turned out that Lord Ancrum was quite correct. James, whilst utterly freezing and weak from his exertion, recovered fairly quickly with a decent amount of brandy, dry clothes, a blazing fire, and a good many blankets.

Oliver, on the other hand, did not fare so well. He had been badly beaten, it seemed, for he had fresh bruises to his face and chest, according to the doctor. A few of his injuries had required dressings, and thereafter, James had been given strict instructions to allow his brother to rest.

He had gone to him, of course, seeing just how pale and small he looked in his bed. Oliver had tried to smile and explain, but it had been an effort for him just to keep his eyes open. James had encouraged him to rest, more relieved than he could say to know that his brother was still living and that he had not been forced to pull a body from the Thames. He had left Oliver to the care of his household staff, knowing that his brother was being well taken care of.

And now, he was sitting down beside the fire, wrapped in blankets and nursing another glass of brandy, trying to make sense of all that had occurred.

“My lord?”

He looked up from the fire to see Miss Preston standing hovering in the doorway. She was exhausted. He could tell from the dark smudges under her eyes and from the whiteness of her cheeks.

“I am to retire,” she said softly, not wanting to disturb his peace. “Lord and Lady Ancrum have also chosen to reside here overnight. Or what is left of the night.” She managed a tiny smile and James beckoned her in. Hesitating, she took a few steps further into the room and looked at him again, her hands clasped in front of her.

“Will you not come and join me for a moment, Miss Preston?” he asked, gesturing for her to come closer. “I could do with a little company.”

Much to his surprise, she gave a small shake of her head, her lips tightening for a moment.

“Whatever is the matter, Miss Preston?” he asked, rising from his chair and allowing some of the blankets to fall to the floor. “What is it that concerns you so?”

She did not take even a small step forward, keeping a large space between them both. “I am truly sorry for what has occurred with your brother, Lord Carrick,” she said hoarsely, her gaze darting from one place to the other. “I cannot tell you how sorry I am to know that my presence here is the cause of it.”

The frown jumped to his face immediately. “Now, Miss Preston, I will not allow you to take the blame for such a thing,” he said firmly, taking long strides forward and capturing her hand before she could move. Pulling her gently back towards the fire so that they might both be warmed by it, he continued to look into her face but saw just how unwilling she was to look up into his face.

“You are not to blame for this, Miss Preston,” he told her determinedly. “My brother has, on more than one occasion, brought a good deal of pain to himself by his own actions. I cannot be certain that this incident was not his doing also.”

Miss Preston finally looked at him, but a single tear slipped from her eye onto her cheek. “Mayhap that is true, Lord Carrick,” she said, her voice breaking. “But I cannot help but think that Mr. Grieves was treated in such a manner because of my presence here. I do not know the answer as to why that might have occurred, nor can I make sense of what has previously happened to me, but I believe in my heart that I am the cause of his injuries.”

“You are his savior!” James protested, taking her other hand and looking down keenly into her eyes, wanting desperately to remove the sting of sorrow from her expression. “Miss Preston, you were the one who saw him at the first.”

She closed her eyes tightly and another tear fell. “I was certain I saw his face as he was pushed over the edge by two men,” she whispered, clearly still terrified over what she had witnessed. “If we had not been passing when we did, then he would not have been rescued.”

James shook his head. “He might have been rescued by someone else,” he said, knowing full well that the chances of such a thing occurring were rather slim but not wanting to betray this to Miss Preston. “There is nothing to blame yourself for, my dear lady. Truly.” Unable to help himself, he let go of her hand and reached up to wipe away the moisture from her cheeks. “You are not to blame,” he continued quietly, but with as much fervor as possible in his voice. “Miss Preston, I will not permit you to carry this burden. Your presence here is not a danger to either myself or my brother.”

“But it is!” she insisted, opening her eyes and looking up into his face. “If you had not taken me in, if you had not shown me such generosity, then none of this might have occurred. Your brother might now be quite safe and you would not have anything to fear.”

He caught her face with his hands, capturing her entirely. She closed her eyes tightly as her lips trembled, her face milk white.

“I have nothing to fear,” he promised her urgently. “Miss Preston, there is not a single modicum of regret within me. I have nothing to fear. Nothing to shy away from. I do not look back and regret taking you into this house, nor do I hate my actions in seeking to bring clarity to this strange mystery that surrounds you. No, indeed not, Miss Preston. If I feel anything, it is to bless the day that I discovered you.”

He saw her swallow hard and then open her eyes to look up into his face, her eyes swimming with tears that made the greens of her irises swirl like a tormented sea.

“I bless the day I found you, Miss Preston,” he repeated, knowing that he was about to reveal his heart to her but finding no regret there. “I found you and, in doing so, I found a freshness of spirit, a brightening of my life, and a deep, unrelenting affection that has never captured my heart before. It is because of you that I feel such things, and they have filled my life with such happiness that I do not want it to come to an end.” He could see how her eyes flared with surprise and felt himself grow entirely unrestrained, wanting to explain everything to her.

“I have enjoyed your company, Miss Preston,” he said tenderly as her hands reached up to press lightly against his chest, her expression one of astonishment now instead of sorrow, as though she could not quite believe that this was occurring. “I have looked forward to our conversations, wanted to see you at almost every moment of the day. You have made me consider the future in ways that I have never had to do before. I have thought of nothing but you, thought of the joys that might be before us both were I to consider asking you something so wonderful, so utterly astounding, that I can hardly bring myself to say it.”

“Then do not,” Miss Preston whispered, trembling underneath his hands as they slipped to her shoulders and then down to her waist. “Do not ask it, Lord Carrick, not when we still do not know the truth about my situation.”

He shook his head, refusing to be held back any longer. This was what he wanted, he knew, and he would not be restrained.

“I know that you are not engaged,” he told her, seeing how a spot of color came into her cheeks. “I know that you are not married. I trust you, Miss Preston. I trust that you have told me the truth in everything and it is with that knowledge that I must come to you with what is a profound hope.” Pulling her just a little closer, he began to lower his head, seeing how she caught her breath but did not look away.

“Miss Preston, my heart is filled with an affection for you that will not leave me,” he murmured, aware of how every part of him was filled with an astonished wonder that he was not only about to ask her this but that he had no fear about doing so. He had always thought he might feel some trepidation, some uncertainty, but at this present moment, looking down into Miss Preston’s eyes and feeling all that he had for her within his heart, James knew that this was all he wanted to do.

“I will continue to have this affection for you,” he continued as she took in a shuddering breath. “It contains the first strains of love, Miss Preston, and will grow to such a wonderful extent that I expect my entire life will be filled with a love that is directed solely towards you.” Lifting one hand, he ran a finger down her cheek and found himself smiling. “Even if there is a good deal of trouble facing you, even though there may be difficulties and sorrows, Miss Preston, I want to be there with you. I want to be standing by your side, as your anchor. I want you to have the freedom to step into my embrace and to know that my arms only wish to hold you within them. I want you to have the assurance of my love, no matter what occurs. I think, Miss Preston, that what I am trying to offer you—although in a somewhat convoluted manner—is my heart and my hand.” His breath rushed from him as he saw her blink rapidly, her tears returning to her. “I would like to marry you, Miss Preston. What say you?”

She did not say anything immediately. Rather, she just continued to look up into his face, with a slight frown forming over her eyes. He felt himself grow desperate for her answer, with each second beginning to turn into a lifetime. His whole body burned with a fierce, sudden fear that she was about to refuse him, that she would not accept him and that he would, thereafter, have to pick up the pieces of what would be a very broken heart.

“I do not know what to say, Lord Carrick.”

“Say that you will accept me,” he said urgently, not wanting her to do anything other than accept him. For some reason, he felt it to be a deeply pressing matter, as though if she did not agree to marry him now, then they might be thrown asunder for good. Lowering his head, he pressed his forehead against hers and let out his breath slowly, as though he could show her the depth of his affection for her by his mere touch.

“I want to say yes, Lord Carrick.” Her voice was shaking, her eyes closing tightly as she pressed her hands against his chest all the more. “The desire of my heart is to twine itself with yours, to agree to accept you and to marry you—but I fear that there is so much else unknown that we will regret this decision, that you will turn back and wish that you had never once thought of it.”

“Do not give in to your fears but rather allow your heart to lead you,” he whispered, barely able to catch his breath, such was his growing anticipation. “I want to be able to bring you such happiness as you have never known before, Miss Preston. I swear that my heart and my intentions are true.”

She let out a shuddering breath, her eyes still closed. “You do not know just how much I wish to accept you,” she answered, her fingers curling into his shirt. “And yet I fear that—”

He could not wait another moment, wanting desperately to hear her agree, wanting to hear her consent and urgently desirous to push aside her fears. Dropping his head just a little, he brushed his lips against hers and heard her gasp of astonishment. He did not kiss her again but held her gently, just waiting for her to respond to him.

“I cannot,” she whispered, making him fear that she would refuse him again. “I cannot allow my heart to reject you when it is the only thing that it desires.” She sighed heavily, although a small smile graced her lips, bringing his heart to the skies as she did so. “Yes, I will accept you.”

James’ heart sang with joy, and he crushed her against him, kissing her yet again, but this time with all the fervency that was within him. Her kisses were gentle and uncertain, but her arms were about him and her body pressed against his. There was such happiness within him that he forgot about his difficulties, forgot about her injuries and all the questions that surrounded her presence at the docks that night. All he could feel was the joy of knowing that Miss Preston would soon be his wife and that, even if they were to face further difficulties, she would still be by his side and that he would never have to let her go. He would never have to say goodbye to her, would never have to lose her from his life. He had never felt such overwhelming happiness and as he unwillingly took his lips from hers and looked down into her beautiful, joyous face, James knew that his love for her would only continue to grow, until it exploded into every single part of his life.

11

The joy that had swept through Henrietta as she had made her way from Lord Carrick’s side to her bedchamber had dimmed significantly by the time she had awoken.

It was, from what she could tell, already past luncheon and she had not even risen from her bed yet. Shaking her head and rubbing her eyes, Henrietta swung her feet to one side of the bed and tried to stand, only to find herself overly weary. Her legs felt weak still and she was forced to ring the bell and then return to her bed.

Once she had eaten and drunk a copious amount of tea, Henrietta felt a good deal better, although she still did not feel the same overwhelming happiness that had enveloped her only a few hours ago. Even as she dressed and had her hair set by the maid, Henrietta felt her spirits begin to sink low, her distress beginning to bite at what was left of the contentment that came with knowing she was now engaged to Lord Carrick.

When he had taken her in his arms, when he had begged her to wed him, she had barely been able to think, such was her astonishment. Her heart had yearned for him, had deeply desired her to accept him, but the sense of warning and restraint had held her back. The knowledge that she was, most likely, responsible for what had happened to Mr. Grieves had torn at her, making her realize that her presence here had brought difficulty and struggle to Lord Carrick and to his brother. Even though Lord Carrick had assured her that his brother might very well have been in a situation of his own making, Henrietta was quietly convinced that what had occurred to Mr. Grieves related to her. Somehow, someone must have become aware of her presence within Lord Carrick’s house, or of her connection to Mr. Grieves. Mayhap someone had overheard him asking about her, or some such thing. Her mind had told her that she ought to leave this house and Lord Carrick, so that he would no longer have any such difficulties and would be kept quite safe, but her heart had refused to let her move from where she stood. When he had kissed her, that gentlest of kisses against her mouth, all her thoughts had flown from her and she had found herself unable to refuse him again.

Now, she considered, looking at her reflection in the mirror, she was to consider herself engaged. It was not yet official, for no one could know of it until the truth of her situation and the strange and dangerous happenings had been brought to a swift conclusion, but now that she thought on it, her confusion and her doubts began to rise within her again. Was she right to have accepted Lord Carrick? He, who had been nothing but kindness to her, might be struggling with danger for a good time still, and it would all be because of her. She had no knowledge of what specifically was going on or who was behind it, but if she was gone from Lord Carrick’s house, then whoever it was that knew of her presence here would turn their attentions to following her and would leave Lord Carrick and his brother in peace.

“There you are, Miss Preston.”

Tugged from her thoughts by the happy voice of the maid, Henrietta gave her as bright a smile as possible.

“Thank you, that is quite lovely,” she said, seeing her dark curls heaped back upon her head with only a few gracing her temples. “You may go now.” The maid bobbed a curtsy but then came back when Henrietta called her.

“I forgot to ask you—has anyone else risen?” Henrietta asked quickly, her heart beating with a sudden sense of fright. “And Mr. Grieves? Has he recovered at all?”

The maid smiled, making Henrietta’s heart stutter with relief.

“He is much improved, Miss Preston,” she reassured her. “He has been eating a hearty breakfast, I believe. And there is no one else yet awake, although we were given specific instructions not to rouse them.”

“Indeed, I quite understand,” Henrietta said hastily, giving the girl another smile. “I thank you. You may go.” She waited until the maid had quit the room and then rose to her feet, pacing about a little as she thought about what had been said. Mr. Grieves was well recovered, it seemed. He was not about to worsen and die from the shock and the cold of being in the Thames. Of that, she was much relieved.

“I must go and speak to him,” she said aloud, praying that he would not consider it an impertinence. For how else was she to know the truth of what had occurred? She needed to know for certain whether the incident had been a consequence of Mr. Grieves’ own behavior or whether it was somehow related to what had happened with her. Before she could change her mind and lose her courage, Henrietta hurried towards the door and pulled it open. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out into the passageway and hurried along to Mr. Grieves’ room, growing more and more anxious with every step that she took.

* * *

“Come in, Miss Preston!”

Oliver waved her into his rooms, one hand still clutching a piece of toast and a broad smile on his face as he welcomed her in.

“I came to see how you fared this morning, Mr. Grieves,” she told him with a tight smile, although her heart was relieved that he appeared in such good spirits. “You are recovered, I think.”

He chuckled, although there was a look in his eye she could not quite make out.

“I am very well recovered indeed,” he agreed as the maid picked up his now empty tray and walked out of the room with it. “You appear somewhat distressed this morning, however, Miss Preston.” His smile faded as he looked at her again, his brow furrowing. “Your face is quite pale and there is a sadness in your eyes that I did not expect to see.”

Flushing with the embarrassment of being so obvious with her feelings, Henrietta looked away. “I have come to you with a request, Mr. Grieves,” she said, her fingers squeezing together as she looked back at him, seeing the concern in his expression. “I wish for you to tell me the details of what happened last evening.”

His surprise was evident at once, his brows lifting and his eyes flaring for a moment.

“I must know why you were treated so,” she said urgently, taking a few steps nearer to him. “Please, Mr. Grieves, you must tell me the truth.”

He began to shake his head, but Henrietta let out such a cry of frustration that he stopped at once, blinking in surprise.

“Do not torment me so, Mr. Grieves!” she exclaimed, her desperation mounting. “I must know the truth, I beg you.”

“But Miss Preston, I would not want to alarm you,” he said, his very words telling her that his injuries were, in fact, due to her presence in this house. “There is nothing that you have any responsibility for.”

She shook her head and sank down into a nearby chair, covering her face with her hands. “Then you were attacked because of me,” she said, her voice muffled by her hands. “Is that not so, Mr. Grieves?”

He did not answer for some minutes until she was forced to look up, seeing how he studied her with a conflicted air.

“Someone wanted to know where you were,” he said, after she fixed him with her gaze. “That is all.”

Swallowing her tears, she kept her gaze steady. “What happened, Mr. Grieves?”

Sighing, he spread his hands, his face twisting in pain at the gesture. “Nothing of note, Miss Preston. I was in White’s and conversing with various gentlemen. I mentioned that I had heard from Lord Charleston that a young lady had recently been thought to elope, only for her to now apparently be wed. I asked if anyone had heard who this Miss Preston had wed, but no one seemed to be aware of it or had any interest in the matter.” He shrugged, and then winced again. “It was not until I stepped outside into the dark night in order to search for my brother that someone drew near. I do not quite recall everything that happened, but I was set upon and dragged to a dark alley, where a man asked me a great many questions about you.”

A dreadful terror settled into Henrietta’s stomach as she saw Oliver wince again, evidently recalling what had happened to him.

“I do not know who the man was,” he told her gently, as though to protect her from the fear that might soon be running through her. “I did not see his face, I only heard his voice. He had one or two others with him, and it was they who then gagged me and took me to the Thames. It was, I think, growing too bright for the man to continue questioning me and so he decided to dispose of me.”

She shuddered violently, knowing full well that had she not seen Oliver when she had, then they might not now be sitting here together.

“But I should not have you think that this man’s actions were your responsibility,” Oliver continued hastily. “Indeed, I have no desire for you to think any such thing.”

“But you have suffered for my sake,” she whispered brokenly. “And might very well do so again. It will not take long for this man to realize the connection between yourself and Lord Carrick. I cannot bear to imagine what might occur should he—”

“Nothing will happen,” Oliver interrupted firmly, searching her face. “Truly, Miss Preston, you have nothing to fear. You are quite safe here, as am I, and as is my brother.”

She shook her head, feeling tears burning in her eyes and knowing without doubt what she must do. As much as she loved Lord Carrick and as much as she wanted to wed him and become his wife, she could not allow him to suffer in any way whatsoever, not when she could prevent it. She had no idea who it was that had attacked Oliver, or who it was that was so determined to find her, but in her heart she knew that she could no longer linger. The love that she had for Lord Carrick would not permit her to bring any sort of danger to him, even though the only desire of her heart was to remain by his side, as he had asked, and to become his wife.

Her heart ached painfully as she rose from her chair, seeing that the time was short.

“Miss Preston,” Oliver said, also trying to rise but appearing still a little unsteady. “Miss Preston, I have not told you this in order to bring you pain but rather to show you that the danger is not yet passed. You must remain here, so that you can be protected.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing her tears back. “I understand very well, Mr. Grieves,” she told him, her voice tremulous. “I well understand the danger.”

“Someone is looking for you,” he said gravely, sitting back in his chair but with his hands gripping the arms of it. “I fear it is the very same person who sought to rid you of your life by hitting you that night at the docks. Mayhap they fear that you still live, Miss Preston, and that is why they were so desperate in their attempts to seek the truth from me. Please, Miss Preston, do not fear that you shall be in any danger, however. You know very well that my brother will do all he can to protect you.”

I do know that, Henrietta wanted to say, and it is for that reason alone that I must leave this place.

“I thank you,” she answered, stammering just a little as she fought to find a way to tell him that he would not see her again without making her intentions obvious. “You have been very kind to me, Mr. Grieves. You have shown concern and compassion to someone that you have never had any knowledge of before and for that, I am profoundly grateful.”

“I think I should thank you also,” he said, surprising her. “When my brother appeared with you in his arms, I think something in my world shifted. I realized that I was involving myself in a world that was cruel and dark in so many ways. I will confess to you, Miss Preston, that I often lost my head when it came to liquor and to gambling. I took advantage of my brother’s good nature and sought him out to help me pay for my debts when I could not. This was on top of his other kindness to me.” He shook his head, his lips thinning as he reflected on his past behavior. “But upon seeing you and hearing my brother state that he would not pull me from my troubles again, I confess that I had to consider what it was that I was doing with my life. My brother has been very good to me. His only concern was that I should make a successful life for myself, and instead, I have been selfish and ignorant. But no longer.” He smiled at her and Henrietta managed to smile in return, even though it did not quite reach her eyes. “Your presence here and my brother’s devotion to you has shown me the sort of gentleman I wish to be, Miss Preston. I do hope you know just how much regard my brother has for you.” This last sentence was said with a slight flicker of Mr. Grieves’ eyes, as though he were trying to communicate more to her than he could easily say.

Henrietta’s heart broke. “Yes, I know it,” she answered, turning away from him and walking towards the door, so that he could not see her sorrowful face. “Lord Carrick has been one of the kindest gentlemen that I have ever had the chance to meet, Mr. Grieves. I am grateful for all the compassion he has shown me, the risks he has accepted in having me reside at his house, his generosity of spirit, and the friendship that has arisen during my time here. I feel more for him than I believe I have felt for anyone before.” Keeping her face turned away so that he could not see the agonized expression on her face, Henrietta opened the door and tried to inject some lightness into her voice. “I have found more here than I ever expected,” she finished, knowing that this was her way of saying goodbye to Mr. Grieves. “And I do not think I shall ever forget it.”

* * *

Leaving the house was not as difficult as Henrietta had expected. She did not have much to take with her, given that the gowns and clothes, which Lord Carrick had secured for her, were not hers to take. She did, however, take the cloak he had provided her, grateful that it was dry and warm again after last evening’s difficulties with Mr. Grieves. Pulling it carefully over her bonnet and praying that no one would see her, she stepped out of the townhouse and, with a small basket in her hand, hurried down the street.

Every step brought a fresh agony. All she wanted to do was turn around and return to Lord Carrick. Every moment she was away from him burned on her skin, sending fear and heat up into her heart.

And yet, Henrietta knew she had no other choice. She could not allow the danger that surrounded her to touch Lord Carrick or Mr. Grieves again. This situation involved her and her alone. There was no reason for them to be involved, and after what had happened to Mr. Grieves, she could not bear to imagine what might befall Lord Carrick should someone discover that it was he who had kept her under his roof.

Forcing one foot in front of the other and not pausing to wipe the tears from her cheeks, Henrietta continued to walk down the street and away from Lord Carrick’s townhouse. She only had one choice—to return to her parents’ estate in the hope that they would be willing to at least let her stand on the threshold and explain. If they did not, if they believed her to be utterly ruined and entirely culpable for whatever had occurred to her, then she did not know what she would do. Perhaps seek out Lady Ancrum and beg for her help in finding a situation. She had not much experience of children but surely being a governess would not be all too difficult? Her heart sank to her toes as she tried to think of a life without Lord Carrick, a life which he would never again be a part of. She would not be able to speak to him daily, nor converse with him. Never again would she hear his voice reading through the next few pages of the book, gentle and yet filled with all manner of feeling. That had gone from her the moment she had decided to step out of Lord Carrick’s home for good.

Her tears flowed unabated as she continued to walk, her head down low and her vision blurred. This was almost like grief, mourning for the love that she would have to now bury deep within herself and trying to forget what might have been between herself and Lord Carrick. Sniffing, she paused to pull out a handkerchief from her pocket, dabbing at her eyes and wiping her cheeks. There would be time for tears, a time to cry without ceasing until there was nothing left within her, but now was not that time. She had to remain as focused as she could. She had to find a way to return to her parents’ estate without delay.

“Do be careful!”

An angry, hard voice erupted from a gentleman as he collided heavily with her. His shoulder slammed into hers, making her stagger back in an attempt to keep her balance.

“What do you think you are doing, standing in the middle of the street like that?” the man shouted as Henrietta dropped her head, feeling shame creep up her spine and send a flurry of heat into her face. “You might have been knocked into the carriages! You foolish creature.” He snarled one or two things more before turning around and stalking away, leaving Henrietta breathing hard as she tried to compose herself.

And then, a realization began to descend on her. It turned her skin to ice, her breathing ragged as a weakness shook her limbs. She had known that voice. She had recognized it, but it was only now, now that he had left her, that she finally realized who it was.

She could not move, rooted to the spot by a sudden fear. It could not be, surely? But then, why would he be here in London? Why would he have returned to London when he had no reason to? There was no hope for him, as she had told him on a previous occasion, which meant he could not be here in order to seek her out. Slowly, she turned her head, trying to keep herself as inconspicuous as possible. Her heart leapt in her chest as she saw him climb the steps to Lord Carrick’s townhouse and knock politely.

The butler answered it, hesitated, and then shook his head. Even from where she stood, Henrietta could see that the man was angry. Angry that he was not being permitted to enter, most likely. Her heart quickened with fear as the door closed and the man turned away again, his face a deep, scarlet red.

Hurriedly, she tugged the hood of her cloak over her bonnet again, pulling it so that it would hide her face. Keeping her head low, she began to hurry forward again, not knowing where she was going or what she was going to do. There was only one thing on her mind—removing herself from her cousin, the ugly and cruel Mr. Statton, who she was certain had nothing but dark intentions for her. Praying that he would not make the same realization as she, Henrietta continued to hurry forward—only for someone to grasp at her shoulder.

With a shriek, she turned around and made to hit the man holding her, but his grip was much too strong. With a cry of pain as his hand tightened, she tried to escape from Mr. Statton’s hand, but he only grasped her arm with his other hand.

“It took me some moments before I realized who you were,” he breathed, leaning close to her as his putrid breath washed over her face. “You were trying to run from me.” He chuckled as she struggled against him, aware that she was drawing attention and praying that, somehow, even though they were a little distance from Lord Carrick’s home, someone would see what was occurring. “I was just trying to meet with him, you know, to ascertain whether or not you were within the house, but it seems you have decided to appear regardless and ensure that my search has not been in vain!”

“Unhand me!” Henrietta cried, pushing him away with all her might, only for his fingers to dig in all the more. “Leave me be, Statton!”

“I hardly think so,” he hissed, leaning over her, his dark eyes narrowing. “Lord Carrick might have been fortunate enough to save his brother last evening, but I doubt he will be able to save himself from a well-placed knife that might find its way towards his heart one dark night.” He chuckled as she went still, shaking violently at the malevolence in his eyes. “Now, you are to come with me, Miss Preston, and you are not to make another sound.”

A vision of Lord Carrick floated before her, pushing away the darkness that swirled about Mr. Statton. Lord Carrick had promised to protect her. He had told her that he loved her, that his affections were growing stronger with each passing day. And now here stood Mr. Statton, the very antithesis of all that Lord Carrick was and could be to her. If she obeyed Mr. Statton out of fear, then could she be quite certain that he would, in fact, leave Lord Carrick alone? What would become of her if she went with him? Another tremor ran through her as she thought of the dark night she had been down at the docks, of the pain that had run through her from the very first moment that she had awoken thereafter. Something within her knew that it had been Mr. Statton’s doing. Therefore, she decided, she could not trust his word, could not trust him to do as he had said.

“No!” With all the strength she could muster, she pushed and shoved him as hard as she could, surprising him with her efforts and sending him a little off balance. Her cloak’s ties slipped and she managed to wrench first one hand away and then then other, running from him and leaving her cloak behind in his hand.

“Henrietta!”

Statton’s voice was loud and angry, practically filling the street as she ran, headlong, toward the only refuge she had. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps, every part of her on fire with the effort of escaping from Mr. Statton. It felt as though his running feet were just behind her and she expected to feel his grasp on her arms at any moment as her bonnet fell back, caught around her neck by the ribbons.

She screamed as his hand caught her, kicking out as best she could and making him shout with either frustration or pain.

And then, something cracked hard across her face, making her fall back. His hand had struck out at her, leaving her in a daze as his hands gripped her arms again. Everything seemed to slow, for she could not see nor hear clearly, such was the pain that ran through her.

“Get in the hackney, Henrietta,” Mr. Statton grated, his voice brooking no argument. “Now.”

She did not go with him willingly, her feet refusing to move as she tried to find the strength to fight him.

“No,” she whispered, her fingers clawing at his as she prayed for deliverance. “No, I will not go.”

“You will,” he said angrily. “Else it will be all the worse for you.”

And then, miraculously, she heard the voice of her beloved reaching her. Mr. Statton staggered back and was about to pull her down with him, only for a strong grip to tug her free from her attacker. Lord Carrick’s hands went about her, holding her close and reassuring her that she was no longer in any danger.

“What is the meaning of this?” he shouted as she blinked rapidly, trying to see clearly once more. “What are you doing to my betrothed?” Pulled tightly into the safety of his arms, Henrietta finally managed to see what was occurring. Lord Ancrum and one or two of the footmen now had Mr. Statton in their grip and had pulled him back completely from Henrietta. She was held tightly in Lord Carrick’s embrace, her head resting against his shoulder as her eyes remained fixed upon her cousin.

“Henrietta,” Lord Carrick said urgently, gesturing to Mr. Statton with one hand. “Do you know this man?”

She nodded, sagging against him in relief. “He is my cousin,” she whispered, looking up at him and seeing the shock in his eyes. “I do not know why he is here but I know that he was the one to injure Mr. Grieves.”

A look of anger ran across Lord Carrick’s expression. His hand tightened about her shoulders as he gestured furiously towards the door. “Take him inside at once,” he growled. “And bind his hands. I will not have him gone from this house until a full explanation is made.”

“And have someone send for my wife,” Lord Ancrum instructed the butler, who had come hurrying out to aid either Lord Carrick or Henrietta. “She left earlier this morning to collect a few things from home but she will need to return at once.”

“But of course,” the butler said, looking quite shocked by all that had occurred but still behaving with all propriety. “Some sweet tea, Lord Carrick? For the lady?”

Lord Carrick nodded as he led Henrietta inside. “And brandy,” he requested, helping her up the steps. “My dear Henrietta, what was it you were thinking of?” The moment the door had closed behind them, with Lord Ancrum and the footmen leading Mr. Statton away, he turned to her and pulled her into his embrace. “Where were you going?”

“I was afraid,” she whispered, her eyes closing tightly against the swell of tears. “I was afraid that you would be harmed, my love. I could not bear it.”

“And so you thought to leave in order to protect me,” he said, his chest rumbling as he held her close. “Oh, my dear sweet lady! Can you not see that I would walk through fire for you?” Grasping her shoulders lightly, he looked down at her with nothing but love burning in his eyes. “I would do anything for you, Henrietta, even if it meant enduring the worst of torments. Do not leave me again, my darling. I could not bear it.” His eyes closed, his mouth in a thin, tight line for a moment. “When I saw you being pulled towards the hackney, my fear was so great that for a moment, I could not move.” Opening his eyes, he leaned down and kissed her forehead tenderly. “I cannot even dare to think of what my life would be like without you, Henrietta. To have no knowledge of where you had gone or what had become of you would have been the worst sort of agony.”

“I am safe now,” she whispered, leaning against him and thinking that she might never let him go. “And I believe that somehow, Statton is the one who has orchestrated everything, although I do not quite understand why.”

“Nor do I,” he answered grimly. “Although we shall, I am quite certain, come to discover it.” Setting her back, he looked into her face again, his eyes filled with concern. “Do you think you shall manage such a conversation, Henrietta? Or should you prefer to rest?”

Now that she was back in his house and safe in his arms, Henrietta knew she had nothing to fear. A new strength filled her and she looked back at him steadily. “I shall hear the explanation from him,” she told Lord Carrick, seeing how he smiled at her. “And I shall do it sitting by your side, for there I know I am safe.”

“Indeed you are,” he whispered, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips for just a moment, before turning and leading her towards the drawing room.

12

The horror that had overtaken him when he had seen Miss Preston—or Henrietta, as she was to him now— being dragged towards a hackney by a gentleman he did not know had still not fully left James by the time he led her into the drawing room. The shock of it was still running through his veins, forcing him to concentrate on breathing at an even pace, his fingers tightening on Henrietta’s as they walked in together.

It had only been by chance that he had looked out of the window, smiling to himself at what had felt like one of the happiest days of his life. He was to marry Miss Preston, she had accepted him, and all was well with the world. How much things had changed in that one moment! He had seen someone running towards the house—and it had seemed to be a young woman from the way her skirts had been flying. When he had realized that it was none other than his own dear Henrietta, he had found himself fixed with fear, utterly horrified when the man had caught her and struck her, hard.

That had been what had sent life back into his limbs. Lord Ancrum had come into the study just as he had run, full pelt, towards the door and, uncertain as to what was occurring but willing to go along with James nonetheless, Lord Ancrum had rushed out of the house after him, bringing two footmen to aid him also.

Miss Preston had been fighting to get away from the man who was shoving her in the direction of a hackney, and before he had known what he was doing, he had planted the gentleman a facer and had practically knocked him to the ground. Miss Preston had almost gone with him, had it not been for James’ reaching for her. He had held her as though he would never let her go, afraid for what might have occurred had he been but a minute later.

And now, discovering that this gentleman was not only known to Henrietta, but was, in fact, her cousin, was all the more astonishing. Henrietta sat down carefully on the couch opposite Mr. Statton, whilst James chose to remain standing beside her. He said nothing but waited for the maids to bring in the trays of sweet tea and brandy, setting them down carefully with each maid sending an uncertain glance in the direction of Mr. Statton.

“Brandy, Carrick,” Lord Ancrum muttered, handing him a glass just as the door opened again to reveal Oliver. He was looking just as normal, aside from a slight paleness of face, and fixed Mr. Statton with such a furious gaze that James knew that one of the footmen had informed his brother about what had occurred.

“I think you will find, Mr. Grieves, that this is the man who assaulted you,” Henrietta said, her voice clear and determined, cutting through the silence. “I am sorry for it, for Statton, here, is my cousin.”

James turned back to look at Mr. Statton, whose lip was curling in a most ugly manner. He was glaring at Henrietta, who ignored him entirely and kept her gaze fixed upon Oliver, who came to sit down in a chair to her left, between herself and Lord Ancrum.

“Is that so?” Oliver muttered as Lord Ancrum handed him a brandy. “Then I look forward to hearing the explanation for his actions, for I cannot understand why he has been so eagerly searching for you, Miss Preston.”

Much to James’ surprise, Henrietta smiled at his brother. “You must call me ‘Henrietta’, I think,” she said gently. “For we are to be brother and sister soon enough.”

This brought a very strange reaction from Mr. Statton, for whilst Oliver appeared delighted, his anger and upset chased away for a moment, Mr. Statton’s brow lowered over his eyes, his face went scarlet with anger, and his jaw worked furiously.

“It appears that you do not wish for Miss Preston and me to wed, Statton,” James began, when the congratulations were at an end. “Is there a reason for your anger? Is this why you have been pursuing my betrothed?”

Statton snorted in derision and turned his head, clearly refusing to answer.

“You are going to have to explain, Statton,” Henrietta said firmly, showing more strength than he had expected from her. “For I know that it was you who sent a note to me, stating that my mother had been taken.” This, James knew, was nothing more than a guess, but it seemed that Henrietta was correct, for Statton muttered something under his breath, his countenance growing darker still.

“Why did you do it?” Henrietta pressed, when he said nothing. “There must be a reason, Statton, and I would know it.”

“There will be consequences if you do not say a word,” James warned, folding his arms over his chest and narrowing his gaze at the odious gentleman. “There are to be consequences anyway, but should you be willing to speak of what you have done and give an explanation, then there may be—”

“You should have lain there until morning.”

Statton’s voice was low and angry, his gaze fixed upon Henrietta and his jaw clenched.

“You mean that I was meant to be discovered in the morning as nothing more than a lifeless corpse,” Henrietta said steadily, as James reached down to press her shoulder gently, wondering at her strength. “That is what you mean to say, is it not?” She tilted her head just a little, only for Mr. Statton to laugh harshly.

“It is,” he said with a slight shrug. “I had what I wanted and was to get all the more. And then you—”

“I did not capitulate as you wished,” Henrietta interrupted, with only a slight shake to her voice betraying her emotions. “And what did you do then?”

Mr. Statton took in a long breath, sniffing in a most disdainful manner. “I returned to the docks in the morning, expecting to hear a commotion. But, of course, there was nothing whatsoever. Everyone was just continuing as they were, with ships prepared and cargo being loaded. No one mentioned a young lady of quality being discovered. There was nothing that seemed to concern anyone and I knew then that you had been discovered. I thought my blow had ended you and that, if it had not, you would be taken by the cold.” He sneered at her as though it was her fault that she had not been found dead at the docks. “And so my search for you began in earnest.”

Henrietta shook her head as James fought to keep his composure. There was so much anger coursing through him that he felt himself shake, such was his fury. He wanted to stride across the room and shake Statton until his teeth rattled before flinging him from his house and demanding that he be taken to the Bow Street runners.

“Might I ask, Statton,” he said though gritted teeth, “why you had such a desire to bring an end to Miss Preston?” He did not remove his gaze from the fellow, even though he stared back at him with a look of derision on his face. James was determined to have answers from this man, even if it meant mockery and ridicule being spat from Statton’s mouth.

“She did not wish to marry me,” he said eventually with a small shrug. “I was quite insistent—as were her parents—but Miss Preston seemed to think that she knew best.” He rolled his eyes and cackled in a most derogatory manner, making James squeeze Henrietta’s shoulder again for reassurance. She put her hand up to his and, to his surprise, gave him a small smile. He realized then that she no longer had anything to fear and certainly was not upset by Statton’s harsh words. This was something that she would endure simply because she had to find out the truth. She was quite reassured of her safety and free entirely from worry.

“No, I did not wish to marry you, Statton,” Henrietta replied smoothly, looking away from James and back at her cousin. “My parents were slow to trust me again and it was only with the reassurance that I would not allow a gentleman to treat me so poorly again that I was allowed back to town. And that, I fear, included you, Statton.”

“What do you mean?” The man’s voice was harsh, his expression angry. “I could have given you some semblance of respectability again, Henrietta!”

“I had enough respectability of my own,” she demurred, “for I had no stain to my reputation and forgiveness from those whom I had hurt.” She sent a quick look towards Lord Ancrum, who lifted his glass in a small toast. “Therefore, I determined that I should not allow your demand that I marry you to sway me. I rejected you, Statton, for you are not at all a gentleman.” Her voice grew quieter. “Do not forget that I have seen your behavior on a most intimate level.”

This made Statton narrow his eyes, before he snorted out a breath and looked away. “A lady cannot expect a gentleman to remain singularly devoted to them,” he retorted, sending another spiral of anger through James. “I will take my pleasure wherever it suits me.”

“And that is precisely why I refused you,” Henrietta said immediately. “And yet you seemed to be unable to accept my rejection.”

James opened his mouth to say more, but a commotion outside the drawing room prevented him from doing so. Striding to the door and seeing Lord Ancrum rise to his feet at the sound of Lady Ancrum’s voice, he threw open the door, ready to engage with whatever this new disaster was—only to see a grey-haired older lady standing directly before him, her eyes red-rimmed and filled with tears. It was a lady he had seen only once before, but immediately he knew who it was and knew just how important the lady would be to Henrietta.

“Mama!”

Henrietta jumped to her feet the moment he stepped aside to let the lady in. Lady Cuthbert hurried forward, her arms outstretched as she clasped the girl to her, sobbing in a most distressed fashion. Behind her came Lady Ancrum and an older gentleman who was very tall and almost regal in his manner. He bowed low, greeting James in a low voice. James bowed in return, realizing quickly that this must be Lord Cuthbert.

“The most extraordinary thing!” Lady Ancrum exclaimed, gathering her skirts and hurrying towards her husband. “I went home to collect one or two things, as you know, only to see this carriage appear! Within it were Lord and Lady Cuthbert, who were desperate to speak to me.”

“I see,” James said, blinking rapidly in confusion as he gestured for Lord Cuthbert to come further into the room. He watched as the gentleman embraced his daughter—the first sign of emotion he had seen from the man. Lady Cuthbert, pulling out a handkerchief from her sleeve, sat down beside her daughter whilst Lord Ancrum invited Lord Cuthbert to sit where he himself had been seated only a few minutes earlier.

“Goodness,” he breathed as Lady Ancrum shook her head, clearly as confused as he. “This is quite extraordinary.”

“And who is that?” Lady Ancrum asked, her voice filling the room as Mr. Statton seemed to shrink back in his chair, no longer the picture of arrogance but one of fear and dread. “And why is he tied so?”

Before James could answer, Lady Cuthbert rose to her feet and walked, somewhat unsteadily, towards Mr. Statton. She looked down at him for a long moment, her whole frame tense. And then, without warning, she reached out and slapped him hard, her free hand balling into a fist.

“How dare you?” she hissed as Lord Cuthbert rose to take his wife back to her seat. “How dare you tell us our daughter was dead?”

“Dead?” James repeated, just as Henrietta said the very same. He saw his betrothed look at him, her eyes wide, and felt himself grow a little weak with all that had gone on. “I do not understand.”

Oliver cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention as James came to stand beside Henrietta on her other side.

“Mayhap we should allow Lord and Lady Cuthbert to explain,” he said quietly, as a silence began to settle over room. “For I believe there is more to this story than we are aware.”

Lady Cuthbert threw a glance towards her husband, who gave her a small but determined nod. Clearly ashamed, Lady Cuthbert dropped her head and took her daughter’s hand in hers.

“It is all my doing,” she said sorrowfully, unable to even look into Henrietta’s face. “I was too afraid, Henrietta, dear. I was much too afraid that things would go awry and so I determined to enter into a scheme with Statton that would ensure you would marry as you were told.”

James saw Henrietta whiten and moved closer so that he might put an arm around her shoulders. She jerked at his touch but looked up at him at once.

“If you would explain, Lady Cuthbert, I think all might soon become clear,” he said, giving Henrietta a quick smile. “And from the beginning, if you might.”

Lady Cuthbert nodded, whilst a small groan came from Mr. Statton which, thankfully, everybody ignored.

“From the beginning,” she said, before taking a deep breath and starting to explain.

13

Holding tightly onto her mother’s hand, Henrietta waited for her to begin. Her heart was beating so quickly that she felt a little dizzy, grateful for Lord Carrick’s supporting hand on her shoulder.

“Mr. Statton and I decided that you and he would be very well suited,” Lady Cuthbert began quickly. “I wanted you to wed him very much, Henrietta, because I was afraid that someone might hear of what had occurred with Lord Kingsley and that all would be at an end.” She shook her head, clearly regretful. “Even though you reassured me that you would be quite all right and that you had learned from your mistake, I could not bring myself to believe it. Therefore, I spoke to Mr. Statton and we agreed that he would seek to court you.”

“But I refused to even consider him,” Henrietta interjected, seeing her mother quickly lift her head to glance at Mr. Statton. “Believe me, Mama, there are things about Statton that you do not know and that, should you become aware of them, would make you quite determined to set our family away from him.”

Lady Cuthbert nodded slowly, her hand tightening in Henrietta’s. “I am aware of that now, of course,” she said hoarsely. “For if a gentleman can tell such an untruth…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “But I am speaking much too quickly.”

Lord Carrick cleared his throat. “You were speaking of the agreement between yourself and Mr. Statton.”

“I knew of it also,” Lord Cuthbert interrupted, clearly unwilling to allow his wife to take all of the blame. “It had my blessing.”

Henrietta glanced at her father, knowing him to be a man of few words but being glad also of his willingness to admit to such a fault.

“Mr. Statton was to come to London to court you, Henrietta,” Lady Cuthbert explained shakily. “But it became evident, within a day or so, that you would not allow him near you. Being as determined as I was that such a match should go ahead, Statton made a suggestion that I could not refuse.”

Feeling Lord Carrick’s hand tighten on her shoulder, Henrietta felt herself grow tense as her mother took a long breath, her eyes closing as she sought to explain herself. “He was to elope with you.”

Henrietta caught her breath, seeing her mother’s guilt etched into her face as she looked across at Henrietta.

“I did not know the details of his intentions, only that he was to ensure that you and he would be in Scotland and would marry over the anvil. He solemnly swore he would not hurt you, Henrietta and, mayhap in foolishness, I believed him.”

“So the night that you went back to play cards, you knew very well that Mr. Statton intended to ensure that I would be gone from the house by the time you returned,” Henrietta said slowly, recalling how the servants had seemed to vanish from the house when she had received the note. “You told the staff that—”

“They were to allow Mr. Statton in and were not to prevent what was to follow,” Lady Cuthbert confessed sorrowfully. “I believe he entered, and was allowed in by the butler. I do not know what followed, for when I returned, you were gone.” She lifted one shoulder and turned her head away from Henrietta, clearly ashamed. “I thought all had gone well and that you were safely away to Scotland. I expected to hear from Statton very soon once I returned to the estate.”

“And so you returned home the following day,” Lord Carrick interrupted, looking down at Lady Cuthbert. “There was no longer any reason for you to remain in London.”

Lady Cuthbert dared a glance up toward Lord Carrick, clearly hearing the anger in his voice and accepting it as best she could. “Indeed,” she admitted, so quietly that Henrietta had to strain to hear her. “I met with some acquaintances before I left, to ensure that they knew that my daughter was to be married. I told them that she had returned home to prepare so that she might be married from there.” She shook her head. “Unfortunately, Lady Millington made the somewhat pertinent suggestion that my daughter had been left to travel alone and she hoped the gentleman in question was not too eager to wed, else he might catch up with her carriage and run away with her!” Sighing heavily, Lady Cuthbert took Henrietta’s hand in both of her own. “It was a foolishness for me to not have thought of such a thing before, but in my eagerness to have you married and settled, I did not think of it.”

Henrietta’s throat began to ache as sadness overtook her, covering her with a cloud. She had always known that her mother had not trusted her, for even though Henrietta had told her everything about Lord Kingsley and Lady Starling, her mother had not seen it as an error in judgment or mere mistake that would never be repeated. She had seen it as a flaw in Henrietta’s character, thinking that she would behave in much the same way again, given the chance. Despite Henrietta’s repeated assurances that she would not behave so and that she had been thoroughly ashamed of her own foolishness, her mother had not accepted it. Therefore, that fear had led to desperation and an action that had brought with it a good deal of trouble.

“Might I ask, Lady Cuthbert, Lord Cuthbert,” Lord Ancrum gestured towards Mr. Statton, “was there some encouragement for Mr. Statton to marry Miss Preston? Some enticement?” Seeing his wife’s warning look, he gave a self-conscious smile. “That is not to say that Miss Preston is not entirely lovely without an enticement or the like, but it appears that if she was set against a fellow, then it would take a good deal of determination on the part of the gentleman to continue to pursue the lady.”

Henrietta looked from her father to her mother and then back again. Both of them were looking at each other without a single word being spoken.

“I have my dowry,” she said slowly, still continuing to look from one to the other. “Is that what you offered him, Mama? I did not think that it would be—”

“You were to have an increase in your dowry,” Lord Cuthbert interrupted, his expression dark and his face gaunt. “I agreed to this as I knew that Statton could do with a little extra income. That was all it was to be.”

Lady Cuthbert shook her head and leaned closer to Henrietta, her eyes searching her face. “It was to be substantial,” she admitted, making Henrietta close her eyes tightly. “Your father offered a good deal more in order to secure the match.”

“And what of the rubies?” Lord Carrick asked as Henrietta groped for his hand, which was resting on her shoulder. She needed the strength of his grip so that she might feel centered in the midst of a confusing whirlwind. “Why were they to be taken?”

Silence met his question. Henrietta opened her eyes to see the lady looking up at Henrietta’s betrothed with a look of great confusion in her expression.

“You do not know about the rubies, Mama,” she said softly, seeing Lady Cuthbert dropping her gaze to Mr. Statton before turning back to Henrietta. “Where do you think they are at present?”

Lady Cuthbert looked about her as though that might provide the answer. “They are—they are in my bedchamber in our townhouse,” she said eventually. “They are secured in that very same place where I have always kept them.”

“You did not seek to take them with you?”

“I—I had the intention to do so,” Lady Cuthbert replied in answer to Lady Ancrum’s question. “But in the hubbub and hurrying that came with my departure from London, I quite forgot about them. They should still be in the townhouse.” She turned back to Henrietta. “Unless they are not?”

Henrietta let out a long, slow breath, knowing that it was now her turn to explain what had occurred. “The night you returned to play cards, I went to my bedchamber and thought to prepare for bed. However, I received a note under my bedchamber door—which I now realize must have been Statton, permitted to enter by the servants.”

Lady Cuthbert’s eyes flared wide. “A note? What did it say?”

“It said,” Henrietta answered, her throat aching horribly for a moment as she recalled that night, “that you had been taken and that, if I wished to see you again and ensure your safety, I would make my way to the docks and leave your rubies in a specific place by one of the ships.” She did not say anything more but continued to hold her mother’s gaze, seeing how Lady Cuthbert whitened all the more, her hand gripping Henrietta’s with such a fierceness that it betrayed her utter shock and fright.

Lord Carrick cleared his throat and inclined his head just a little as Lady Cuthbert looked up at him. “This is where I come in,” he told her as Henrietta turned her head to look up into his face, knowing just how blessed she had been to meet someone as kind and as generous as Lord Carrick. “I discovered your daughter quite by chance, Lord and Lady Cuthbert. In finding her to be in a sorrowful state, I immediately took her home and allowed her to recover and rest. It took three days for her to awaken, and I cannot tell you how anxious I was during that time.” He gave her a small but sad smile, clearly remembering those days with some sorrow. “But when she awoke and was recovered, we then set about together trying to understand the mystery that surrounded her.”

Lady Carrick closed her eyes tightly, took in a shaking breath, and tried to recover herself just a little. “What had happened to you, my dear?” she asked, her voice shaking furiously as she fought to keep her composure. “Dare I ask what he did to you?” She shot an angry glance toward Mr. Statton, who did and said nothing, sitting stoically in his chair.

Henrietta, not wanting to repeat to her mother what had happened, yet knowing that it would be best to explain all, tried to choose her words with great care. “I was attacked,” she said slowly, seeing how her mother gasped in horror, her free hand pressed against her mouth as she clutched a white handkerchief. “Statton was the one behind it, Mother, for he has already told me so. The rubies I set down where I had been instructed and, believing that you would therefore be returned to the townhouse in safety, I began to hurry back through the docks.” She gave a small shrug and tried to smile. “The next thing I recall, I awoke in Lord Carrick’s home.”

“Goodness.” Henrietta turned to see her father shaking his head, his face pale and his hands trembling just a little as he held them tightly in his lap. “And no doubt, when you sought to return to our townhouse, you found it locked up tightly.” The pain in his eyes was extraordinary but Henrietta knew she had to be honest with him.

“Indeed,” she said truthfully. “I did not go myself but was told of it being so. I did not understand why that had occurred.” Fighting tears, she tried to smile at her father. “I believed that you and Mama thought I had behaved indecently and had gone somewhere with a gentleman, or some such thing. I thought you had turned your back on me.” Tears fell from her eyes and landed on her cheeks, but she did not wipe them away, choosing instead just to continue watching her father, seeing his jaw working furiously and the glittering in his eyes that betrayed his own struggling emotions. “Lord Carrick was good enough to ensure that I was not left alone.” She lifted her eyes to her betrothed and saw the tenderness in his gaze. It warmed her heart and gave her comfort. “I was helped in almost every way imaginable, to the point that Mr. Grieves found himself in great danger.”

“Good gracious,” Lady Cuthbert said shakily, her eyes going to Oliver as he inclined his head, a gentle smile curving his lips. “I can hardly bear to bring myself to ask what occurred, Mr. Grieves, yet I know that I must discover the truth.” The strength of her grip on Henrietta’s hand loosened just a little as everyone turned toward Oliver.

Oliver appeared a little embarrassed, for his color rose and he cleared his throat rather gruffly, clearly uncertain as to what to say. “I—I must say, it was not of any great significance,” he began, waving away Henrietta’s exclamation of disagreement.

“That is not true in the least,” Lord Carrick interjected, making Henrietta look up at him in relief. “Miss Preston had been badly hurt and Statton here thought her dead and gone from this world, leaving him with the rubies. However, when he did not find any commotion down at the docks the following day, he knew that she was not dead as he had thought. Therefore, he began to search London for her and did not find her.”

“Except, unfortunately, someone overheard me mentioning Miss Preston during an evening I spent in White’s,” Oliver added. “My brother, Lord Ancrum, and I had gone there to see if we might hear anything about Miss Preston that might alert us to who else was looking for her and to see if there was any explanation as to why her parents had left London.” He gave Lady Cuthbert a small smile, as though trying to reassure her that he did not think poorly of her. “As I said, I was overheard, taken from White’s as I was trying to depart it, and, thereafter, interrogated in a rather uncomfortable fashion.”

Henrietta opened her mouth to say that it had been much more than that, only for Oliver to shoot her a warning look, clearly unwilling to disturb her parents any further by going into such detail. She willingly assented and closed her mouth again, seeing Oliver give her a tiny smile. Grateful that he had been so considerate, she lapsed into complete silence, turning to her mother again and seeing how she stared at Mr. Statton, her cheeks beginning to color red. How relieved she was to be back in her mother and father’s company once more. To know that they did not think ill of her, as she had first feared, was a great relief to her heart, and now to see them both sitting in the same room as she, with her mother’s hand still fastened onto hers, brought Henrietta a good deal of joy.

“Might I ask, Lady Cuthbert, what you believed had happened to Henrietta?” Lord Carrick asked softly, and Lady Cuthbert started slightly, having been drawn out of her own considerations by his voice. “You left London because you thought she was on her way to Scotland, yes?”

“Yes,” Lady Cuthbert replied, not looking at him but keeping her gaze fixed on Mr. Statton. “When you arrived with your letter, Mr. Grieves, I believe that we told you she was visiting relatives?” She threw Oliver a quick glance, and Henrietta saw him nod. “That was simply because we had not had a letter or a note from Mr. Statton as yet, and therefore we wished to keep her reputation as intact as it could be.” She sighed heavily. “Yes, there would be some scandal with her elopement, but it would be easily forgotten by the time next year’s Season came upon us and I did not even know if Mr. Statton intended on going back to town so soon after his marriage.” Sighing, she waved one hand as though to say it did not matter what she had thought, for it was clear that none of it had come to pass.

“However, great sorrow was soon to be ours,” Lord Cuthbert interrupted, his voice lower than before and holding a good deal of restrained emotion. “We received a note from Mr. Statton stating that, whilst you had been married over the anvil, you had become dreadfully ill on the way back to his house. You had succumbed to a terrible fever and had already been buried for fear that the malady might spread.” His voice dropped again and he turned his head to glare at Mr. Statton. “We have been lost in sorrow ever since that day,” he finished sadly. “And to think that I was quite prepared to give Mr. Statton the dowry that he expected, even though I believed my daughter gone from this earth!” His voice shook and he looked back at Henrietta, his eyes an agony of emotion. “I believe that is why he sought you out, Henrietta. He had to ensure that you were truly gone from this earth, so that he might be able to get the dowry in all of its entirety. Were you to show your face, he would have great difficulty in explaining what had occurred.”

“Blaggard!” Lady Cuthbert exclaimed, shaking her finger in Mr. Statton’s direction. “How could you tell us our daughter had died? How could you throw us into such a pit of grief and despair?”

“And when you received my note, that must have come as a great shock,” Lady Ancrum suggested quietly, making Lady Cuthbert nod fervently. “I wrote to say that I had only recently seen your newly married daughter here in London and that I had been sorry not to give her an invitation to call upon me at my father’s estate before she had departed town.”

“It did not make any sense whatsoever,” Lady Cuthbert said, shaking her head. “I was greatly troubled, as was Lord Cuthbert.”

Henrietta looked towards her father and saw him nodding in agreement.

“Thereafter, we decided to return to town to speak to you, Lady Ancrum, for we had to know what you meant by such a remark. “Mr. Statton had said my daughter had died, so how could she be in London with him?”

Lady Ancrum sat forward in her chair and fixed Lady Cuthbert with a firm look. “I am sorry to have caused you confusion and pain,” she said honestly, whilst Lady Cuthbert began to shake her head. “I knew that I was telling you an untruth, but we had no understanding of what had occurred to Henrietta or why her parents had returned home. Henrietta thought the worst and it was the only thing I could do to try and help her.”

Lady Cuthbert shook her head, rose to her feet, and came towards Lady Ancrum, holding out her hands to her. Lady Ancrum rose at once and took Lady Cuthbert’s hands, evidently seeing the way that Lady Cuthbert was battling her tears.

“I am not sorry that you wrote to me, Lady Ancrum,” Lady Cuthbert declared, leaning in towards Lady Ancrum as though wanting to reassure her that she had not seen any harm or ill will in what Lady Ancrum had written. “It brought so much confusion that the sorrow I felt was replaced with a small flicker of hope.” She turned her head and looked at Henrietta, who could only smile, feeling tears burn in the corners of her eyes. “Hope that my daughter was alive and that I could see her again, to make amends for the foolishness that I had shown. You cannot know how relieved I was when you told me that Henrietta was not gone from this earth as I had feared.”

Tears spilled from Henrietta’s eyes as she rose to her feet to embrace her mother, feeling all the pain and the sorrow of the past being washed away in that one moment. Lady Cuthbert let go of Lady Ancrum’s hands and turned to hold Henrietta tightly, her whole body shaking with sobs. Henrietta cried too, letting the tears fall and her emotions show, uncaring as to who else was watching them. In time, her father rose also and came to join them, putting one hand on Henrietta’s shoulder and bending down to kiss her forehead. Henrietta cried yet more tears, but her father merely looked down at her and smiled, his eyes glistening.

“We are safe together again now,” Lord Cuthbert said eventually, when both Henrietta and Lady Cuthbert had managed to compose themselves once more. “There is nothing that can separate us again.”

Henrietta looked towards Lord Carrick, seeing how he smiled at her and feeling her heart lift with joy. Everything was being slowly restored to how it had been before. Her parents did not think ill of her as she had first feared but had, in fact, been quite duped by Mr. Statton and his selfish intentions. Somehow, they had all managed to find a way back together again, freed from the agony of separation and confusion—and Henrietta knew such a thing would not have occurred had it not been for those within this room who had come to her aid.

There would be time to tell her parents of her engagement but it was not now for this moment. Now was a time to come together and let the pain of the past wash away from her. It was as her father said. They were together again, safe and unafraid. Nothing could separate this family, for even when it came time to wed Lord Carrick, Henrietta knew that they would still remain a family. There was no sorrow, no doubt, and no fear any longer. They would not be torn apart, pulled asunder in various directions. Instead, there would be a new happiness, one that would fill their hearts and minds for the rest of their days.

14

“Lord Carrick?”

James turned at once to see none other than Lord Cuthbert pushing open the door to James’ study, which had been left ajar by Lord Ancrum as he had entered only some minutes before.

“Lord Cuthbert,” he said at once, hurrying towards the gentleman. “Do come in.” He held out his hand and Lord Cuthbert shook it at once, looking around the room and nodding to Lord Ancrum, who bowed.

“Forgive the intrusion, Lord Carrick,” Lord Cuthbert said quickly, looking a little uncomfortable. “It is only that I have a few questions that I must have answered.” He looked directly into James’ eyes, making James fully aware that this man was both decisive and singular in his determinations.

“Yes, of course,” James said hurriedly, not wanting the gentleman to feel ill at ease. “There is a seat by the hearth, if you would like to sit there. Can I pour you a brandy?”

“I should leave you,” Lord Ancrum murmured, making to walk to the door. “We can continue our discussions—”

Lord Cuthbert cleared his throat, catching their attention. “If you would not mind remaining, Lord Ancrum, I am certain that you are also able to help me with my questions,” he said as Lord Ancrum threw James a quick, questioning look. “It will not take long and certainly shall not be intrusive in any way.”

Lord Ancrum gave a small, slightly strained laugh.

“Of course not,” he said, as though this was nothing more than a joke. “I would be glad to remain, of course.” Coming to sit down opposite Lord Cuthbert, he started to get up again to help James pour them all a brandy, but James waved him back down.

Were he honest with himself, James would admit that he was a little nervous now. Having had Lord and Lady Cuthbert within his house and hearing them reveal their side of the story and what Mr. Statton had done to them had been more than a little revealing. However, he had seen how Henrietta had reacted to their story, how she had understood the reasons for her mother’s hasty departure from London and had grown relieved that it had not been as she had thought. How glad he had been to see that.

Even as she had cried and held her parents close to her, James had felt his heart swelling with joy and relief that the matter had come to an end. There was no mystery any longer, no uncertainty and certainly no pain. Henrietta’s parents had made everything quite clear, with their explanations and Henrietta’s explanations twining together until they revealed the truth.

And Statton had said very little, his jaw working and his eyes glittering with malice as he had sat there and watched them all discuss matters. Most likely, he was furious that his intentions had been discovered, angry that he had not been able to work his plans until their completion, and afraid of what would now happen to him. James had left him with Oliver, knowing full well that he was able to trust his brother to not even let Mr. Statton stir from his chair without his explicit agreement.

“I thank you,” Lord Cuthbert muttered as James handed him a decent measure of brandy. “I am not a man inclined towards liquor, but on occasions such as this, one feels as though it is quite badly needed.”

“Indeed,” Lord Ancrum agreed with a broad smile. “And today has certainly brought a good deal of surprise and shock with it—although I am glad that Miss Preston has been restored to you.”

“As am I,” James added fervently, knowing that at some point, he would have to speak to Lord Cuthbert of his intentions toward Henrietta. Yes, they were already engaged, but that had come before he had known whether or not Henrietta’s parents would accept her back again. Now that he knew they were restored to her, he had to ensure that he did things in the correct manner, even though that might come as something of a shock to Lord Cuthbert, who had already endured a great deal this day already.

Lord Cuthbert smiled for the first time since he had arrived in James’ house. The smile utterly transformed his features, making him appear a good deal more amiable and lighter in spirit, instead of his dark expression and foreboding look.

“I thank you both for your endeavors for my daughter,” Lord Cuthbert said, raising his glass. “And to Mr. Grieves also, for he has been most kind to her and endured a great deal.”

James took a sip of his brandy, quickly praying that Lord Cuthbert would not get the impression that Oliver felt anything more for Henrietta than mere friendship. He was glad, however, that his brother had shown him that he could, in fact, turn away from his liquor and his gambling, and James felt a small stab of shame that he had thought that Oliver would return to such a thing without hesitation. Oliver had not gone back on his promises but had, in fact, endured a great deal for Henrietta’s sake.

James was quite certain that Oliver would be a devoted brother-in-law.

“And you, Lord Carrick, have shown my daughter a great deal of kindness and compassion,” Lord Cuthbert continued, as the three men set down their brandy glasses. “Without your willingness to come to her aid, I am quite certain that she would have been in a good deal more difficulty than she was.”

“And I can assure you that Lord Carrick has behaved with the utmost discretion,” Lord Ancrum added, clearly wanting to reassure Lord Cuthbert that there was nothing to concern himself about as regarded Henrietta’s innocence. “There has always been a maid present or Lady Ancrum herself.”

Much to James’ surprise, Lord Cuthbert waved one hand as though to dismiss all that Lord Ancrum said.

“I have no concerns as regards Lord Carrick,” he said, looking directly at James. “From your behavior, Lord Carrick, I can only presume that you are a man of excellent character and for that, I am truly glad. My daughter’s reputation has been shielded and protected as best you could and that has brought me a good deal of relief.”

Nodding and not quite certain what else he ought to say, James waited for Lord Cuthbert to continue, seeing how the older man looked at him steadily, a slight flicker in his eyes.

“I want to know what your intention is for Mr. Statton.”

Lord Cuthbert’s voice had dropped and there was an edge to his tone that unsettled James somewhat.

“He is in your house and therefore, I am not at liberty to put a hand on him, but he is also my relation and therefore I feel obliged to ensure that he gains his punishment,” Lord Cuthbert continued, his hands twisting together in his lap. “He tried to kill my daughter, Lord Carrick.” His expression grew tense. “He stole my wife’s rubies. He did all he could to convince us that we had lost our daughter, with the sole intention of gaining her dowry. There is a requirement for punishment, for severe consequences to fall upon his head and I would know what your intentions are.”

James hesitated, seeing the dark flicker in Lord Cuthbert’s eyes and wondering at it. He had not quite decided what ought to be done with Mr. Statton and, as such, had asked Lord Ancrum to join him so that they might discuss it. It had only been by chance that Lord Cuthbert had come to the study at that precise moment.

“Might I ask what you think should be done, Lord Cuthbert?” Lord Ancrum asked, perhaps seeing the hesitation in James’ expression and wanting to give him a few more moments to think. “He is, as you say, your relative.”

Lord Cuthbert grimaced, his eyes now looking towards Lord Ancrum. “These matters are, as you know, usually left to the nobility to decide for themselves, but I cannot pretend that I can think clearly when it comes to Mr. Statton and what he has done.”

“No,” James agreed slowly, a little surprised at the man’s perception. “I will not pretend that what I saw of him did not strike within me a fierce and furious anger that I do not think can ever truly be gone from me. I wanted to strike him down, Lord Cuthbert, for the way that he grasped onto Miss Preston in an attempt to force her to go with him.”

Lord Cuthbert’s jaw set hard but he nodded slowly, aware of what was being said. “I do not want to be overly harsh, but I feel that the only thing he deserves is to swing,” he said bluntly. “The man tried to kill my daughter and thereafter, your brother, Lord Carrick. What is there we can do?”

James hesitated again, chewing his lip for a moment. “We might give him to the Bow Street runners,” he said after a moment, seeing how Lord Cuthbert frowned. “It would garner more attention than if we dealt with the matter quietly, however.”

“And it does not have a promise of proper punishment,” Lord Cuthbert added, rubbing his chin with one hand as his eyes took on a faraway look, clearly thinking hard. “The Bow Street runners do not like to involve themselves in matters of the gentry and the like, do they?”

Lord Ancrum shook his head. “No, they do not,” he agreed. “But they would take him on should it be asked of them.”

There was silence again for a few minutes, leaving James with the growing awareness that he himself would not be satisfied to hand Mr. Statton over to the Bow Street runners. There was no guarantee of a proper and just punishment and Mr. Statton might even be permitted to return home with nothing more than a warning. Lord Ancrum was quite correct to state that the Bow Street runners did not like to involve themselves in matters involving the nobility, for it could often come with consequences for the runners themselves.

“I do recall,” Lord Ancrum said slowly, his eyes lifting to James’, “that when there was the matter with Lady Starling, the only suggestion we had was to send her to the continent.” He shrugged as James began to nod. “She was, of course, a lady of the ton and could not be treated as some without a title might be, but it was a punishment in itself. Once she arrived, she was given employment and could not continue to go about her life as she had once done. Nor can she ever return to England. Is that not something we might consider for Mr. Statton?”

James looked quickly towards Lord Cuthbert and saw him nodding. It was an excellent idea and one that would remove Mr. Statton from their lives—and from these shores—altogether.

“I have it,” Lord Cuthbert announced, although with no hint of joy or expectation in his words. “I have some holdings on the continent—small, I confess, for I have not yet had opportunity to further my interests there. I shall send Mr. Statton to that holding with the strict instructions that he is to be treated no better than any other who works there.” He nodded again, more fervently this time, as though he knew all too well what such a living would be like for Mr. Statton and was convincing himself that this would be a just punishment. “He will go there and my steward shall accompany him. My steward will remain there until he is satisfied that all is understood as regards Mr. Statton and then shall return to England.” Lifting his head a little, his expression cleared and his eyes became steady. “What say you to that, Lord Carrick?”

Letting out a long, slow breath, James nodded quickly. “Yes, I think that would be an excellent prospect,” he agreed, thinking that there would be nothing better than to have Mr. Statton as far away from Henrietta as possible. “And it would ensure that he pays for the many disasters he has attempted to rain down upon your family, Lord Cuthbert.”

Lord Ancrum cleared his throat, picked up his brandy glass, and threw it back in one large swallow. He then stood and inclined his head towards Lord Cuthbert. “If you will excuse me, I shall go and inform Mr. Grieves of our decision, Lord Cuthbert. He will want to know.”

“And thereafter, you will speak to Lady Ancrum also?” James enquired, his heart quickening as he realized that his friend was leaving him with Lord Cuthbert. It was time for another matter to be brought to the gentleman’s attention.

“I shall indeed,” Lord Ancrum said with a quick wink in James’ direction. “Have no fear, Lord Carrick, I shall ensure that the ladies are all fully aware of what is to happen next.” And with that, he departed and left James to stand with Lord Cuthbert, not at all certain what he ought to say next. There was so much in his heart, so much that he wanted to express, but still the words would not come to him.

Thankfully, it seemed as though Lord Cuthbert had something of his own to say, for the very moment Lord Ancrum left them, the man pinned James with a firm gaze and pointed one long finger at him.

“I have something else I wished to discuss with you, Lord Carrick, although I must begin by promising you that I have no concern as regards your behavior towards my daughter,” Lord Cuthbert began, a trifle hesitantly. “It is only now that I fear there may be some damage to her reputation, for there will have been some who witnessed what occurred between her and Statton on the street, as well as your defense of her.”

James nodded, having told Lord Cuthbert about what had happened previously. “That is so,” he agreed quietly, looking the gentleman directly in the eye, unwaveringly. “But that does not mean that I fear any rumors will come in my direction, Lord Cuthbert. Rather, I would like to meet them head on.” He took in a long breath, seeing how Lord Cuthbert frowned suddenly and worrying that this meant he would not be accepted. “I should like to marry your daughter, Lord Cuthbert.”

There was nothing but silence for a long moment, with Lord Cuthbert staring blankly at James without saying a word. Then, much to James’ astonishment, the older man broke out into a broad smile, throwing his head back and laughing with delight, his hands thrown up in exclamation.

“I take it, then, sir, that you approve of my proposal?” James asked as Lord Cuthbert got to his feet, thrusting out one hand towards James, who also rose from his chair. “I swear to you that I have nothing but the best of intentions for your daughter. I have found her to be courageous, determined, and utterly lovely, despite the difficulties that have been flung at her. She is extraordinary and I cannot imagine a day spent without her.”

“I heartily agree to your proposal!” Lord Cuthbert exclaimed, shaking James’ hand as his smile grew all the more. “I had concerns as regards my daughter’s reputation, but to know now that she will be your wife has quite brought such worries to an end.” He frowned suddenly, the smile dying from his face. “But are you quite certain she will accept you? She has not been particularly eager to consider matrimony before—although,” he continued, wincing, “that may very well be due to the fact that we pushed Statton toward her.”

James chuckled, making the dark expression lift from Lord Cuthbert’s face. “Lord Cuthbert, I can reassure you on that front, at the very least, for I have already asked her to marry me and she has already accepted.” He grinned as the man exclaimed with delight again and pumped James’ hand up and down for another few moments.

“Quite wonderful, quite wonderful!” he cried, before letting James’ hand go and hurrying towards the door. “I must tell Lady Cuthbert at once, Lord Carrick. It will bring a joy to her despondent and sorrowful heart; I am quite certain of it.”

“Then I shall attend with you,” James replied, following the eager Lord Cuthbert and finding himself still chuckling over the older man’s change in spirits. “And thank you, Lord Cuthbert, for your gracious acceptance.”

“No,” Lord Cuthbert replied, stopping and putting one hand on James’ shoulder, his countenance suddenly serious. “Thank you, Lord Carrick, for all you have done for my daughter. You have saved her life, and for that, I shall always be grateful.”

Epilogue

“It appears as though they are quite content!”

Henrietta laughed up into Lord Carrick’s face, seeing his teasing smile and the tenderness in his eyes.

“I should think so,” she agreed, leaning into him and smiling as he wrapped one arm about her shoulders. “My mother especially, I think, feels a good deal of relief, for she has always worried about me.” Grimacing suddenly, she shook her head. “Especially since she has realized the truth about Statton and how he managed to manipulate her. I believe that she blames herself entirely when, even though it was misguided, it came from a place of love.”

Carrick smiled down at her as they meandered slowly toward the library, knowing that the others would follow within a few minutes. Dinner had been a wonderful affair and Henrietta could not remember a time when she had ever been so happy. Her parents had lost that sad air that had accompanied them when they had first walked into Lord Carrick’s house, and there had been so much laughter and elation that she had felt her own heart heal itself from all the wounds that had been torn into it of late.

Statton had been kept under guard in one of the bedchambers until arrangements could be made for his passage and Oliver had been able to join them for dinner also, seemingly entirely recovered from his ordeal. Lord and Lady Ancrum would return home later this evening whilst her parents remained here so that wedding plans could be made just as quickly as possible. And now, she was able to enjoy a few minutes alone with the man that she had come to love so very dearly. The day that had started off with despair and sorrow had ended with joy and overwhelming happiness which Henrietta knew would spread into the rest of her life.

“You have a gentle and forgiving heart, my love,” Lord Carrick said gently, opening the door for her and stepping inside, only to slip his arms about her waist and pull her back towards him. His lips were at her neck, his breath tickling across her cheek, sending rivers of excitement rushing through her. She leaned back against him, sighing contentedly and closing her eyes at the sheer pleasure that ran through her at being in his arms.

“You are kindness itself, Carrick,” she replied, feeling his lips brush her neck, then her cheek. Turning around, she waited until they found her mouth before kissing him back with all the passion and love that was within her. “I cannot believe that I am to be your wife, for such happiness I never thought could be mine.”

“I am the one who is grateful,” he replied, his forehead resting gently against hers. “You have awoken feelings in me that I have never even felt before. My heart has learned what it is to love, Henrietta, and it has filled with such a fierce love for you that I shall never be able to be gone from your side.” Smiling gently and looking deeply into her eyes, he lifted one hand and brushed it over her cheek, making her shiver at his tender touch. “The day I make you my wife shall be the happiest day I have ever known.”

“As will it be for me also,” she told him, her hands reaching up around his neck and pulling herself closer to him. “You saved my life, Carrick. Had you not stumbled across me at the docks, then I do not know what would have become of me.” She shook her head gently, remembering how she had woken up in a bedchamber she did not recognize. “And from the first, you showed me nothing but sympathy, understanding, and compassion. You did not try to press your advantage or behave in a manner unsuitable for a gentleman. Instead, you were everything that I needed—and now I realize that I need you to be with me every day. I love speaking with you, laughing with you, hearing what you have to say, and feeling my heart ache with love for you, Carrick.”

He bent his head and gave her a long, lingering kiss, sending sparks through her that seemed to set her on fire. Henrietta knew her heart was filled with none but him and that he loved her desperately in return. Despite the difficulties, the trials, the struggle, and the confusion, her path had smoothed to bring her to the happiest of conclusions, the most joyous of endings. She could imagine nothing better than to spend the rest of her days wrapped in Lord Carrick’s embrace, to make their life one of love and contentment, and that was, she determined, as he unwillingly took his lips from hers, precisely what she was going to do.

* * *

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