Where the Stars Meet the Sea
Author: Kimball, Heidi
Date: 2020-03-02
Description: Juliet Graham fervently counts the days until her twenty-first birthday, when she can claim the inheritance that will grant her the freedom she has always craved and the guardianship of her younger brother. Until then, she is trapped under her aunt Agnes’s domineering will. When forced to accompany the family to a house party at Shaldorn Castle, Juliet’s only objective is to keep to herself. That is, until a chance encounter with a boorish stranger stirs up an unexpected whirlwind of emotions in her. Thrown off-balance, Juliet does the unthinkable: loses her temper and insults the man—who turn
Publisher: Covenant Communications, Inc.

Cover image : Malgorzata Maj © Arcangel, Eltz Castle photo by Tim Rebkavets on Unsplash

Cover design copyright © 2020 by Covenant Communications, Inc.

Cover design by Hannah Bischoff

Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.

American Fork, Utah

Copyright © 2020 by Heidi Kimball

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.

This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are either products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.

ISBN: 978-1-52441-043-8

To Ali,
for getting me through the hard years

Acknowledgments

I have to start by thanking my little table at a first-chapter workshop at the Midwest Storymakers Conference: Michelle Pennington, Amy Wilson, and Sara Cardon. I brought them the rough and quickly written first chapter of this book, and they believed in it from the very first reading. Without their encouragement, this story might never have come to light.

My many critique partners made this book far more than it ever would have been had I been working on my own. Jen Geigle Johnson, Mindy Strunk, Sally Britton, and Megan Walker all have my sincerest thanks.

Dear friend and fellow author Rachel Fordham helped me a great deal as I polished my manuscript. Thank you for your dedicated time and help and for seeing all the potential in the disadvantages of marrying a duke.

Arlem Hawks is a genius at naval research and went above and beyond in her efforts to help me make my story as authentic and accurate as possible. Don’t worry; I’ll keep your secret.

And where would I be without my writing bestie? Joanna Barker, I would have thrown in the towel long ago if not for your constant support and encouragement. Thank you for pushing me to be better, for not being scared off by my knife collection, and for occasionally indulging me in my laziness.

And always, a huge thanks to my husband, Dave, who is there for me through thick and thin. Thank you for the encouragement, the hours of child-free writing time, and the excellent feedback. You’re my Halstead.

Finally, to my wonderful editor at Covenant. Kami, you are a delight to work with. Thanks for making my manuscript shine. And Hannah, thank you for another absolutely breathtaking cover.

Chapter One

Norfolk, England, 1819

When I saw the opportunity for escape, I took it.

Members of the dinner party made their way to the drawing room, but I edged away from the crowd, heading in the opposite direction. With a backward glance, I turned the corner into a dimly lit hallway, hoping no one had seen me break away. The voices grew fainter. Leaning against the wall, I felt the intricate wood molding dig into my back. I debated risking a peek around the corner.

“Juliet?” Aunt Agnes’s shrill voice sounded.

Fearful she had seen me retreat, I hurried forward. This hallway would offer me little protection if she suspected my intentions. A plush rug ran the length of the corridor, muting my footsteps as I tiptoed down the hall. Nothing looked familiar from the tour we’d received upon our arrival earlier today, and I scolded myself for not paying closer attention.

To my left a door rested slightly ajar. I pushed it open and slipped inside. The library. I closed the door behind me and leaned against it with a sigh. Escaping Aunt Agnes’s watchful eye for even a few moments was a great relief.

The library was dark, save for the flickering light of the fire, whose flames danced across the room’s shelves. The cavernous ceiling stretched beyond my view, enshrouded in an inky blackness. I shivered against the chill of the large room, where the faint smell of pipe smoke lingered in the air. Drawing near the fireplace, I missed the quaint library at home—my own personal retreat. It served as a sanctuary from Aunt Agnes’s demands and, more recently, cousin Robert’s unsolicited professions of love.

My head ached with the tedium of conversation at tonight’s dinner and the multitude of pins sticking into my scalp. I removed my gloves and pulled the pins out one by one, letting my hair fall down my back. The sting eased, and my hand skimmed over the mantel as the fire warmed me.

When had Robert’s feelings changed? Robert had ever been my ally, my best friend, the one person who truly understood me. Until, all at once, he completely misunderstood me. He had ruined everything between us, for I could never see him as anything but a brother. My palms began to sweat just thinking of it.

I shivered, wishing for the warmth of a cup of chocolate. Ever since that day of Robert’s confession, there’d been a sense of aloneness, a chill inside me—one the fire couldn’t reach. I idly fingered a small porcelain figurine, a slender woman holding a fan, atop the mantel. One of my knuckles brushed against it a bit carelessly, and the figurine slipped and crashed to the floor.

On my knees in an instant, I began picking up pieces, though the matter was hopeless. “Oh dear.” I blew out a heavy breath.

“As if those words could replace a gift given to my great-grandmother on her wedding day,” a deep voice with a hardened edge said.

I whirled around, my lungs tight. I’d thought myself alone all this time. “Who’s there?” I searched the shadowed darkness but found nothing. The creak of a chair alerted me to someone in the corner, far from the light of the fire. I could just make out the form of a man occupying the chair.

“Do you make a habit of touching other people’s things?” he asked, ignoring my question.

“I-I am sorry, sir.” I stood and placed the broken pieces on the mantel, then turned back to the shadows. “I’m afraid I don’t know who you are,” I stammered, heart pounding. Could he be another guest? I cursed my propensity for making terrible first impressions.

“I asked you a question.” The voice was unyielding, and I had a difficult time trying to imagine its owner.

“Well, I . . . not usually,” I said finally, feeling like a small girl receiving a rebuke.

“So I am just especially unfortunate, then.”

“I suppose.” I lifted my chin. “And now that I have answered your question, might you answer mine?” I took a step toward him, hoping to get a better view. “I would like to know whom I am speaking with.”

“Stay where you are,” he commanded. “You’ve intruded enough.”

“Sir?” I took another step. Perhaps if we could talk, I might somehow repair the damage of a ruined first impression.

“Don’t come near me,” he snarled, and I froze, the chill in his voice making the hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end. “I’ve never met a woman with such ill-bred manners.”

“Do you presume to know me after only three minutes?” I asked, offended in the face of his abuse. “What kind of gentleman sits in the shadows as he insults a lady?”

He laughed a joyless laugh, full of irony. “A lady, are you? One who sneaks off to the library when you should be down in the drawing room, displaying your musical talents?”

His words miffed me. “As I have none to share, I am sure I won’t be missed.” I inwardly scolded myself for speaking so openly; he had no right to know how much I hated performing before others. I did not want to share anything about myself with this uncouth man.

“I see.” Silence reigned for a moment. “Take a seat,” he commanded finally, his voice soft and dangerous.

“Well, I—”

“Sit,” he repeated, and I sat.

As I waited for him to lecture me on the loss of his beloved and broken heirloom, I studied his outline, trying to guess his age. He had a full head of dark hair; that much I could tell. He held a walking stick in his left hand, and there was something about the way he sat that made me think the cane might not be just for show.

The man laid the cane across his lap. “Once you have finished scrutinizing me, I’d be vastly interested to hear your opinion.”

“You can hardly blame me since you seem intent on remaining mysterious.” My words slipped out before I could stop them.

He turned his head sharply toward me. “My, my. For one so young, you do have quite a tongue.”

I raised my chin again. “I’m twenty. Not so young. It is not as though you are some fading old codger.”

“Did your study of me reveal my age, then?”

“Not precisely. But I’d put you somewhere under forty, if you wish to know.”

He sat forward, one side of his face lit by the fire. His was a severely handsome face with dark brows and a defined jaw. His lips were full, and one side of his mouth was tipped up in amusement. He was younger than I’d expected—perhaps only thirty.

His striking features set me off balance. I’d felt much more comfortable with him when he’d sat in the shadows as a faceless voice. Looking around, I was suddenly very aware of the fact that I was in the library, alone, with a gentleman. “I’m not sure I should—”

One hand slid down his cane. “Ah, you fear for your reputation. You need not. For most people I have ceased to exist.”

Intrigue pulled me to the edge of my seat, the impropriety of the situation forgotten. “What do you mean?”

A hand passed over his brow. “Forget what I said.”

“You are the most peculiar gentleman I’ve ever met,” I said, struck by the oddity of the situation.

“And you the most peculiar lady I have met.”

I shook my head. “Surely not.”

“Indeed you are. Though it would be arrogant of me to presume to know you, three minutes in your presence has revealed a great deal. You detest the tedium of the fashionable crowd. You don’t act like a lady when you think you are alone”—my mouth dropped open, but he gestured toward me—“your gloves are off, and with your hair undone, it looks as though your shoulder is aflame.” My bare hand went to my auburn hair, loose about my shoulders. “And you touch—and break—things that are not your own.”

If only I had retreated to my room. There was little to say in my defense. “I am not usually peculiar; I am usually quite ordinary. And ladylike.” I clasped my hands together in my lap.

“How disappointing.”

I raised my brow, uncertain whether he was mocking me. “I am sorry about the figurine. Perhaps I could—”

“I assure you it is irreplaceable.”

“I see. Well, it is my cousin’s fault, you know. If he hadn’t—” I bit my lip.

“Is there another person in the library I’m unaware of?” He looked around as if expecting someone to come forward.

“No, of course not. I only meant he was occupying my thoughts.”

“How inconsiderate of him.” His dark eyes raked over me, flickering with interest.

“Well, no—” I had never felt so flustered. I shook my head. “Oh, never mind.”

A muffled voice sounded through the door. “William, are you in here?” I recognized the voice; it belonged to the duchess, our hostess.

He pointed over to the window. “Quick. Behind the drapes.”

Hardly knowing why, I obeyed. I still did not know who this man was. I pulled the thick drapes around me, trying to hold as still as possible. I heard the door open and quiet footsteps moving and imagined Her Grace entering the room.

“William,” she said in a reprimanding tone.

“Yes, Mother.” His voice softened but still held a trace of annoyance.

“I’m very put out. We have company, yet you insist on hiding away in here. And you, the Duke of Halstead!”

I bit back a gasp. I’d been talking to the duke ?

She went on. “Have you no respect for our reputation? The numbers at dinner were uneven, and there were several people I hoped to introduce you to this evening.” She paused, taking a quick breath. “How much longer do you plan to act like a petulant child?”

The cold from the window began to seep through my dress, and I rubbed my hands along my arms, trying to keep warm.

“For as long as you insist on treating me like one. This is my home. I am the Duke of Halstead, and just once I would like to be treated as such.” He sounded dangerously close to losing his temper. “You know you are welcome here, and I have never opposed your right to invite company as you choose. But I refuse to be your lap dog and come whenever you call.”

His mother sighed. “You are ill-humored, as usual, and I am vastly tired of it.”

“I will not insist you stay.”

A rustle of skirts indicated movement. “What’s this? What happened to Grandmother’s figurine?”

I couldn’t help myself. I edged over to where I could peek around the drapes. The duchess stood at the fireplace, looking at the broken pieces.

The duke stood, leaning heavily on his cane. “I lost my balance earlier, grabbed for the mantel, and knocked it to the floor. I’m sorry, Mother.”

“Oh, Halstead. Is it the cold? I know that makes it worse.”

“I am well enough.” His leg bowed, his knee twisting with each step, as he walked toward his mother.

Watching pained me, but I observed with awful fascination the irony of a beautiful man with such a broken body, unable to look away.

The duchess shook her head. “You are not. I shall call for the doctor.”

“No,” he said fiercely. “Please, just leave me.”

She considered for a moment before nodding. “As you wish.” Her skirts swished as she left.

I made my way out from the curtains, no longer cold but steeped in curiosity. “Why did you lie?” I asked, coming up behind the duke.

He did not turn to face me. “Sometimes a lie is easier to accept than the truth.”

I glanced at the mantel, where the figurine lay in pieces. “I am sorry, Your Grace.” A heaviness in my chest made it hard to breathe.

His hand tightened around the knob of his cane. “Of course you are,” he said bitterly.

“I didn’t mean—”

“You should leave, before your reputation is compromised.”

“But I—”

“It was not a suggestion.”

Tears stung my eyes. Without another word, I walked to the door. I turned back briefly, taking in the shadowed planes of his face as he stared into the fire, then hurried to my room before Aunt Agnes went to check on me there and discovered I was missing.

Chapter Two

Sleep eluded me. I paced the floor of my bedroom before settling into the window seat and pushing open the window. A mist of light clouds obscured my view of the stars. I stared up at the slow-moving haze as my mind combed through everything I’d heard about the duke and the whispered rumors of his accident. Had it been a riding accident? I remembered someone mentioning he was rarely seen in public. The very fact that he’d not attended tonight’s dinner—even in his own home—said much.

Finally, I climbed into bed. I lay in the darkness and stared up at the ceiling, trying to recall any other details I’d heard about the duke, but it was useless. Aunt Agnes had prattled on about the castle and its revered owners for hours in the carriage yesterday, but I’d ignored her, preoccupied with the awkward tension that had accompanied the breach between Robert and me.

Now, for the first time in weeks, my mind fixated on something new—my unexpected encounter with the duke in the library. Our interaction left me with a strange mixture of guilt and anger. The man was perplexing. Intriguing. I’d never met anyone quite like him. It felt like hours later when I fell into fits of half-sleep, wondering whether the whole thing had been a dream.

In the morning my eyes were rimmed with dark circles, and I stared at the mirror in frustration. “Lawks and lubbers,” I muttered just as Betsy pushed the door open. “Oh, excuse me, Betsy.” Having been raised in a household with two male cousins, I sometimes struggled to keep my language ladylike. Old habits were difficult to break—except in Aunt Agnes’s presence.

“What’s this, miss?” Betsy picked up the brush and began going through my unruly red hair with it in long strokes.

“Oh, nothing. I slept poorly is all.”

She nodded. “I’m in a bit of a hurry this morning, as your aunt wishes me to try her hair in a new fashion.”

“Of course. A simple chignon will do for today.” I was accustomed to hurrying through the process of getting ready, since Aunt Agnes was too stingy to hire me a lady’s maid of my own. I suspected she put far too much of the monthly allowance she received to care for my younger brother, Harry, and me toward her own comforts.

“How has your stay been thus far?” I asked as Betsy’s deft hands arranged my hair.

“Not as grand as yours, I’m sure, but this castle is enough to take one’s breath away. I must have gotten lost at least three times yesterday.” She grinned as though alluding to some private joke. “Though there were plenty of handsome footmen about to show me the way, and right helpful they were. The trick will be trying to keep track of them all.” She giggled. “I can’t imagine working at such a large house.”

I was tempted to ask her if they spoke of the duke belowstairs but wisely held back. No need to encourage rumors among the staff; Betsy was known for having quite a loose tongue.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of my little carved mountain goat resting on the vanity. It was a gift my father had brought me from his travels to the Continent. I reached out and picked the little goat up, examining it while Betsy finished arranging my hair. It was precious to me, the only thing I really had left of my father, and I felt a twinge of guilt remembering the heirloom I’d broken the night before.

After helping me into my gown, Betsy made a hasty exit to look after my aunt. Poor girl. I did not envy her position.

I left my room, taking my time to observe the corridors in the morning light as I passed through them. So intent was my gaze on one of the tap-estries that I almost ran into Robert outside the breakfast room. “Oh, excuse me.”

He looked away and swallowed, his posture stiff. “Pardon me, Juliet.”

A stab of pain slashed at me, for just a few weeks ago I would have told him everything and we would have unraveled last night’s odd encounter together. I ached to talk to him.

He still would not meet my gaze. “Your absence was noted last night.”

“I had one of my headaches,” I said. He knew my headaches came on when I couldn’t stand to be in his mother’s presence for another moment.

“Mother allows that to pass at home, but she will not tolerate that while we are here, among company. She won’t allow you to make a fool of her.”

Before I could respond, he pushed past me and went into the breakfast room. Dumbfounded, I stood by the door, dreading another meal of small talk among people I barely knew, with the one person who knew me best ignoring me.

Suppressing a frown, I pushed my shoulders back and followed Robert. He took a seat next to Hugh, the elder of my cousins. I perused the buffet table, piled high with eggs, toast, ham, fruit, and a dozen different pastries. The extravagance was difficult to fathom, especially compared to what I was used to at Lymington Park. After filling my plate, I took the open seat by Lady Ellen, the duke’s younger sister. Based on our brief interactions yesterday, I liked her already.

I took a moment to study her, searching for any resemblance she might share with the man I’d encountered last night. She had light-brown hair, a winsome smile, and eyes that were perhaps a little wide-set but of such a brilliant blue one barely noticed. She and the duke looked nothing alike. Indeed, had I not known the two were siblings, I would not have guessed them to be related.

“Good morning, Miss Graham,” she said, her tone cheerful and inviting. “Are you quite recovered from your headache?” Her concern seemed genuine.

I bit my cheek, grateful Aunt Agnes had made excuses for me, even if she was displeased about it. “Yes, thank you. Much better.”

“Oh good. I was disappointed we did not see you in the drawing room after dinner. I am afraid in your absence your poor cousins had to suffer through an entire hour of my playing the pianoforte.” She smiled coyly through her self-deprecation. “But I am happy to report that they endured it well.” Despite the directness of her manner, she put me at ease at once. I felt like her opposite in so many ways, yet I wondered if we might be friends; two weeks here would drag by without any female companionship.

She looked up, still speaking. “Lord Everdale and I are planning a walk through the gardens right after breakfast.”

To hear Hugh called Lord Everdale was always a surprise, for he was the boy who had teased me mercilessly the past nine years—behavior hardly befitting an earl. I glanced at him across the table. With his ruddy-cheeked grin and unruly dark hair, one could scarce imagine him marrying the younger sister of a duke.

As if he could sense my thoughts, Hugh looked up. “Juliet loves gardens, don’t you?”

I smiled through clenched teeth. “I adore them.” Nothing could be further from the truth, and we would have words later. I was not here to play chaperone in all his attempts to woo Lady Ellen. That was Aunt Agnes’s unenviable task.

Lady Ellen set her napkin on the table. “Then, it’s settled.” She turned to Robert, who had remained silent during this exchange. “Perhaps we could round it out to a foursome—would you like to join us as well, Mr. Nicholson?”

I held my breath, for I knew if Robert agreed, we would be partnered for the duration of the morning.

Hugh nodded, answering for him. “Of course he would. There’s nothing he’d like better.” Another lie. Hugh gave Lady Ellen his most charming smile, and if I could have reached, I would have kicked him under the table.

Everyone around me had already finished their breakfast, so I ate as quickly as was permitted for a lady of breeding and set my plate back, half untouched. “Shall we begin?” I asked, anxious to commence so it could be over. The morning loomed ahead, and I could only imagine how many infernal gardens a castle this size might hold.

As we exited the breakfast room, a footman approached me, a tray in hand. “There’s a letter for you, Miss Graham.”

I reached for it and smiled as I saw my name in Harry’s scrawl. It had been nearly two weeks since I’d heard from him, and I was anxious to read his missive. But with everyone waiting for me, I could hardly take the time now. I tucked it into my pocket, planning to read it as soon as I had a moment alone.

It took us almost five minutes to make our way to the back doors and down the steps. I shook my head in wonder at the enormity of Shaldorn Castle. Thank goodness I’d worn practical shoes this morning.

Lady Ellen paused and turned to me. “I’m afraid autumn is not the best time of year to enjoy the gardens, but is there something you particularly enjoy? We have quite a variety.”

Put on the spot as I was, my mind went blank. “Well, um, I have always enjoyed hedgerows . . .” The ridiculousness of my statement was not lost on me, and I shot Hugh another disgruntled look. He winked at me when Lady Ellen looked the other direction.

As I predicted, Hugh extended his arm for Lady Ellen, and they took the lead, leaving Robert and me standing together awkwardly. “The gardens await,” I said with resignation, gesturing forward. He let out a heavy sigh, falling into step beside me.

Having little interest in our surroundings, I took a moment to study Robert, trying to guess what might be going through his mind. Heavy lines creased his forehead, and his normally warm green eyes appeared distant. This was not the Robert I knew. The thought of disappointing him, of being the cause of such an aggravated change in someone I cared so deeply for, caused a pinching sensation in my chest.

Taking note of my scrutiny, Robert gave a slight grunt, making a show of looking anywhere but at me.

There was little else to do but feign interest in the scenery. The gardens were more beautiful than I’d expected, given my distaste for stately parks. But after half an hour more of Robert’s prolonged silence, I yearned to be anywhere else. How could anyone prefer a garden, where everything looked just alike—hedgerows and shrubs and some very manicured rosebushes, all prim and proper and nothing out of place—to untamed land? Shaldorn Castle boasted miles of acreage, yet we were trapped on rigid pathways, all natural beauty out of sight.

With no conversation to occupy me, my mind soon went to Harry and the letter in my pocket. How I missed him, missed our time together. Only a few short months had passed since he’d left for Harrow, but to me it felt like years. I worried about him, especially since he’d sounded unhappy in his last letter. I missed long afternoons spent with him in the library, a book settled between us.

But thoughts of our library only brought me to dwell on the events of the night before. I tried helplessly to think of how I might have maintained more dignity in my conversation with the duke. Every so often I glanced up at the castle’s towers, wondering if I might catch a glimpse of him through one of the windows, until the realization struck me that with his bad knee, he probably could not climb so high. I pulled my bottom lip through my teeth and let out a little huff.

Robert remained silent, and after weeks of his coldness, my patience was growing thin. Up ahead, Hugh and Lady Ellen seemed to be finding enjoyment in one another’s company. I quickened my pace, leaving Robert behind, hoping to listen in and find some entertainment in their conversation.

Lady Ellen angled her head toward Hugh. “He is better now than he used to be. Right after his riding accident . . .” She shuddered. “It was a dark time for all of us.”

My breath caught. They must be speaking of the duke.

Hugh murmured a brief apology and waited for her to continue.

“Wait, Juliet,” Robert said, coming up behind me. “We need to speak.”

After all of his silence, of course he would want to speak now, just as Lady Ellen said something intriguing.

“Yes, yes.” I turned my focus to Robert only briefly, a wrinkle of frustration marring my goodwill after my many fruitless attempts to push past his rebuffs. I still strained my ears to hear the conversation taking place up ahead.

Lady Ellen’s voice drifted back to me. “For the first while, even after he’d healed, Halstead was withdrawn, almost comatose. Mother called in an army of doctors, frantic at his despondency, but he put off everything—even the things he once loved. Oh, it made sense that he wouldn’t ride, but he refused to sing or allow any company, he stopped attending parliament—”

“Juliet.” Robert’s voice grew more insistent.

I sighed. This would never do. No matter how ill-timed it seemed, nothing was more important than patching things up with Robert.

“We cannot go on this way,” he began as he caught up to walk beside me.

“I believe it is your behavior that has changed quite drastically, not mine.” I didn’t wish to be so pointed, but there seemed little way around it.

He shook his head. “I . . .” The heavy lines in his forehead now seemed almost sad, regretful. Our pace slowed.

I raised my brows but waited for him to go on. From up ahead I heard the duke mentioned again and itched to listen, but I forced my attention back to Robert.

He took in a breath, his mouth turned down. “I have been caught up thinking, and I’ve not known how to act around you.”

My gaze dropped to where my boots peeked out under the hem of my skirts. “You needn’t have been so harsh. I never wanted anything to come between us, least of all . . .” I looked up but couldn’t bring myself to mention his declaration of a few weeks before.

“I am sorry, Juliet. I was taken off guard. My feelings for you have been growing for some time, and I was certain you returned my affection. And now, seeing Hugh and Lady Ellen together . . . well, I suppose it made me a little jealous.” He ran a hand through his wavy brown hair. “I never expected . . .”

My stomach dropped as I saw the light of hope on his face. “Robert, I—”

“Don’t say no, Juliet.” He held up a hand. “Please, not yet. At least tell me you’ll consider what I said before. I know I surprised you when I declared myself, but surely, with the strength of our friendship, our years of growing up together, there is a chance it might grow into something more, if you’ll let it.”

Afraid he might say more, I quickly spoke up. “You are my dearest friend in the whole world, Robert. You’ll forgive me if I never—” I paused, frustrated with my inability to adequately express myself. “You’ve always been—” His face fell, and I stopped myself from saying what he had been to me these past nine years: a brother.

“Please, just think on it. That is all I ask.” His kindness softened my resolve. What could it hurt to give him time to adjust to the idea that there could only ever be friendship between us?

I pursed my lips, still hesitant. “I will, on one condition.”

He nodded, looking at me expectantly.

“That there will be no more of this wall between us.” I gestured to the space that separated him and me. “I can’t tell you how hurt I’ve been by your aloofness.” I eased out a breath, grateful to finally have a chance to voice the truth. “I’ve missed your friendship.”

Though he tried to hide it, he winced at the word. Yet he nodded. “I promise. My behavior was . . . well, I daresay I have suffered for it more than you.” He extended his arm with a smile, and I took it, though I feared my own smile was less convincing.

But there was no sense in holding a grudge. Robert was my only friend here, and the next two weeks would be lonesome indeed if I kept him at arm’s length for some ill-conceived notion of protecting my pride. “Just to be clear, I shan’t forgive you for letting Hugh bully me into a tour of the gardens,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “Especially when there is a whole castle to be explored.”

Robert’s face went slack with relief, as if he now felt certain those dark weeks of estrangement were behind us. “I promise to make it up to you, but I can’t this afternoon. I have already committed to go fishing.”

I shook my head. “Very well. This afternoon I shall explore on my own.”

Robert covered my hand that rested on his arm. “Don’t pretend to be disappointed. We both know very well you prefer a good adventure on your own.”

A half smile graced my lips. “There may be a few rooms and corridors that have caught my interest.” And one particular gentleman, though I kept that thought to myself.

“And what do you make of Lady Ellen so far?” Robert asked, motioning to where Hugh walked with her up ahead.

“I have very little to go off of, but Hugh seems taken. There is no doubt she’s lovely.”

Robert nodded. “I like her well enough. It’s her mother and grandmother who make me uneasy,” he admitted. “Did you know the dowager duchess still goes riding almost every day? She came up behind me this morning as I was returning to the stables before breakfast. I nearly fell off my horse when I saw who it was.”

I laughed at the image. “That is quite impressive for someone of her age. But she and the duchess seemed polite enough at last night’s dinner. I cannot imagine that either one of them is more intimidating than your own mother.” I had lived with Aunt Agnes for almost ten years, and she still often frightened me.

“Yes, but Mother is . . . Mother.”

“Not to Lady Ellen. It seems both she and Hugh may have to marry into families with formidable matrons.”

Robert gave a little shrug. “I suppose you are right. Is it—?” He looked as though he wanted to say something more but then thought better of it. “I have no sense of the size of these grounds.” He motioned toward the scenery around us. “How long do you think we’ve been out here?”

I grimaced. “The better question is how much longer we shall be forced to continue.”

He drew me into conversation, and we fell into our old, easy way, laughing and talking. We discussed the journey here, the grandeur of the castle, and my distaste for manicured gardens. But I could not bring myself to speak of my encounter with the duke.

At last Lady Ellen guided us back to the castle. Her cheeks were flushed with a rosy hue, and I couldn’t tell if it was from the brisk autumn air or her time spent in Hugh’s company.

Once inside we parted ways—Lady Ellen up to rest and Hugh and Robert to their rooms to change for their fishing excursion. I felt almost giddy with the thought of being left to myself. Now was the perfect time to explore the castle.

No one had specifically mentioned whether we were free to roam, but last evening had proven yesterday’s tour to be deeply inadequate. I had never stayed anywhere half so large, and I liked the idea of getting lost in the labyrinth of corridors.

And, if I was honest with myself, I would admit to a small hope that I might meet the duke again.

Chapter Three

From our walk this morning, I had surmised that the castle had four main floors, and I decided to start at the top. Even at midday the stairwell was poorly lit, with small windows that let in only narrow slivers of light. I had to watch my footing with care. The stairs between the third and fourth level were quite steep, so by the time I reached the top of the fourth floor, my legs burned and my lungs begged for air. The towers were higher still. I would save those for another day.

I stopped for a moment to rest, peering out one of the larger windows in the corridor, trying to orient myself. The view from so high up was breathtaking. The castle was set on a hill, and from this height, I could see all the way out to the sea. It sparkled in the afternoon sun, calm and still, stretching out to the horizon. Unending. Constant. No wonder my father had loved it so.

But my curiosity didn’t allow me to stay still for long. I moved from one passageway to the next, quickly passing over the servants’ quarters. Pushing open a large wooden door on the east side of the castle revealed the kind of sanctuary every child dreams of. There were children’s books and painted wooden blocks. Old children’s drawings hung on the wall, curling at the corners and yellowed with age. A regiment of dusty soldiers stood at attention. To my delight, the nursery took up a whole wing of the fourth floor.

A stab of sadness assaulted me, for no doubt Harry would have loved it here; it was so different from the nursery at Lymington Park—a stark, unfriendly room. I’d done my best to see that he’d spent as little time there as possible, whisking him away whenever I had had the opportunity. We’d go to the kitchen and pester Cook for biscuits or spend long hours exploring outside. But as soon as Harry turned eleven, Aunt Agnes had put him thoroughly out of my reach. At Harrow. He wasn’t due home for a visit until Christmas. My only means of cheering him now was through letters.

My letter! I patted my pocket, having completely forgotten about it during my walk in the gardens. I pulled it out, opening it and unfolding it hungrily. I was anxious for news.

Dear Juliet,

Lest you worry, please know first and foremost that I am well. That is, as well as one can be at a place like this. I like my classes well enough, though many of my teachers are bores. Mr. Brown is the worst in this regard. He is supposed to teach us Latin, but his class could more appropriately be titled Putting Young Men to Sleep as Quickly as Possible.

We do get a good deal of time outdoors, which I enjoy, although I have yet to make any friends. Somehow everyone’s background is known here, and they cannot seem to forgive me for mine. My hair color gives them plenty of fodder as well. They taunt and tease mercilessly. I’ve been shoved and knocked down on occasion, and though they pretend it was an accident, I know better. Sometimes I get so angry I worry I’ll lash out.

I can hardly wait for this year to pass so I can come home for the summer and we can go to the ocean. I miss hearing your stories of Father and his adventures as a sea captain. I miss you, Juliet.

Love,

Harry

I gritted my teeth, knowing if I were there, my temper would no doubt have gotten the better of me already. Boys Harry’s age were the cruelest sort, always looking for tender spots in others as they tried to prove their own worth, and it could only be worse with so many of them together. I’d heard enough stories from Robert about his own school days to fear this very behavior toward Harry. It seemed my fears were justified.

When Harry had left for Harrow, I’d pretended to be happy for him, thrilled for his chance to have such an opportunity. What good could come from giving voice to my doubts? Hoping I would be proven wrong, I’d said nothing of my plans to bring him back home once his guardianship passed to me.

But now, to hear how miserable he was . . . to hear that he missed my stories . . . Nighttime was when I missed Harry the most, for I used to sneak into the nursery and tell him stories of Mother and Father—all the things a boy should know about his own parents. He especially loved to hear about Father’s travels and adventures—his many escapades during the war. Sometimes I worried I told him too much, for Harry talked about the sea so often I feared he’d want to follow in Father’s footsteps. At least, for now, he was safely occupied at Harrow.

I folded the letter and returned it to my pocket, determined to write back as soon as I finished exploring the castle. I already had a long list of things I wanted to tell him.

The far corner of the room held a large and intricate dollhouse. It was not difficult to think of Lady Ellen here as a youth, since she was close to my age, but envisioning the duke as a child required a great deal of imagination. How much older was he than Lady Ellen? It seemed likely he had been off at school before she had even been born.

I walked over to the window and peered down at the gardens. How tiny they looked from up here—as miniature as the ones that adorned the perimeter of the dusty dollhouse. As I watched, the duchess appeared in the garden walkways, with several laborers in tow. She began giving instructions, and I drew back, fearful she might catch sight of me.

Had I been raised in this home, I would have spent a great many hours looking through this window, observing people as they came and went.

Making sure to leave everything as I’d found it, I made my way back down the stairs. The third floor held the main living quarters, and I avoided it, guarding my solitude. I found an out-of-the-way staircase and ventured down to the second floor.

Though tempted to go back to the library, I didn’t want to intrude as an unwelcome guest for the second time in as many days. Instead I pushed on, meandering through endless corridors.

At the end of an unfamiliar corridor I found a closed door, wedged tight. The door wasn’t locked, so I pressed against it, and it gave way all at once. I stumbled forward, barely keeping my footing.

The room was brighter than I expected, with large west-facing windows that drew my eyes upward. An antique chandelier was centered in the carved white-lattice ceiling. The room smelled of sunlight and dust, and the sun’s rays highlighted the floating specks, giving the room an ethereal feel. Strangely, all of the furniture was covered, and the musty air hinted that the room hadn’t been touched in some time.

I pushed the door closed behind me as quietly as possible, wincing at the loud scraping noise it made as it rubbed against the floorboards. Hoping no one had heard, I walked through the ghostlike forms of chairs and chaises, moving over to the large and awkward covered form near the window. I held my breath and wondered if I could be so lucky.

I pulled back the sheet in one swift motion to reveal the grandest pianoforte I had ever seen, obviously purchased for someone possessing musical abilities that greatly exceeded my own. I gazed at it hungrily, for it had been some time since I’d been able to play freely. When I was allowed to play at all, Aunt Agnes’s hawkish eyes were always on me, criticizing my posture, the curve of my hands, and every note I played on the instrument. Under her constant disparagement, I’d grown to hate playing in front of others. But here I was alone and could have the joy of music all to myself.

With one last glance toward the door, I took a seat on the bench, pulled off my gloves, and leafed through the sheet music that rested on the bench. Most of the pieces were for serious players: sonatas, concertos, and the like. I set them aside. For a few minutes I played idly, allowing my fingers their freedom. Even with my meager talent I could appreciate the feel of this superior instrument, how easily the keys fell beneath my fingers. From memory I played a simple tune my father had sung before he’d left for India the last time. As I played, I sang with the Scottish brogue that had colored my father’s voice.

The glasses sparkle on the board,

The wine is ruby bright,

The reign of pleasure is restor’d,

Of ease and fond delight.

The day is gone, the night’s our own,

Then let us feast the soul;

If any care or pain remain,

Why drown it in the bowl.

This world they say’s a world of woe,

But that I do deny;

Can sorrow from the goblet flow?

Or pain from beauty’s eye?

The wise are fools, with all their rules,

When they would joys controul:

If life’s a pain, I say again,

Let’s drown it in the bowl.

“For one who claims to have no talent, Miss Graham, you sing with a great deal of gusto.”

My hands stilled on the keys, fingers frozen. The duke stood in the corner of the room, resting a hand on the back of a chair. Blood pounded through my veins, my every sense in a state of heightened awareness.

Handsome by firelight, he was devastating in the light of day. I had never seen such symmetry in a face. Closing my eyes, I swallowed a sigh. That he should have heard me playing and singing . . . and a drinking song, no less . . . My whole body was aflame with embarrassment. “Your Grace, I would not have . . . I-I mistakenly believed I would not be overheard.” I covered my cheeks with my hands, trying to douse the flames.

His expression lit with mirth. “I am disappointed you did not perform this for everyone last night. You sound as if you were raised in a Scottish pub.”

I stood abruptly, his mocking tone raising my ire and making me forget my shame. “My father was Scottish. And a sailor.” My words were unapologetic, meant to provoke.

“I see. Your mother had poor taste, then.”

“Say what you will about me, Your Grace”—I spat out the words, hoping to strike a blow—“but do not insult my parents.” I picked up the music resting on the piano, trying to keep my hands occupied before looking up again to meet his gaze.

His eyes gleamed with cold arrogance. “But if the truth is an insult . . .”

Rolling the sheet music up, I had half a mind to walk across the room and thump him over the head with it.

He held his walking stick in the crook of his arm, seemingly unaware of my intentions. “And here I find you once again, in a room you have not been invited to, touching things”—he motioned to the piano—“that do not belong to you. Do you still maintain your claim to being a lady?”

I immediately put a hand to my hair, checking to see that it was properly pulled back. My gloves lay on the bench beside me. The smug look on his face stoked the anger racing through my blood. “Perhaps I am not a perfect lady, but you, sir, hardly qualify as a gentleman.”

“The difference between us is that I do not mind, and it is evident that you do.” He leaned on his cane, dragging one leg behind him as he made his way around the chair he’d stood behind and sat down heavily on it.

I narrowed my eyes. “Only because the world judges my sex more severely.”

He set the cane across his lap and steepled his hands. “A fair point.”

I looked at him in surprise, not quite believing his easy agreement. I unfurled the sheet music and set it back down on the bench beside me.

“Do not let me keep you from your music. Talent such as yours should not be neglected.”

My hands curled into fists at my sides. “Sir—Your Grace—do not mock me.”

One of his brows pulled down. “Far better to be mocked than pitied.”

Though I was uncertain I agreed with such a statement, it tugged at me, and I understood how deeply he felt it to be true. I regarded him closely. “Is that why you dismissed me last night—because you thought I pitied you?”

He frowned. “You mistake yourself if you believe I wasted even a moment wondering how you felt about me.”

My softened feelings for him vanished, replaced once again by a hot anger. The man was insufferable. I shook my head. “I do not believe you. You are so consumed with feeling sorry for yourself that you are certain everyone else must be as well.”

His jaw slackened, and I felt a trace of satisfaction for having thrown him off balance just once, the way he seemed to do so constantly to me.

He sat forward, tightening the grip on his cane. “If you insist on being so candid, then be so now. Did you not feel pity for me last night? I have become intimately acquainted with the expression these past few years.” His gaze bored into me, demanding an answer.

My heart pounded wildly under the scorching power of his gaze. “If you must know, then yes, I felt some pity for you.”

The curiosity that had lit his eyes a moment before disappeared. “Even you.” He sounded almost disappointed.

“But it was not in the way you think,” I continued. “I felt pity that a man with all of your power, wealth, and education should throw it all away because of some outward mar on your person. I hardly know you, but it’s obvious you’ve become a brooding recluse, your only entertainment finding ways to mock and scorn those who do not share your fate.” I shook my head, unable to stop. “I’ll not make the mistake of wasting such feeling on you again, for you do not deserve it. Your mother was right. You are a petulant child—one who deserves a good switching.”

I did not even look at him as I snatched up my gloves, swept by the chair where he sat, and walked out the door.

Chapter Four

I sat on the edge of my bed, hands shaking, waiting for the summons that was sure to come. A short missive. A dismissal. An invitation to pack my bags and take my leave, my aunt and cousins along with me. Aunt Agnes would be furious.

I bit my tongue, penance for the wicked words I’d allowed to escape just minutes before. Though I could not regret them, I regretted that my temper had gotten the best of me. I shook my head. After years under Aunt Agnes’s smothering control, it was hard for me to believe myself capable of such an outburst. What was it about that man that loosened my tongue and made my emotions swirl?

The room held no noticeable chill, but I hugged myself, feeling cold. A fire burned in the hearth, its flames licking the remnants of the dying logs. I traced one of the tufted gold diamonds that adorned my coverlet in an attempt to distract myself, but my paltry efforts proved unsuccessful. My conversation—or rather, quarrel—with the duke played over and over in my mind. I felt trapped by it, for no matter which way I examined it, it seemed there was nothing I might have said to keep the upper hand. The man had a way of maintaining the utmost composure, a cool control that unsettled me.

An eternity ticked by. The bells chimed from the northwest tower, marking the hour and urging everyone to finish dressing for dinner. When I could bear it no longer, I took to pacing. My letter to Harry would have to wait another day, for I was in no state to write, let alone give him any sort of encouragement.

I wrung my hands together anxiously. Was there any way I might undo the damage I had done? A few minutes later a knock sounded at the door, and Betsy entered, heading straight for the large wardrobe that graced the corner of the room.

“Your aunt took longer than expected; we must hurry.” Her tone was more subdued than usual. “What shall you wear tonight, miss?” she asked, sparing me a quick glance. Her cheeks were stained with tears. It was enough to jolt me from my worry.

“Betsy—”

“How about the pale-gray silk? And I thought to try your hair in a new fashion, something Lady Ellen’s maid showed me.” She spoke quickly, her words tumbling over one another.

“Betsy, wait. What is the matter?”

She turned away and shook her head.

I closed the distance between us, then laid a soft hand on her shoulder. “Betsy, did Aunt Agnes . . . ?” I took a step to the side and saw the imprint of Aunt Agnes’s hand on Betsy’s cheek. Seeing the red welt, I felt the ghost of my aunt’s palm on my own cheek from times past. “Oh, Betsy, I’m sorry.”

She sidestepped my concern. “Let’s get you dressed, miss. If you’re not ready in time, things will only be worse for me.”

I nodded dumbly, the mark on her face enough to remind me why I was right to fear Aunt Agnes’s wrath. Betsy helped me out of my dress and then slipped the new one over my head, fastening the back. The distant part of my brain admired her quick handiwork and steady manner, even after the abuse she’d endured at my aunt’s hand.

She motioned for me to sit at the vanity, where she began to arrange my hair. All I could think as she combed and twisted and pinned was that I would be made to pay for our dismissal. Though I couldn’t think of how, with Harry away at Harrow, Aunt Agnes would find a way to use him to punish me.

“Thank you, Betsy. And I’m sorry—”

“Hurry now, miss. Lady Everdale will be waiting.” After helping me with my gloves, Betsy practically shoved me out the door.

Aunt Agnes’s stern face greeted me. Her dark-brown hair, lightened by the first whispers of gray, sat high atop her head, making her seem even more daunting than usual. She hid her age well, keeping with the fashions of much younger women, but wrinkles had begun to appear about her mouth, probably from the look of vexation she so often aimed at me. “And are you quite recovered from your headache, Juliet?” she asked, her voice as composed as ever. It was only from years of practice that I had learned to discern the underlying inflection that indicated her displeasure.

I took an involuntary step back. Not that she would strike me before we made our way downstairs—to Aunt Agnes, appearances were everything.

“I am sorry for my absence last night, Lady Everdale.” I used her title per her request when we were away from home. “Yesterday’s long journey tired me. I hope I did not displease you.”

She peered at me closely, clearly doubting my words. “And how did you pass the afternoon?”

“In my room, my lady.” I spoke the truth, if not the whole of it. It would be revealed soon enough.

“I see. Well, be assured you will stay for the entirety of this evening’s events.”

I nodded, knowing no escape would be possible. Or probably necessary, since we could very well be asked to leave the minute we made our appearance downstairs.

“Come. We should not leave our hosts waiting.” She bade me follow, and with the tiniest of sighs, I obeyed.

We entered the small drawing room adjacent to the formal dining area. Hugh and Robert smiled, coming forward to greet us with a bow.

“Hugh, Robert.” Aunt Agnes took Hugh’s arm and led him in a direct line toward the duchess. After a sharp look from his mother, Robert followed. I wondered if Aunt Agnes knew of Robert’s feelings for me. I couldn’t imagine her approving, for she found very little to admire in me—least of all my paternal heritage.

Lady Ellen approached as they crossed the room. “Miss Graham, I trust your afternoon passed well?”

I curtsied. “Yes, I thank you. And you?”

She winced. “It was . . . interesting, at best. Mother and Halstead had the most fantastic row.”

At her mention of the duke, I stiffened. Was this before or after my confrontation with him? If she cared to look, Lady Ellen might have seen the guilt that was surely written across my face.

Instead she glanced around and lowered her voice. “I hope you won’t think less of me, but I quite enjoyed it. It was the most exciting thing to happen around here in ages.” A grin lit her face, her delight infectious.

“My dear Lady Ellen, you are shocking.” I feigned exaggerated horror, my eyes wide. “Especially when one considers that we arrived yesterday. You do our arrival a great injustice.”

She laughed. “I do, indeed. There is nothing more exciting than visitors descending upon one’s residence, knowing one will be forced to converse in the requisite pleasantries for the next several weeks.” A sigh escaped her lips, along with another smile.

Tilting my head toward her, I whispered quietly, “I understand you perfectly and shall endeavor not to mention the weather or the latest fashions for the duration of my stay.”

“An ally at last!” She grabbed my arm, her face filled with joyous animation. “I knew from the minute I saw you we would be friends. I was sorely disappointed when you were not present last evening. But tonight we are seated near one another at dinner—a stroke of good fortune.”

Her last few words hung in the air, which had grown silent without our notice. A quick glance at the other guests drew my attention to the door. There, cane in hand but with his back ramrod straight, stood the duke. His gaze swept over the room, and I felt a jolt of panic as his eyes caught mine for the briefest moment.

His mother recovered first and hurried over. “Halstead, how glad I am you could join us this evening. Dinner will be announced at any moment. But first, let me introduce you to the guests of our small house party.” She motioned over my aunt and cousins and began making introductions.

I edged back, hoping to escape notice. All the while, tension thrummed through me. If Lady Ellen spoke, I did not hear it, for my every awareness was centered on the Duke of Halstead, who stood in this very room. Why would he make an appearance now, when he had not graced us with his presence yesterday evening? Could it be he had come only to dismiss me in person? My hand rested on my stomach, trying to push away the queasiness that threatened.

To my great relief the butler came in and announced dinner. He led the way as couples paired off, and Robert hurried to my side. I still hadn’t torn my gaze away from the man I was certain would bar me from his home at any moment. It was only once Robert linked my arm with his that I was awakened from my daze. He gave me a questioning look, his face soft. I grew flustered under his attention, for I could sense the hope my promise had given him. He saw me to my seat and then made his way down the table.

The duke’s cousin, whose name I could not recall, sat on my left. Hugh sat to my right, and Lady Ellen took her place across from us.

Thankfully, we were seated three quarters of the way down from the head of the table, where the duke sat. I kept my gaze steadily on those around me as I removed my gloves and placed my napkin in my lap.

The duke’s presence seemed to fill up the room, making me aware of how empty it had been the night before. I caught little hints of his conversation drifting down the table, the deep timbres of his voice so familiar, despite my having spoken to him only twice.

“Hugh,” I said, doing my best to maintain some semblance of normalcy, “you’re looking remarkably tanned. Did you spend the remainder of the afternoon out of doors?”

He nodded cheerfully as one of the footmen set a bowl of soup in front of him. He must have sensed my lapse in memory because with a slight nod of the head, he motioned to my dinner companion. “I went fishing with Lord Aberdeen.”

Ah, that was his name. Perhaps Hugh could be forgiven for torturing me earlier with the gardens. “Ah yes, I’d forgotten you all went fishing. And how did you find it, Lord Aberdeen?” My voice sounded unnaturally high to my ears as all of my concentration was on not looking toward the other end of the table.

He patted his cravat as if to ensure not a single ruffle had moved out of place. “We spent two hours at the lake. I admit there was some reluctance on my part to leave, even when it was time to return and dress for dinner. This is the first time I have been invited to stay at Shaldorn. The countryside is beautiful, is it not?”

I shook my head. “I have only had the pleasure of seeing the gardens, but from my view through the carriage window as we arrived, I can imagine your compliments are not undeserved.”

Lady Ellen dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “We must remedy that, Miss Graham. Perhaps we could go riding tomorrow, if that pleases you.”

The thought of a ride was thrilling, for it was a pleasure Aunt Agnes often denied me, unless it served some social scheme of hers. “Oh yes, please,” I said.

“Very good.” I found myself warming to Lady Ellen more and more. I could only hope Hugh might endeavor to deserve her.

Our soup was cleared away, and the footmen set out the next course.

“Juliet is not the only one who enjoys riding,” Hugh chimed in, fishing for an invitation. I’d never seen him so taken with a woman before, though perhaps he was only smitten with her dowry. Aunt Agnes rarely missed an opportunity to remind him he needed to marry money.

Lady Ellen gave him a winsome smile. “You were not unamusing on our walk this morning, Lord Everdale, so I suppose you may join us for tomorrow’s ride.” One thing was certain: Hugh had met his match. “And you as well, Lord Aberdeen.”

“Gladly,” Lord Aberdeen said. He glanced down at my plate. “Miss Graham, is there anything at all that you require? Shall I signal to one of the footmen?”

“No, thank you, Lord Aberdeen.” I settled into my seat, beginning to relax. Though it seemed impossible, perhaps my flouting of all decorum this afternoon would be overlooked.

Just as I picked up my fork to take a bite, the dowager duchess made eye contact with me from near the head of the table. The duke had inherited many of his features from his grandmother. They shared the same bearing, the same symmetrical face.

“Miss Graham,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. The rest of the table quieted. “I have not seen much of you since you arrived.” With her formal high-collared gown and her silvery white hair pulled back in a stately manner, the dowager duchess was as intimidating as the queen. Or at least, as intimidating as I imagined the queen to be.

“Oh?” I replied in a small voice. “Well, the castle is rather large.” Before she could ask another question, I took a quick bite of the veal.

She gave me a tight smile, glancing around the table. “Trust me, as with any house, when one shares it with family, it is not as large as one might think.”

I bit back a smile, amused by the dowager’s frankness.

She touched the brooch that rested at her throat. “I was acquainted with your grandmother, you know. And I knew your mother a little—met her at her come-out—though our association came to an end when she ran off with your father. I’ve always thought marriages of inequality make for rather awkward social situations. On both sides.” Her tone was blunt but not cruel. She tilted her head, a pert look on her face. “I take it your red hair comes from him.”

I slid a discreet glance toward Aunt Agnes. She would be furious the subject of my father had been broached. My tongue seemed to expand, filling my entire mouth, while my mind shrank, devoid of any response, witty or dull. I nodded and tried to swallow, but the bite of food caught in my throat.

“I believe she may also have a fair amount of musical talent that can be credited to her father,” the duke said.

I very nearly choked.

The dowager lifted a skeptical brow. “And how is it that you would know?”

He set his wine glass down, his face impassive. “Intuition.”

No doubt my face was as red as my hair. I kept my eyes on my plate, on the food that had hardly been touched.

Aunt Agnes spoke up, a trace of apology in her voice. “I am afraid if she has any musical talent at all, it comes from her mother, God rest her soul.”

The dowager turned to me once again, giving little consideration to the fact that I’d only had a bite or two of my dinner. “And how long have your parents been gone, Miss Graham?”

I pretended to chew, though my mouth was empty. Aunt Agnes eyed me from her place near the duchess. I feigned swallowing. “My father died nine years ago. And my mother has been gone five years, Your Grace.”

“Well, I was sorry to hear of her passing, despite her misguidance. It is always tragic when young children are left behind.”

Aunt Agnes cleared her throat. “Yes, but I have raised Juliet as my own.”

Though I longed to disagree, I supposed, in many ways, she was no harder on me than she was on her own sons. Except for the strength of her grip on my inheritance. Hugh and Robert at least did not suffer that.

Clenching the napkin in my lap, I could feel the force of the duke’s gaze upon me. I did my best to ignore him, answering the way I knew Aunt Agnes expected. “I have been very fortunate. My aunt has taken me and my brother in with the utmost charity.”

“You have a brother?” The dowager swirled her wine.

“Yes, Your Grace. Much younger than I. Harry is but eleven years of age. He is at Harrow now.” I clasped my hands together, wishing to be left alone so I might eat in peace.

“Ah, dessert at last,” the dowager said as the footmen came forward to remove our plates.

I grimaced in frustration, looking down at my uneaten dinner. Hugh leaned in. “You made the mistake of capturing the dowager’s attention.” He held out his hand and motioned it forward, low and smooth. “You must stay beneath notice. See? Look at my plate.”

“I imagine it’s an easier task when your hair isn’t red,” I grumbled as my dishes were taken away.

An hour later we were seated in the drawing room, where I had been pulled into a card game with Robert, Hugh, and Lady Ellen. I had difficulty focusing as we played. Perhaps I could blame the duke, who had taken a seat by the door and whose gaze I was having a more and more difficult time avoiding.

How long would he allow me to stew over my earlier misbehavior? His comment at dinner had assured me he hadn’t forgotten our encounter this afternoon, yet he seemed in no hurry to put me in my place. I fidgeted through the entire game, fearing the chastisement that was surely coming. But as the evening dragged on, I began to wish he would call me forward and be done with it. The wait was excruciating.

When the game drew to a close, I struggled not to huff out a breath of relief. Robert grumbled that our loss was due to my inattention, and I mumbled an apology.

Aunt Agnes came over and hovered, waiting to escort me back to my room. “Come, my dear. If you are to go riding tomorrow with Lady Ellen, you should get some rest.”

How she had come by that knowledge was beyond me, but she seemed to have ways of knowing everything that went on. Except for my encounters with the duke, I hoped.

On our way out I kept my gaze squarely focused on the back of Aunt Agnes’s dress, going almost cross-eyed from the endeavor. Perhaps we could slip out without detection. “Miss Graham, a word,” the duke said from his chair.

Aunt Agnes turned, open-mouthed, too shocked to say anything. Even she seemed cowed in his presence. “I’ll wait for you in the corridor, Juliet.” There were a thousand questions in her voice.

Quiet chatter and laughter continued on the other side of the room.

When I finally met his gaze, a shiver ran through me. There was a depth, a magnetism that made my insides tremble. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“You were quiet at the dinner table.”

I pursed my lips, measuring my words. “I said what was expected of me.”

He leaned back in his chair and set one hand on the armrest. “That was certainly not the case earlier today.”

Ah, here it was. My dismissal. The earlier shaking of my hands returned, the few bites of dinner I’d managed to take churning in my stomach. I took a step toward him, keeping my voice low despite the desperation that filled me. “I know I am no longer welcome here after the way I spoke this afternoon. I hadn’t any right to say what I did. I’ll be gone before breakfast, only please allow my aunt and cousins to stay. They should not be punished for my poor behavior.” The words spilled out of me, and my breath came heavily once I stopped.

“Are you quite finished?” he asked.

I nodded, all of my muscles cramped with tension.

“Good, because you are very dull when you apologize.” His gaze wandered before coming back to rest on me. “Good night, Miss Graham.”

Doing my best to school my shock, I curtsied, still trembling. That was all? “Good night, Your Grace.” I dared not look him in the eye, fearful he might change his mind.

And just as quickly as I’d been summoned, I was sent on my way. I padded out to the corridor to join Aunt Agnes.

“What did he want?” she demanded as soon as we were outside my room. It was the same question I’d been asking myself as we climbed the stairs.

“I do not know.” And that was true. Why exactly had he wished to speak with me?

Aunt Agnes’s expression grew wary. “Be careful not to attract undue attention, Juliet. I do not want you detracting from our purpose here.”

“No, of course not,” I murmured.

Still she scrutinized me, searching for answers I could not give. “Good night.”

“Good night,” I returned, then hastily retreated to my room before I could be questioned further.

Chapter Five

I pulled another stitch through the linen of my sampler and then checked to make sure my stitches were even. They were passable, at least.

Aunt Agnes sat to my left, in conversation with Lady Ellen’s mother and grandmother. I was trapped for the foreseeable future in a semicircle of daunting matrons and my least favorite of all womanly pursuits—embroidery.

Men had all the luck, for most of their pastimes involved the outdoors. Well, except for school. Robert and I used to argue whose lot was worse—mine, as I was stuck at home with his mother, or his, as he was buried under mounds of work at Harrow. Harry! In an instant I realized that with all that had happened yesterday, I’d never written him back. How could I have forgotten? Normally I wrote him a bit every day and then sent off a letter after I’d written several pages. And right now it was especially important that I send him a letter quickly—he needed my encouragement so desperately.

My distraction cost me. I bit off a gasp as I poked myself with the embroidery needle. Aunt Agnes shot me a severe look as I put my finger in my mouth, trying to ease the sting.

Lady Ellen walked in, her cheeks blooming with color.

“Where have you been?” the dowager duchess asked pointedly, sweeping over her granddaughter with a quick glance. After last night’s interrogation, I was more than grateful her attention was on someone else.

“I lost track of time while practicing the pianoforte,” Lady Ellen answered. She quickly pulled out her needlepoint and took the open seat next to me, keeping her gaze down. But I did not miss the air of excitement about her.

“Hmm.” The dowager’s brows knit with displeasure. Yet she turned back to Aunt Agnes, barraging her with a host of questions about Lymington Park.

I glanced at Lady Ellen and spoke quietly. “Does music always leave you blushing?”

She ducked her head, and for the first time I saw a degree of embarrassment. “Lord Everdale happened upon me as I was practicing.”

The temptation to tease her was too great. “It is strange that he never happens upon me when I am at the pianoforte. But then, I suppose I do not play as beautifully as you.” I shot her a meaningful look, and we both laughed, muffling our giggles so as not to earn the disapproval of the matrons.

Once we regained our composure, I said, “You must forgive me for teasing.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. Teasing is a welcome relief. I’ve longed for company ever since we returned from London at the close of the Season. Mother and Grandmother are always bickering, vying for supremacy. And Halstead, who used to put them in their place, has remained maddeningly absent since his accident.” She pulled the needle through her own sampler with a quick tug. “You’ve no idea what a shock it was to see him at dinner last night. And in only a moderately foul mood. Perhaps it was something Mother said during their quarrel.”

The mention of last night brought back the wave of uncertainty I’d endured the prior evening. My stomach fluttered, recalling my fear when the duke had called me over. Yet he’d let my behavior pass. His dark, brash eyes had all but robbed me of the ability to speak, filled as they were with something I had yet to decipher. Intrigue? Irritation? Or perhaps scorn? I couldn’t begin to guess.

“I’m sorry. I’ve said too much, haven’t I?” Lady Ellen said.

My head whipped up. “Not at all,” I reassured her. “Families are complicated at best. Why, after our three-hour carriage ride here, I was quite prepared to disown both of my cousins. Though, if you are inclined toward Hugh at all, perhaps I’ll hold off.” Staring down at my sampler, I realized my last few stitches were uneven. I grunted in frustration.

Lady Ellen glanced over at her mother, keeping her voice low. “It is strange, I admit. While my mother never said as much, I’d be a fool not to know the purpose for which you were invited as our houseguests. I had rather set my mind against your cousin . . .”

“But?” I prodded. The more time I spent with Lady Ellen, the more certain I was that we would remain friends no matter what happened between her and Hugh.

“But he is nothing like I expected, not nearly as stoic or staid as some of the other earls and barons Mother has introduced me to.” She gave me a genuine smile. “What is he like at home?”

I shot her a pointed look. “Think for a moment about whether you really wish me to answer truthfully.” I turned back to my needlework, holding it toward the light of the window.

“Oh yes.” Lady Ellen moved to the edge of her seat. “Do tell.”

I looked up, thoroughly enjoying her attentiveness. “Hugh . . . well, he detests serious conversation. That is not to say he’s incapable of it, only that he avoids it whenever possible.” Warming to the subject, I licked my lips. “He prefers to make a joke of everything. Why, we’ve rarely talked of anything of consequence in the nine years I’ve lived at Lymington Park. For the first few years I lived there I was subject to the most horrendous pranks and what felt like endless teasing. Thankfully, that stage came to an end. At least, the pranks.”

Lady Ellen smiled. “You’ve piqued my curiosity, Miss Graham, not quelled it.”

“What are you speaking of?” the dowager asked, cutting into our conversation.

The duchess’s head lifted. “Yes, do tell.”

Lady Ellen sucked in her cheeks, all trace of her earlier merriment erased. “Miss Graham was just telling me of the journey here,” she said, lying effortlessly.

Aunt Agnes nodded. “There is an easy distance between our estates, which you’ll allow is very fortunate.”

“Yes, indeed,” Lady Ellen agreed. “No more than the course of an afternoon.”

After that, we were pulled into a conversation with the others, in which weather and fashion were the topics of choice. My eyes grew heavy with boredom, and my needlework lay in my lap, forgotten. When Aunt Agnes stood, signaling our exit, I had to mask my relief. As soon as we left the room, Aunt Agnes reached for my embroidery. I handed over my canvas, wincing as she frowned over the uneven stitches I’d forgotten to remedy.

“What will they think of us, Juliet, when you cannot even stitch properly? Your failings reflect on me, and I’ll not allow it. Nothing can put Hugh’s chances at risk.” She kept her voice low, but there was a menacing tone to her words. “You may do nothing else until you have redone these stitches and they have met with my approval.”

My fingers were sore and my back ached, but it would be fruitless to argue. Instead I gave Aunt Agnes what she wanted: submission. I bit my tongue and nodded before finding a quiet corner where I could curse aloud every time I poked my finger.

It was almost three hours later before I could claim victory. I approached Aunt Agnes with my embroidery after changing out of my dress. Perhaps my riding habit would serve as a subtle reminder that I had a prior engagement. Hopefully she would overlook any imperfections in my stitching in favor of my being on time.

Her brows furrowed as she studied my work. “Has it taken you this entire time?” she asked with an air of impatience.

I nodded meekly, not trusting myself to speak. My tongue had been far too rebellious of late.

Aunt Agnes shook her head. “This is something you should have mastered years ago, Juliet. Yet, despite all my efforts, you are still behind.” She clucked with disapproval as she handed the offending embroidery back to me. “Keep your behavior in check, and give Hugh as much time as possible with Lady Ellen. I am pleased you are becoming friends with her, but I won’t have you monopolizing her as you did this morning.”

I gave a brief curtsy, murmuring, “Yes, Lady Everdale.” No sense in giving her further opportunity to berate me.

Once I reached the stairs, I scampered down them as quickly as I dared without fear of tripping on my riding habit. I’d almost reached the bottom when a shrill voice rang out from above me. “Juliet, mind yourself!”

I glanced up. Aunt Agnes glared down at me from the top of the banister. Before I could answer her, I collided with someone, full force. The faint whiff of pipe smoke reached my nose, and a flash of dark hair passed through my vision before I tripped, landing at the bottom of the staircase in a heap. My tailbone yelped in protest.

The duke grunted heavily and grabbed for the railing, managing to stay upright. My position was far from ladylike, but all I could see was the look of pain that flashed across his face before he concealed his discomfort, an expression of disinterested irritation taking its place.

“Your Grace . . .” I stared up at him.

Quiet as it was, I didn’t miss the way he sucked in air through his teeth as he shifted the weight off his bad knee. “Don’t bother with another apology.” Still gripping the banister, he extended his hand to help me to my feet.

I had no wish to impose or cause him greater injury. I ignored his outstretched hand and scrambled to my feet as I tried to smooth down my skirts with an air of dignity.

“Juliet, where are your manners?” Aunt Agnes scolded, now behind me. She must have fairly flown down the stairs. “Your Grace, I am sorry.”

Flames rose to my cheeks. She intervened as if I were a child instead of a woman.

The duke turned to Aunt Agnes, his words cold and smooth. “There’s no need for you to apologize when Miss Graham is quite capable.”

Aunt Agnes stood dumbfounded for a moment, her mouth hanging open. “Yes, well . . .”

But with a lifetime of practiced superiority, he dismissed her without another glance. She waited only a moment longer before she turned away and disappeared down the corridor.

As she retreated, the duke glanced at the floor. His walking stick lay several feet away from where he stood, a casualty of our collision.

I quickly picked it up and held it out, full of contrition. His hand brushed mine as he took the stick, and a small jolt shivered up my arm. “I assure you it was an accident.”

A shock of his almost-black hair fell over his stern brows. “Yes, it seems there is no other way with you, Miss Graham. Always accidents. Do you ever do anything with intention?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” I raised my chin with a hint of defiance. “When given the opportunity to do so, I apologize.”

A vein pulsed in his neck, and if I didn’t know better, I’d have believed he was trying to keep his amusement in check. I bit my cheek to hide the smile that threatened to appear.

“You are going riding?” he asked. “With Ellen and the others?”

“Yes.”

“You are late.” It was not a question. “Another bad habit of yours?”

I met his gaze squarely. “Yes.”

A flicker of interest lit his eyes as he studied me for a long moment, his head angled as if he were appraising me. “If you can manage punctuality for once, meet me at Roecliffe Chapel tomorrow at four.”

My brows arched toward my hairline. That was the last thing I might have expected.

“I thought to give you a tour—before you had a chance to trespass.” His face held no humor, yet I sensed a degree of pleasure in his words, as if he enjoyed teasing me about our previous two meetings.

My mouth formed a surprised O, and a warmth crept up my neck, spilling onto my cheeks. I could not fathom what might have possessed him to extend such an invitation after the tongue-lashing I’d given him yesterday afternoon. And after I’d nearly bowled him over just now.

He cocked his head to the side, his manner indifferent. “I see. You prefer to take your chances with our ill-tempered rector, then?”

“No, no,” I rushed to say. “It’s not that. I was only surprised at the invitation.”

“Then, I suggest you agree before I change my mind.”

I nodded. “Yes, of course I’ll come.” My stomach rolled as though I’d just climbed aboard a ship.

“At four tomorrow, then. Don’t be late.”

I nodded again, resuming muteness.

He placed his cane upright and used it for balance as he released his hold on the banister, the slightest grimace marring his features. We stood just a foot apart, so close the faint and comforting smell of pipe smoke reached me. My breath hitched as his dark sable eyes searched mine, making me warm and cold all at once. “Good afternoon, Miss Graham.”

“Your Grace,” I said, my breath ragged. I dipped a curtsy and then hurried out to the stables to meet the others.

Chapter Six

The reins sat loosely in my hands as I rode beside Lord Aberdeen. It was a perfect autumn day, the strength of the sun working to warm the crisp afternoon air. Though my wool riding habit kept my body warm enough, the cold air chilled my face, and if the faces of my riding companions were any indication, my nose was probably quite red.

If only the company were a little better. Lord Aberdeen was a perfect gentleman, but I’d grown weary of him asking if I was fatigued or if there was anything he could do to assist me. Especially when it was all he could do to keep astride his own mount.

“Shall we turn back?” Lady Ellen called from up ahead.

Tightening the reins, I brought my horse to a stop. Lord Aberdeen pulled up beside me, his every muscle taut as he struggled to keep his beast in check. “If we don’t head back now, we won’t be back in time to dress for dinner.”

I glanced heavenward at his response, trying to mask my annoyance while yearning to go on. Thankfully, the beautiful countryside more than made up for my tiresome companion. The breathtaking azure sky was a brighter blue than any painting. Large red- and orange-leaved trees dappled the landscape as the hills heralded the autumn months. Life back at Lymington Park, with all its cares and worries, seemed a world away. Out here in the fresh air, with nature’s splendor surrounding me, it seemed not to matter that Robert wanted more than I could give or that Aunt Agnes was constantly nagging me or even that my birthday and impending freedom was still almost two months away.

“I confess I am not hungry,” I said as my horse lipped at some of the fallen leaves, patiently awaiting our decision.

Hugh brought his horse around to face the group. “Neither am I, but Mother will be furious if we are late for dinner, though that might make tonight’s meal a good deal more amusing, for she shall try to hide it.”

Lady Ellen frowned. “My mother would be upset as well. They have no sympathy for our enjoyment.”

“It is settled, then.” Lord Aberdeen looked relieved and quickly urged his horse toward the castle.

I gently tugged the reins to the left, urging my horse to follow. Watching Lord Aberdeen ride so slowly and with his back so stiff pained me. Even the horse seemed disappointed at the slow pace of his rider. And etiquette demanded I match his speed. I stifled a groan of frustration, hating that a pleasure I loved so dearly and was so often denied should be squandered.

A wild urge struck me. “Let’s race.” I looked back, anxious to convince Hugh and Lady Ellen of the necessity of my idea.

“Juliet,” Hugh warned.

“Oh, please, these hills are perfect.” I turned to Lady Ellen, whom I suspected might be more sympathetic to my cause. “The matrons may determine what time we appear for dinner, but certainly we shall not let them dictate the manner of our arrival.” Despite the recklessness of my words, I determined Aunt Agnes would not learn of this escapade.

Lady Ellen grinned. “No, we shall not. A race, then. Shall we put a wager on it?”

I nodded with enthusiasm. Lord Aberdeen looked bewildered, and Hugh just shook his head, laughing.

Lady Ellen pursed her lips together as she formulated a proposal. “What about this? The last one to the stables must sit by my brother in the drawing room this evening, should he grace us with his presence.”

A look of terror crossed Lord Aberdeen’s face, and I almost laughed aloud.

“I am game,” Hugh said, gathering the reins.

“As am I.” I smoothed Buttermilk’s tawny mane, hoping he wouldn’t let me down. So far he had responded to my every whim.

Before Lord Aberdeen could mount a protest, Lady Ellen shouted, “Go!”

I was off at once, for I’d been ready, anxious to give Buttermilk his head. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lord Aberdeen falter for a moment, his horse stilted by his stiff posture, and Lady Ellen and Hugh rode past him. It appeared the race would be only among the three of us. I pushed my foot into my horse’s side, wanting to get as great a lead as possible. The hillside thundered with the pounding of hooves.

I leaned down over my horse as we gained speed, just paces ahead of the other two competitors. The wind tangled the loose tendrils of my hair and chilled my lungs, but I smiled, enjoying the exhilaration of the competition.

“I am gaining on you, Miss Graham!” Lady Ellen yelled; she was closer than I thought.

“And I am gaining on you, Lady Ellen!” Hugh called from a little farther back.

We were about halfway back to the stables when we began the incline that led up to the castle. Though my horse had proven adequate up until now, once we began the ascent, I could immediately tell that the other two horses were better bred, for Buttermilk’s pace slowed considerably. I grunted in frustration as Lady Ellen drew even with me and then pulled ahead. A moment later, Hugh did the same.

No matter how I tried to encourage Buttermilk, he kept a steady pace, refusing to heed my pleas for speed as we crested the hill. If Harry were here, I knew he’d find my situation—and my frustration—quite amusing. By the time I arrived at the stables, Hugh and Lady Ellen had already dismounted.

“Ah, Juliet. How nice of you to join us,” Hugh teased, his cheeks chapped and his eyes bright. Lady Ellen gave him an appreciative glance.

A groom approached, and I let him help me down and lead Buttermilk away. I gave the horse’s rump a gentle whack to show my disapproval. “I demand another horse the next time we race.”

Lady Ellen laughed.

“You knew!” I accused her. “You knew and didn’t say anything!”

“Hugh told me you were inexperienced, and Buttermilk is the steadiest horse we have.”

“Steadily slow,” I said under my breath, whirling to confront Hugh. “Inexperienced?”

He held up his hands in protest. “It was just a bit of fun. Be a sport.”

I shook my head, turning back to Lady Ellen. “And after what I confided in you this morning! You should never have believed him.”

“Ah, I see,” Hugh said. “The ladies have been talking behind my back.”

Lady Ellen’s mouth twitched, but she kept her gaze on me. “In my defense, I certainly did not know we would be racing.” Her blue eyes sparkled from the exercise.

I took a deep breath and smoothed my riding habit. “At least Buttermilk had the decency to help me beat Lord Aberdeen.”

Hugh lifted a hand and waved, still chuckling. “Here he comes now.”

“I admit I feel a little sorry,” Lady Ellen said as she straightened her hat. “I knew he would come in last, and it only made me enjoy the race all the more. It is hard to imagine which of the gentlemen will have a harder time of it this evening.”

I shook my head, laughing despite myself. “Perhaps you and Hugh deserve one another.”

Lord Aberdeen rode up, jostling horribly from side to side and looking quite winded for the slow pace he’d taken. I held back a laugh.

Hugh extended his arm to escort Lady Ellen inside, and she motioned for us to follow. “Come. Dinner—and our mothers—await.”

That evening I sat near Lady Ellen as the men filed into the drawing room. Hugh came in and took a seat beside us, and we all shared discreet looks as the duke took a seat near the fire. Lord Aberdeen waited just outside the door, his shoulders rising and falling as he inhaled and exhaled—gathering courage, evidently. He turned around, and for a moment it looked as though he had lost his nerve. Struggling to keep a straight face, I glanced over at the duke. He caught my eye and angled his head in question.

Just then Lord Aberdeen approached, stepping forward with squared shoulders. His face had gone white; he rather looked as though he’d been sentenced to the guillotine. Apparently his sense of honor had forced him to comply with the outcome of our race this afternoon. For that, I could at least respect him.

He pointed toward an open seat next to the duke. “May I, Your Grace?” The slight tremor in his voice carried across the room.

The duke looked up, a flash of annoyance crossing his face before he motioned his agreement. His brows settled deeply over his eyes, as if he expected to be displeased with the conversation before it even began. As Lord Aberdeen took his seat, I felt the tiniest wave of regret at the outcome of the race, wishing to be seated by the duke myself. There was a part of me that was drawn to the man—intrigued by the way he always left me wondering what he might do or say next. I found myself looking forward to tomorrow’s excursion more than I’d expected.

Lord Aberdeen cleared his throat several times. “I had the pleasure of riding with your sister, Lady Ellen, this afternoon, from three until five o’clock.”

The duke’s grip on his cane tightened, and I sat on the edge of my seat, for a moment fearing he might use it. “I see,” he said at last. “Well, one must certainly never ride past five.”

I fought back the urge to laugh.

Lord Aberdeen shook his head vehemently. “No, Your Grace.”

I allowed myself to breathe, grateful the duke seemed content to use sarcasm and wit rather than his cane. But my gaze was drawn toward him for the remainder of the evening, and as much as I tried to convince myself otherwise, I knew it was because of more than my amusement in watching him flay Lord Aberdeen. Never had a man so fascinated me.

Chapter Seven

The bells rang the four o’clock hour as I hurried along the path toward Roecliffe Chapel. After playing lawn bowls for the entirety of the morning, I’d penned a few lines to Harry and then fallen asleep. I had napped longer than planned and was now in danger of being late. The loud clanging of the bells pushed me forward, quickening my steps.

Though I had no great sense of direction, the chapel proved easy to find. I came around a bend in the path, and a large structure appeared before me—the towering stone spires and gothic windows made it recognizable at once. My stomach swooped as a wave of nervousness overtook me. Why was I here? What on earth had the duke meant by inviting me? But there was no time to consider. Hurrying up the stone steps, I pushed open the large cherrywood door and stepped through the vestibule into the chapel.

The duke sat on one of the benches near the back, but before I could open my mouth to greet him, my gaze halted on the vision before me.

I walked up the aisle slowly, completely immersed in my surroundings. Instead of the expected dark interior, the walls were a brilliant white, washed in light from the stained-glass windows. The windows themselves were breathtaking, intricately and beautifully designed in an array of colors through which the setting sun shone. All this served to draw my eyes upward, toward the magnificent wooden ceiling; it was stained a warm russet color and supported by a display of smaller crisscrossing beams in the shape of flowers, all in soft curves and bends that highlighted the elegant arch of the building.

Its beauty held me captive. “Oh my,” I breathed.

“I am glad you appreciate the chapel’s splendor, despite your paternal heritage,” the duke said from his seat, though his voice held no rancor.

“Is there anyone who does not?” I asked, refusing to be goaded. My awe had taken me all the way to the front of the chapel. I turned back, noting the pleased expression on his face.

He shrugged. “There are many who take it for granted.”

I walked down the aisle, the clap of my shoes on the stone echoing through the empty sanctuary. The duke motioned for me to take a seat on the wooden pew next to him. I took the proffered seat, leaving plenty of distance between us. His proximity the other day, even for the briefest moment, had done strange things to my insides. Today I was determined to keep my guard up.

I tilted my head back, my gaze again drifting upward. “The ceiling reminds me of a ship.”

“A ship?” His forehead wrinkled.

“My father used to take me down to the shipyards when I was young. I remember being amazed at the intricacy and detail of the wood and how tightly the planks fit together. It seemed an incredible feat that those joints could keep out an ocean of water. This ceiling reminds me of those ships—not any ordinary ship, of course. One fit for a king.” I glanced sideways. “Or a duke, I suppose.”

He leaned his head back, looking up at the ceiling. One side of his mouth lifted, as if he fought the temptation to smile. “I’ll have something new to think about the next time I attend services.”

Before I could measure their wisdom, my words escaped me. “And when will that be?” I was struck by the oddity of this exchange, our first cordial conversation. We had never even been formally introduced. The solitude of the room and the muted sunlight seemed to have cast a spell around us.

He shook his head. “You aren’t the first to ask. I haven’t attended for . . . for almost two years.”

Perhaps his absence at church coincided with the timing of his accident, but I forbade myself from asking, fearing it would touch a nerve, when I wanted the accord between us to last.

We sat in silence for several minutes, heads back as we stared upward, before my curiosity overwhelmed me. “Is it the chapel?” I finally asked.

“The chapel?” One brow lowered as he turned to meet my gaze.

“That quells your sarcasm and cutting insults?”

He laughed a deep-chested laugh that reverberated through the large room and seemed to vibrate through me as well. “Yes, perhaps that’s it. Perhaps my fear of offending God is greater than my desire to—how did you put it the other day?—‘mock and scorn those who do not share my fate.’”

“Is that what I said?” I asked in a small voice. Somehow, sitting there next to the duke, whose presence seemed to fill every room he entered, even one as spacious as this, I could not imagine myself saying such a thing.

“That and more.” He set his walking stick on the bench and turned toward me, eliminating some of the precious space between us. “And you did not speak. You shouted.”

“Well, I—”

He slid one of his hands down the back of the bench, almost touching my shoulder. I squirmed, my heart beating double its regular pace. “And yet here you are now, speechless. It seems the church has a calming effect on us both.”

My heart was anything but calm, and the pulse of blood throbbed in my neck. Doing my best to mask my reaction to his proximity, I nodded. “So it would appear.”

He dropped his arm down to his side, and the tension eased. “Perhaps if we went outside, things would be more interesting.”

I laughed softly. “Perhaps. But first you promised me a tour, and unless you want me trespassing in the future, I suggest you give it to me now.” I moved to stand and then realized how demanding I must sound. “If you please, Your Grace.”

Picking up his cane, he used the bench to ease himself up. “None of that. After the way you spoke to me the other day, your respectful use of address seems a mockery.”

I bit my lip, for what could I say to that?

“At least forgo my title and call me Halstead.” His expression was difficult to read.

I shook my head. “I am not sure I could.”

He came a step closer. “Even if I said please?”

My mouth dropped open as I marveled at this change in him. “I very well might faint if you said please, but I could not be so informal, Your Grace.” I was still the daughter of a sailor, after all.

He frowned, but the rays coming in the window lightened his eyes to a warm umber color.

I turned away, afraid of getting lost in them. “Where should we start?”

“Let’s begin in the south transept.”

We walked over to the font. I showed sufficient awe over its splendid marble and the cinquefoiled arcading on each side, and though he tried to conceal it, I could tell the duke was pleased. For the tour, at least, we were a well-matched pair. My curiosity met his love of architecture, art, and history, and we spent well over an hour examining the carved monuments and the numerous paintings adorning the chapel.

At times, as I asked questions, I felt him studying me, scrutinizing me as if I were a piece of the artwork that graced the walls. It made me blush and stumble over my words, yet he remained patient and undemanding. The mockery I expected was noticeably absent. His wit was no less sharp, but today it was applied to fascinating explanations and enthralling anecdotes. There was no time to ponder on this alteration in his temperament as he led me through the chapel’s many splendors. I could have listened to him for hours, and I timed my step to his, enjoying the leisurely manner of our tour.

“What is that?” I asked, stepping into one of the alcoves along the back wall, where there was a small pockmark in the ornamentation. I reached out my hand, feeling the unnatural circular groove that scarred the otherwise perfect trimming.

“We have the parliamentarians to thank for that. Shaldorn Castle came under siege during the civil war in the sixteen hundreds. Roecliffe Chapel was one of the casualties of their cannon shot. Sometimes loyalty comes at a cost.”

For a brief moment, I thought of my mother and what loyalty had cost her, but I pushed the thought away. I looked around at what I deemed perfection, trying to imagine the horrors of war taking place here. “Was it badly damaged?”

He nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. The chapel stood in a grave state of disrepair for many years. It wasn’t until my father inherited the dukedom that repairs were undertaken.” He looked upward, wonder filling his expression. “Perhaps that is why it holds such a place in my heart—I watched the entire restoration unfold as a boy.”

The tenderness in his voice revealed the slightest fracture in his hard-edged exterior, allowing me to imagine him as a young boy, watching the repairs with excitement and awe. “And why was this not repaired as well?”

He shook his head, touching the groove made by cannon shot. “I am not sure. Perhaps, in this out-of-the-way spot, it was just overlooked. But I like it as it is—it serves as a reminder of the chapel’s history.”

A smile stole across my face, his affection for the place catching hold of me.

As we concluded, the sun slipped out of sight. The room, so light just a moment before, filled with shadows. “Perhaps that is our cue,” I suggested.

“We’d best get back,” he agreed.

I followed him outside, feeling suddenly ill at ease as the evening’s cold breeze assaulted us. The chapel had seemed a haven of sorts, a safeguard against our baser natures, and now, outside, I was afraid we would return to the way we’d been before. Several bronzed leaves broke off a tree branch and swirled by.

The duke glanced at me. “Can I offer you a ride back? You are not properly dressed for the walk home.”

I rubbed my gloved hands up and down my arms, where my thin dress provided little protection against the chill. “That would be much appreciated. It was a good deal warmer when I set out this afternoon.” I followed him around the back of the chapel, where a gig stood waiting.

He set his walking stick in the gig. And then, in a rather painstaking process, the duke slowly climbed up. Just as he’d almost transferred his weight to the seat, a small slip of his knee made him lose his grip. He cursed loudly, and the horse gave a nervous start. I hurried to grab the horse’s bridle, seeking to calm him with quiet whispers. Keeping my gaze averted, I gave the duke the space I sensed he needed. He grunted as he positioned himself on the seat.

“I have him now,” he said tersely once he had the reins in hand. I approached the gig so he could help me up into the seat beside him. He pulled me up with such easy strength that I exerted almost no effort, leaving me to wonder if with his bad leg he’d gained commensurate strength in his arms.

Seated next to him, I felt the chill of the air fade at once. Heat seemed to radiate from him in such close quarters; never had a gig seemed so small. Seeing how his legs extended to the length of the footrest, I noticed for the first time how tall he was. I shivered from something besides the cold, and he turned to me, his face still stern. “I want to get you back before you freeze.”

I nodded, hugging myself as we began to move. The easy conversation we’d shared during the tour had fled, replaced by a stilted silence. Seeking to lighten the darkness of his mood, I felt compelled to speak. The horse hitched to the gig seemed as good a topic as any. “You have impressive stables, sir. I have never seen so many fine horses.”

He looked ahead, still silent. The only sound was the clop of the horse hooves down the path.

Feeling the burden of conversation resting squarely on my shoulders, I continued. “Of course, I was not so fortunate as to be given one of the fine ones when I rode out with your sister yesterday.”

Finally, he turned toward me, forgetting his brusque manner. “Oh? Which horse were you given?”

I kept my face devoid of expression to give what I said greater emphasis. “Buttermilk.”

“Ellen had you ride Buttermilk? Whatever for?” He flicked the reins, and the horse picked up its pace.

“Oh, I don’t quite know. Perhaps she didn’t think I was a proficient rider. Though in Buttermilk’s defense, he did splendidly until our race.”

“Buttermilk, racing?” He shook his head. “Now, that I cannot imagine.”

“Do try. Despite my every effort to urge him to victory, he would not be hurried. I showed very little patience for his lack of competitive spirit and even reduced myself to begging, but to no avail. We came in third.”

“Then you must have had a great deal of luck. You do realize Buttermilk’s customary role is for use by young children as they learn to ride?”

I turned to him, open-mouthed, for Lady Ellen had conveniently forgotten to reveal that.

His mouth quirked; he was probably imagining the ridiculous race.

Continuing on at a quickened pace, the gig turned around a bend in the path just as a small jut made one of the wheels catch. I jolted forward, quickly losing my seat before the duke’s arm went around my waist and righted me. He looked me over, his hand still resting just above my hip. “Are you all right?”

I gulped. “Yes, of course,” I said, though my breathing said otherwise. Our unfortunate tilt seemed to have stolen my composure. I sought to fill the silence and cover my own awkwardness. Looking straight ahead, I shifted a little, and his hand slid from my waist. “I was grateful to Buttermilk for at least not making me come in last. Poor Lord Aberdeen had that unfortunate distinction.”

The duke gritted his teeth. “I am ashamed to call that man a relation. He hounded me last night for an insufferable amount of time.”

Discomfort bubbled up within me, manifesting itself in the form of a laugh. Once I began it was impossible to stop. The vision of the well-bred but tedious Lord Aberdeen trying with little success to make conversation with the foreboding duke was too much. Soon tears formed, and through my blurred vision I saw the duke eyeing me with apprehension.

“I am sorry,” I said at last, holding my stomach. “I fear my behavior is less than ladylike.”

“It happens so regularly I have already become accustomed to it.” His mouth lifted in a sardonic smile. “Though I am curious why you should find Lord Aberdeen’s leechlike tendencies so amusing.”

I fought back a smile of my own. A small feeling of remorse wormed through me, though it was difficult to tell which party was more deserving of my pity—the duke or Lord Aberdeen. We approached the west entrance of the castle, and the duke pulled the gig to a stop.

“You had something to do with it, didn’t you?” he asked. His voice was soft, but something in it set me on edge. All traces of my former humor vanished.

In the muted evening light his dark eyes shone like a dagger, and the truth tumbled out of me under the force of his scrutiny. “The loser of the race had to spend the after-dinner hours at your side,” I admitted.

Only once I spoke the words out loud did I realize how awful they sounded.

The duke’s face remained impassive except for a slight tightening around his mouth. “Is my company so terrible, then?” he asked, the harsh timbre from our first encounters, which I remembered all too well, returning.

“I didn’t mean . . . it’s only that you’re so brash. So rough. It wasn’t—” Guilt gripped my chest.

“Answer me.”

His demand made me flinch. I took hold of the dashboard and began to climb down from the gig without aid, looking over my shoulder as I stepped down. The duke scooted forward and set his hand on my elbow. I dared one glance toward him. His jaw was clenched and tight. In every way he looked the part of the arrogant and callous duke. And yet, in the church . . .

Now his face rested just inches from my own, and his stormy eyes searched mine in an indecent manner. Outwardly, I froze. Inside, however, something in me stirred, a consuming heat that flowed through my limbs and left my head spinning.

“Answer me,” he repeated, his voice almost a growl.

It was his absolute expectation that I obey that pushed me over the edge. I wrenched my elbow free of his grip, chest heaving. “You cannot force me. I will not be ordered about, even if you are a duke,” I said, quickly alighting before turning on my heel and racing up the steps.

Chapter Eight

The duke did not appear at dinner that evening. Though the dining table was still full, there was a marked difference, a certain languor in the room without him. I felt a strange mixture of guilt and anger, but his absence only heightened my annoyance, for as the duke, he could easily sidestep company, while I could not.

I struggled to make conversation, feeling restless and distracted. When dinner was finished the ladies made their way into the drawing room, and I took a seat in an isolated corner. Aunt Agnes would be sure to scold me later, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

My toes tapped beneath my skirts, the evening before me seeming to stretch into certain tedium. Aunt Agnes sat near the duke’s mother and Lady Ellen, no doubt extolling Hugh’s many virtues. The thought amused me; Lady Ellen was not the type to allow others’ opinions to influence her own.

When the men came in, Robert found me at once. “Juliet, what is wrong tonight? You’ve hardly said a word all evening, and now I find you off in this lonely corner.” He pulled out a chair from an empty table and sat down beside me.

I looked up, heaving a sigh. “No, I am not quite myself tonight, am I?”

His green eyes that I knew so well creased in concern. “One of your headaches?”

Touched, I shook my head. “Not tonight.” For once my mood had nothing to do with his mother.

He gestured over to the serving cart. “Let me bring you some tea.”

I nodded listlessly. As much as his concern meant, not everything could be fixed with a cup of tea. I rather wished to be alone. The thought of making conversation for the next hour was painful. He returned with a cup of tea prepared just the way I liked it—with a small bit of cream and one spoonful of sugar. He held it out to me, eager to please.

Robert’s attentions lifted my spirits a little. I appreciated his steadiness, his stability. Since our arrival at Shaldorn, it felt as though I had been sailing in uncharted waters. Robert was, in many ways, like a reliable first mate, someone who could always be counted on.

“Now, tell me what troubles you. I haven’t seen you this quiet since . . . well, since you first came to stay with us, after your father died.” He gave me a brief smile, his way of apologizing for mentioning my father.

I held the teacup near my face and let the steam warm my skin. For no reason at all, loneliness crept through me. “It hits me at the strangest times, you know. Just this afternoon something reminded me of him.” I bit my lip, a vision of the chapel ceiling’s magnificent woodwork filling my mind. “Will it ever stop, do you think? Will there come a time when I forget to miss him?”

As if in answer to my question, Harry’s image settled in my mind. He resembled my father so much it sometimes hurt to look at him.

Robert sat forward, resting his arms on his legs. “I must admit, I do not miss my father the way you miss yours. But he and I were never particularly close. I cannot imagine a time when you will not miss your father, Juliet. So much of how you see the world and how you think comes from him.”

To have someone who understood me so thoroughly was a comfort. I let out a breath, taking a sip of my tea. “I think I am a little homesick tonight.”

“For Lymington Park?” He frowned and relaxed his shoulders. “I thought you liked the castle.”

“I do, of course. I just . . .” My feelings were difficult to explain, even to myself. I did feel homesick, but not for Lymington Park. I had felt off-balance ever since Harry had been sent away to Harrow. He was all I had, and I yearned for us to be together. But it was more than that. I missed the sense of belonging I’d had when my parents were alive. And perhaps the simplicity of my life when I’d been a young and carefree girl.

I took a small sip and set my tea down on the side table next to my chair, anxious to change the subject. “I heard from Harry a few days ago. I worry about him. He seems unhappy.” Guilt plagued me. Though I had written him a few lines, I still hadn’t sent off a letter.

Robert set a light hand on my forearm, warmth lighting his expression.

“Robert,” I warned, keeping my voice low. “You must be careful in company.” Dozens of little affectionate touches over the past half year came to mind. I’d mistaken them as innocent regard between almost-siblings, but now I could see that to him they were much more.

“I’m sorry.” He drew back in disappointment. “It was unintentional. I only wished to express my concern.” He schooled his features, hiding any trace of frustration.

But my own frustration surfaced. He had promised to be patient. How could he expect me to welcome his attention when I hadn’t yet had time to examine my own feelings?

“Is there something specific that has given you cause for concern?” he asked, breaking through my thoughts.

“No, not exactly. He hasn’t mentioned anything beyond teasing. It’s only that he hasn’t sounded like himself in his last few letters.”

Robert frowned. “Shall I reach out to the headmaster at Harrow?”

I considered for a moment before nodding. “Yes, I would like that. I think Harry misses me. He said as much in his last letter. I wish your mother would listen to me and allow him to stay at home and study with a tutor.”

“Mother is very set in her ways.” He shrugged. “She thinks Harrow is the best choice for him.”

“But she doesn’t know him as I do.” Or love him the way I do. “Besides, my birthday is less than two months away. Once I turn twenty-one and his guardianship passes to me, I shall have the freedom to make those decisions and will ensure his schooling is done at home anyway; it makes sense to begin now.”

Robert rubbed the back of his neck, a sure sign of discomfort. “We have discussed this before, Juliet. You must tread carefully. I know you and Mother don’t always see eye-to-eye, but you are still reliant on her good will. And we are your only family. That won’t change once you come of age.”

I inhaled sharply, miffed. The way he worded it almost sounded like a threat. “That may be, but I refuse to stay under your mother’s thumb forever. Why do you always take her side?” The ache for freedom welled up inside me.

“It is not a matter of sides to be taken. I know Mother can be forceful, but she means well. If you were a little more pliant, I do not think she would come across so harshly.”

“But—”

“Wait a moment and let me finish.” He turned all of his attention on me. “Juliet, if you but say the words, your situation could be altered. You would be my wife, no longer a destitute relative dependent on your mother’s sister.” He held his hands out in front of him, almost like an invitation. “And we could make a decision about Harry together.”

For a moment I was tempted by the offer of having Robert on my side, an ally against his mother . . . someone to share my concerns and cares about Harry with.

But just as quickly I began to feel confined, as if my future was closing in on me. This conversation had gone all wrong. I knew no other way to right it than to be direct. “Robert, you promised to give me space. Some time to think.”

He bowed his head. “I know, and I am sorry. But I could make you so happy, Juliet, if only you would let me.”

Before responding, I let his words seep into me, considering them carefully. Could Robert make me happy? I imagined our future, him as the vicar of Lymington Park’s small parish and me as his wife. I wasn’t sure I had ever truly been happy at Lymington Park. Would that change if I agreed to marry Robert? The question brought no clarity, only confusion. A dull throbbing began in my temples. I lowered my eyes. “Time. I need time.”

His mouth tightened, and he gave me a fierce look. Finally, he nodded, bringing his hands down in his lap. “Very well.” He changed the subject, apparently trying for goodwill between us. “How did you pass this afternoon?”

I kept my gaze trained on my lap. “I took a tour of the chapel.” I was purposefully vague, hoping he wouldn’t ask for more details.

“Oh? With whom?” He picked up his teacup and took another sip.

“The duke.” The words were barely more than a whisper.

“What?” Robert very nearly sprayed his mouthful of tea across the room. “Please, explain how that came about.”

“I . . . passed him in the corridor yesterday, and he offered.”

Robert’s gaze was trained on me with a startling ferocity. Could he possibly be jealous? It was still difficult for me to adjust to this new Robert—I had seen sides to him these last few weeks I hadn’t known existed.

“The chapel was lovely, of course,” I said, trying to sound unaffected. “Lots of history, beautiful statues.” Unbidden, a smile pushed its way free. “Wait until you see the ceiling.”

Robert pursed his lips. He set his tea aside. “The ceiling? What is so marvelous about the ceiling?”

“Wait and see. I will show you on Sunday,” I promised, unable to stop myself from wondering whether the duke would be at services.

“And the duke?” he asked. His hands clenched together, white at the knuckles. “Was there a particular reason he invited you to tour the chapel?”

“I really haven’t the faintest idea.” I coughed in an attempt to hide the break in my voice. “I have shown a great deal of interest in the castle and grounds. Perhaps his grandmother forced him into it, since she knew my mother.”

“Yes, perhaps,” he agreed, unconvinced.

A strange stiffness settled between us. The confidences we had always shared now seemed elusive, and our easy conversation slipped away. Was it my fault? Had I allowed his declaration of affection to ruin our friendship? The thought brought me an acute sense of misery.

Hugh and Lady Ellen sat across the room, embroiled in a game of vingt-et-un. Their relationship seemed to be moving forward at a steady pace—so different from Robert’s and mine. We were on a path fraught with difficulty. Perhaps I should ask Hugh for advice. He knew Robert better than anyone, and I could at least count on him to be honest with me, whether or not I liked his opinion. Heaven knew I needed someone to help me sort myself out.

Chapter Nine

On Sunday morning gloomy gray clouds hung in the sky, seemingly close enough to touch. I skipped breakfast, feeling out of sorts with everyone, though it was no one’s fault but my own. The last few days had left me heavy with guilt, and I’d begun to regret my thoughtless admission about the horse race and my hasty escape from the duke. But he remained noticeably absent, and no opportunity to apologize had yet presented itself.

I sat at the window seat in my room, looking over the countryside surrounding the castle. The hills were covered in a smoky mist, and the ashen skies felt as somber as my mood. Tired of my own dreariness, I pulled out my ongoing letter to Harry, which had remained neglected the last few days, and added a new entry.

It is my dearest hope that by the time you receive this letter from me, you will have finally started to settle in and make friends. Ignore the ne’er-do-wells who tease and mock, and remember what father used to say: “Choppy water is better than a smooth sea, for at least your guard is up.”

Shaldorn Castle is just as grand and wonderful as you might imagine. Here is my latest tally of droll occurrences from my stay thus far, to make you laugh:

- Betsy told me that belowstairs a bird got in through an open window and flew around the room while they were eating. The maids began screaming, and several dinner plates went flying in the mayhem.

- Hugh is completely besotted with Lady Ellen. Somehow his tendresse for her has impaired his hearing. Most of the time when he is with her I have to repeat anything I say.

- Last night I longed to explore the castle some more instead of being forced to dine with its guests. I was so bored at dinner I mimicked Aunt Agnes’s exact movements for five minutes straight. The pinched expression on her face is very difficult to achieve.

Contrary to Aunt Agnes’s wishes (of course!), I’ve done my level best to get us all sent home but have thus far been unsuccessful. I have made a new acquaintance, you see—one even you would be impressed with—the Duke of Halstead, and it seems I take every opportunity to offend him. I have no doubt my temper will eventually see me disgraced and sent packing. Thank the Lord that while you got Father’s looks, you inherited Mother’s disposition.

Harry, I miss you so much it hurts. You can’t imagine how happy I was to receive your last letter. Everything I see here reminds me of you, for I know you would love it. From up on the fourth floor of the castle I can see the ocean! Try to find some way to cheer yourself up—playing a good prank on one of the other boys would do you a world of good. Perhaps that bully what’s-his-name.

Chin up; you’ll think of something.

All my love,

Juliet

I signed the letter and rubbed at my forehead. Most of my words felt trite, my letter full of platitudes. But what else could I do until I turned twenty-one and had the power to act? I’d specifically avoided mentioning my plans to bring Harry home to study once I came of age and became his guardian. Doing so would only make his remaining time there more miserable. He at least needed a chance to try to settle in and make friends. I toyed with the idea of ripping the whole letter up, but I couldn’t find it in me to try again. Better to send it off and have Harry know I’d been thinking of him than send nothing at all.

I folded up the paper and set it aside, gathering my knees up to my chest and pulling my dress down to cover my ankles. Why did everything inside of me feel so amiss?

Leaning my head against the cool pane of the window, I closed my eyes. Despite my best efforts and every promise I’d made myself, I feared I was failing Harry. That forlorn look in his usually warm brown eyes as he’d left for Harrow still weighed on me.

At times like these, I missed the stars. The evenings since our arrival at Shaldorn had been cloudy and mist-filled, obscuring the night sky. But I ached to look up at them and imagine my father holding me, pointing up at the constellations, as he had when I was a young girl. He’d pull me close, combing through my hair with his wind-weathered fingers, as if he’d never let me go. I choked back emotion, trying to shut my heart against the pain of missing him.

If Father were still here, Harry wouldn’t be so far away. And I’d not be in this mess in the first place, for I wouldn’t be required to follow Aunt Agnes and my cousins around, meeting troublesome dukes.

A knock sounded at the door. “Juliet, come. We don’t want to be late for services.” Aunt Agnes sounded impatient, and I knew better than to make her wait.

Wiping at my tears, I got up from the window seat and smoothed my dress. When I opened the door and slipped into the corridor, I met with Aunt Agnes’s disapproving stare. “How can your dress already be wrinkled at this hour?” she asked, her mouth curving down into a frown.

I walked with her down the stairs, choosing not to reply, since nothing would appease her.

She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. “I have not yet had the chance to inquire about your tour with the duke.”

I coughed to cover my gasp. How had she found out? I’d told no one but Robert, but it seemed unlikely that he would pass the news on to his mother.

Clasping my hands in front of me, I prepared myself to be thoroughly interrogated on our walk to church. I was accustomed to Aunt Agnes barraging me with all sorts of questions as I gave her ample information while withholding the knowledge she actually wanted—a practice I’d perfected.

She walked quickly and spoke at the same hurried pace. “I must know: did there seem to be something he particularly wished to show you?”

“No.” I shook my head. “He merely showed me around the chapel and expounded on some of the history.”

“And he said nothing that might explain why he invited you? Had you expressed some interest in old churches he might have overheard?”

I shook my head again.

The space between her eyebrows pinched together. “What can be made of such attention?” she mused when my answer shed no light on the matter.

So her desire today was to know what interest the duke could possibly have in me, was it? Denying her desire gave me a great deal of pleasure, but the truth was even I wasn’t sure why he had sought me out. Or if he ever would again.

And that, I realized, was at the heart of my melancholy.

Our conversation drew to a close as we entered the chapel. The second time seeing it was no less enchanting than the first. The sun’s rays bathed the walls in warm light, though the colors of the stained glass were more muted at this time of day. Every turn of my head brought some memory to the surface, some story the duke had related, or the softness that had entered his eyes when he’d spoken of the chapel’s restoration. My gaze caught on the marred wood from the cannon shot.

I followed Aunt Agnes to a pew where Robert and Hugh sat and took my seat just as the rector stood. My gaze drifted to the ceiling, marveling once again at the artistry of it. I felt as though I could sit here every Sunday for the rest of my life and never grow tired of it.

Aunt Agnes elbowed me, motioning for me to stand for the hymn. I quickly rose, joining with the others in song. As the hymn came to an end, the familiar sound of wood dragging on stone made me whip my head around. There, coming down the aisle, was the duke. My heart trembled; I wanted to meet his eyes and yet feared to.

But he kept his gaze straight ahead, ignoring my stare, along with the stares of the entire congregation. The rector looked flustered and began to fiddle with his collar. He waited as the duke turned into a pew several ahead of where I stood with Aunt Agnes before he motioned for everyone to take a seat.

I knew that for the duration of the meeting I would not be able to focus. Outwardly I was all that was proper, my hands in my lap, my gaze on the pulpit. But every bit of my attention was focused with piercing scrutiny on the man a few seats in front of me. I studied his dark hair, his brief upward glances, the tightening of the muscles in his neck, trying to guess minute to minute what might be going through his mind.

The harried mixture of my own feelings confused me. One moment, seeing the hard set of his mouth, all I could feel was a burning inside, a righteous indignation at the man’s infuriating sense of entitlement. A moment later I would remember the endless patience and good humor he’d exhibited on our tour and be filled with contrition for my unwitting but mean-spirited words.

The entire hour was a maddening ordeal. The moment the service ended I was on my feet, anxious to escape the hoard of emotions that wouldn’t let me be. I eyed the door longingly, but Aunt Agnes seemed bent on speaking with everyone around us. Robert stood near the back of the chapel, in conversation with Lord Aberdeen. Hoping to catch them before they left, I started forward.

If it weren’t for the tap of his cane alerting me to his presence, I would have collided with the duke, who walked past right then. Our gazes met for the briefest moment as I stood there, unable to breathe. His dark-brown eyes, usually filled with cold scorn, were different today. Hidden behind the contempt was vulnerability . . . and something else he hadn’t wanted me to see: hurt. That was what had stolen my breath. He walked past me, leaning heavily on his cane as he made his way to the doors.

I shook my head, my chest tight. Behind all the sharp words the duke was wont to speak, I had the power to wound him. And I had.

Without stopping to think, I chased after him.

Chapter Ten

Outside, the brisk air of the late fall morning greeted me, still misty with a silvery fog that was slowly dissipating. The duke had already descended the stairs, and he moved toward his waiting carriage. I made my way down the steps as quickly as I could, but several people stepped in front of me, blocking my way. The churchgoers dispersed at a snail’s pace. Finally, I caught sight of the duke again—right as he used his cane for leverage and stepped up into the carriage.

“Cullion and coistrel,” I muttered, stomping my foot in frustration.

“My goodness.” I turned to find the dowager duchess standing right behind me, a deep maroon turban perched atop her head. She tsked with disapproval. “While I don’t know the exact meaning of those words, the way you said them makes me think they are less than appropriate for use on the Sabbath. Especially on the stairs of the church.” One gloved hand held her cane, but instead of making her look feeble, it seemed to give her an aura of power. She peered down at me with razor-sharp scrutiny.

Inwardly chastising myself, I let out a deep breath. “Excuse me, Your Grace. I did not see you there.”

“And would that have made a difference? I suppose we’ll never know.” She waved her cane forward. “Walk with me.”

I hurried after her, trying to cover my surprise. What on earth could she want, other than to lecture me on appropriate ladylike language? I glanced back toward the church, wondering what Aunt Agnes would make of my disappearance. She certainly wouldn’t assume the best.

It took me a moment to catch up to the dowager. Did she really plan on walking all the way back to the castle? I suppose it shouldn’t have surprised me, given the fact that she still went riding daily.

“Tell me, what do you think of Halstead?” She broke through my thoughts, walking much more quickly than I might have expected for someone of her age. Her cane made quick staccato noises on the cobblestone.

“Halstead?” I repeated dumbly.

“Yes, the Duke of Halstead. My grandson,” she said impatiently.

I bit the inside of my cheek. “I am not sure I am qualified to give an opinion of him, madam.”

“You are qualified because I am asking you. Now, I repeat, what do you think of him?”

I held my hands together, searching for something to say. She would see right through a lie, so I tried instead for diplomacy. “He seems . . . unhappy.”

Her thin lips turned down. “Oh, stop mincing words with me. Loosen your tongue, as you did on the steps back there.”

Her permission made my thoughts itch to free themselves. I glanced up at her and took a deep breath. “Well, if you really wish to know, I find him infuriating. He is excessively entitled. Is there anything he has wanted in his whole life that hasn’t been granted him in an instant?” Spoken aloud, the ridiculousness of my question became apparent. The man was a duke.

“Ah, there is the candor I was looking for.” She looked pleased, as if someone had just set her favorite meal in front of her. “Yes, I suppose he is unhappy.” The pleased look faded, and her mouth tightened. She was silent as we walked, as though lost in thought for a moment. A carpet of leaves crunched beneath our feet.

How I wished to know what was in her thoughts.

The dowager shook her head and returned her attention to me. “But that is the least of it. Miss Graham, I am not one to ask for favors. I am like my grandson in many respects—accustomed to getting what I want. But I find myself in need of your help.”

My eyes widened in surprise as she continued. “If you had known Halstead before his accident . . . well, he was a man with every door open to him. He possessed political power, wealth, good looks, the latter of which he of course got from me.”

I bit back a smile as I realized she was not trying to be humorous.

“He was as fine a man as you can imagine. I might even go so far as to say he was a favorite of mine.” Her words grew thick, and I didn’t imagine the sheen of emotion in her eyes. But she batted it back in an instant. “All that changed with his accident. He has been in a dark place for some time, and I am afraid he feels, as you said, entitled to stay there. But that just will not do. He is not merely a man—he is a duke. He has responsibilities. Obligations. An entire world rests on his shoulders. Everyone depends on him doing his duty.”

The words rolled off her tongue as fast as I could take them in, still leaving me clueless as to her purpose in confiding in me.

She glanced over at me, her mouth settling into a hard line. “Duty calls, Miss Graham. Next week Lord and Lady Wollerton, along with their daughter, Lady Margaret, will join us here at the castle.”

I pursed my lips in confusion. “But—”

She raised her hand to quiet me. “Just listen. A match between Halstead and Lady Margaret has been hoped for, for some time. An announcement seemed imminent before Halstead’s accident. But since then he has refused to see her, vowing he shall never marry. Can you imagine?” She made a sound of disgust. “He would allow the dukedom to pass to his cousin—the dimwitted Lord Aberdeen—because of his own stubbornness.” She shook her head and looked right at me. “It cannot be.”

At her pause, I was finally able to get a word in. “I am sorry for your difficulty. But what has this to do with me?” I tried to imagine Lady Margaret, who must be at the height of fashion, etiquette, and beauty. And likely just as accustomed to getting her way as was Halstead.

“Ah yes. Back to my point.” She looked over me as if I were a piece of fabric she was considering. “I have watched you the last few days. There’s some substance to you. I think you might be exactly what Halstead needs.”

Her words caught me off guard as I struggled to find a connection between everything the dowager duchess had told me. “You want me to convince him to marry Lady Margaret?”

She scoffed. “No, of course not. I want you to draw him out. Insult him. Make him laugh. Entertain him. Force him out of his misery.”

I shook my head. “I am sure I couldn’t force him to do anything he didn’t wish to do.”

She shook her head right back at me, a frown pulling down the corners of her mouth. “Now, that, Miss Graham, is how you expose yourself as one of lower rank. A member of nobility understands the art of persuasion. Do you think I force people to attend to my needs, wants, and wishes? No. I merely expect it of them, and they do my bidding. That”—she thrust her walking stick in my direction—“is what you must do with Halstead.”

It was tempting to ask her why she couldn’t just do it herself, then, but I bit my tongue, knowing the question would come across as impertinent. We walked in silence for a moment before the duchess turned the full brunt of her stare on me. “Well?”

The thought was tempting. I could not deny I found the duke’s company intriguing, and spending time in his presence with his grandmother’s approval would have its advantages. Yet my stomach tightened. I could never misuse his trust, even if I wanted more time with him. If the duke found out my purpose, he would be furious. Unforgiving. And I already owed him an apology for my thoughtless behavior in the racing bet. Just remembering the hurt in his eyes was enough to make my mind up.

But underneath it all was the maddening thought of my being used in such a way by the dowager; it was clear she saw me as nothing but a pawn. I met her challenging gaze with one of my own. “And when the week ends?”

She gave a nonchalant tilt of her head. “Once Lady Margaret arrives, you must make yourself scarce. We hope for Halstead and Lady Margaret to announce their engagement at the coming ball, alongside Lord Everdale and Lady Ellen.”

Just as I’d suspected. I was to be a piece in her game until she had no more need of me, at which point I would be set aside. My ire rose; aggravation filled me at her high-handed ways.

“No,” I said firmly.

“No?” she echoed, her voice full of disbelief.

I shook my head. “No. I find I am not inclined to do your bidding.”

“Do you believe yourself incapable?”

“On the contrary. I cannot imagine the duke would appreciate your interference, and though you may not approve of the ‘dark place’ he finds himself in, I certainly have no intention of interfering with his life or toying with his emotions in such a way. He hardly deserves that. You may do what you deem necessary, but I will not be caught up in the crossfire of this battle.”

She looked at me carefully for a moment. “I see.” The tone of her voice sent a chill down my spine. Wariness entered the dowager’s expression, a look that suggested I was an opponent not to be underestimated. “Well, perhaps you need only be persuaded.” She narrowed her eyes. “What would your aunt think of the unbecoming language I was subjected to on the church steps?”

I winced. Of course she would use that against me. And Aunt Agnes would be horrified, humiliated. My mind churned, looking for a way out of this tangled mess. Though I had the distinct feeling of getting in over my head, I responded with a threat of my own. “And what will the duke say to the fact that you are trying to catch him unawares with Lady Margaret’s arrival?” I raised my brows, returning her stare.

Her nose wrinkled in distaste. “I assure you, Miss Graham, you do not wish to make an enemy of me.”

I kept my posture erect, trying to appear more confident than I felt. “I am sure I do not, so please do not force me into doing so. Do not speak to my aunt on the matter of my language, and your grandson will hear nothing of Lady Margaret’s arrival from me.”

She nodded, still appraising me, though I could tell it rankled her to acquiesce.

I exhaled in relief and turned my head away. The trees thinned as we approached the castle, which looked as formidable as ever surrounded by the insistent gray fog. Chilled, even through my wool cloak, I rubbed my gloved hands together. We stayed quiet for the remainder of the walk back, the silence only broken by some of autumn’s last birds squawking overhead as they made their journey south.

At the doors of the castle, the dowager turned to face me. “I have my eye on you, Miss Graham. Do not do anything foolish. But just in case you come to your senses and change your mind, Halstead usually spends Sunday afternoons in the library.” She sucked in her cheeks, gave me one final glance, and left me standing on the top step.

My brows wrinkled in confusion. Had she really just asked me to try to rouse her grandson from nearly two years of self-imposed isolation? Did she honestly believe I would so easily do her bidding? Hugging myself against the cold, I stood on the step, hardly believing what had just transpired. My musings didn’t last long. The bitter breeze sent me scurrying inside, where a footman took my cloak.

I hurried upstairs to change. Aunt Agnes was insistent on following the rules of dressing etiquette to the letter, and if I became lazy with my appearance, she would dole out reprimands in abundance. Instead of calling for Betsy, I dressed myself, using the time to think.

Why would the dowager duchess have asked me, of all people, to try to draw the duke out? The fact that she’d even believed me capable of such a feat was flattering. For a moment I entertained the idea. Yet any chance of success seemed unlikely. So far, I’d had the exact opposite effect of drawing him out; except for his appearance at church, he’d been reclusive these past few days.

One thing was certain: my conscience demanded an apology. The more I thought about it, the more I regretted my part in the racing bet and the words I had spoken after my tour with the duke. Our afternoon in the chapel had been lovely. And perhaps I was mistaken, but I thought we had reached some sort of understanding. For a moment I’d believed we could be friends. Until my carelessness had brought the whole endeavor to a crashing halt. My stomach churned at the thought.

I changed into my black-velvet brocade, for its warmth and also because I liked the way it looked with my hair. Taking a quick glance in the mirror, I laid a hand across my stomach. I would need every drop of courage I could summon to go ask for pardon. The dowager had given me a valuable piece of information, and I intended to use it, though not for the reason she’d hoped.

Leaving the warmth of my room, I padded down the drafty corridors. The dim skies left the castle dark and shadowy, stirring the nerves in my stomach.

I approached the door to the library, remembering my last visit. It seemed so long ago, yet only a week had passed. It was difficult not to laugh as I gathered my courage just as Lord Aberdeen had done two nights past. Perhaps we had more in common than I’d like to admit. Knocking lightly, more as forewarning than to seek permission, I pushed open the door.

The room surprised me, for now, as I saw it in the muted light of day, I found it was even larger than I thought. Hundreds of books lined mahogany shelves broken up by large and ornately carved wood panels. I longed to pull each book down and examine them one by one. Surely, surely, in such a library, there was bound to be a book about stars. Likely more than one.

I pushed the thought aside, returning to my examination of the room. Plush red carpet filled the oblong space, and several large chandeliers hung from the ceiling. But for now, all the light was natural, coming from the east side of the room, where the second floor boasted an entire wall of windows. For a moment I almost forgot my purpose in coming. But the sight of the fireplace with the figurine missing from the mantel brought my resolve back, and I glanced through the room, looking for the duke.

The large room seemed empty. Perhaps the dowager duchess was mistaken. I narrowed my eyes, remembering I’d thought the same thing the last time I came. I moved methodically through the expansive library, until I pushed aside a curtain that partitioned the room from a small study. There, seated at a mahogany desk that matched the rest of the wood, sat the Duke of Halstead.

He glanced up. My breath hitched at the sight of him, still caught off guard as I was by his handsome features. The strong tilt of his jaw, his arresting dark eyes. I jutted my chin out, determined in my purpose.

“Well, well. Can you go not even one day without trespassing?” His gaze returned to the book in front of him, as if I was unworthy of more than a moment’s notice.

I clasped my hands behind my back. “I did not come to trespass. I came to speak to you.”

“If I wished to speak to you, I would summon you.” His tone of voice, his very mannerisms conveyed that I was being dismissed.

Somehow his response was perfectly calculated to rile me. “And I told you, I will not be ordered about, even if you are a duke.” I shook my head, clenching my teeth in an effort to keep my anger in check. “Let’s not quarrel,” I said, smoothing my skirts. “I came to—” I glanced up and was met with a look of aversion. “I came to apologize.”

He shifted in his seat, at last setting down his book and bringing both hands to rest on top of the desk. I hated standing before him, feeling as though I was about to have my punishment meted out.

“Go on.” He motioned with a lazy hand.

I exhaled, gathering my courage. “My tongue tumbled out of my mouth the other day, as it is wont to do when people give me such disarming glares. And I am afraid you may have come away with the wrong impression because of it.”

A flicker of interest skittered across his expression, and something inside me wanted to fan those embers into a flame. “My involvement in that racing wager was wrong. I was wrong. About your company.” My throat bobbed. “I enjoyed every minute of my time with you during our tour. I cannot remember another afternoon I’ve passed so pleasantly.” My words hung in the air. The memory of tree-climbing as a young girl surfaced, and suddenly I felt as though I stood on a limb far too thin to hold me.

One of his eyebrows lifted, offsetting the symmetry of his face. “Don’t waste your breath with falsehoods. You detest my company as much as I detest yours.”

His words stung like the prick of a thorn when one expects the beauty of a rose. My mind raced. Could it be possible that Thursday afternoon’s enjoyment had been one-sided? Had everything I felt been a farce? Or was he just being cruel, hoping to hurt me as I had hurt him? Difficult though it was I took another step forward, feeling as though the branch beneath me might snap at any moment.

“Your Grace, please—be honest.” My voice trembled, and I cleared my throat, trying to cover my vulnerability. “Was the afternoon we spent together so very loathsome?”

He yawned. “To listen to an entire afternoon of your inane chatter and uneducated questions? Yes, it was loathsome indeed.”

Moisture gathered behind my eyes. My insides felt all wrung together, and my hands began to shake. For one afternoon I’d thought I had seen something different in him, a captivating gentleness that had mesmerized me and pulled me in. But it had been nothing but an act, an attempt to cover his displeasure.

A muscle ticked in his cheek, signaling his annoyance. My brocade skirts swished behind me as I turned to go, struggling to keep my shoulders from sagging so he wouldn’t know how deeply he had wounded me. I swept past the curtain and toward the main door of the library.

Just as I set my hand on the door handle, I heard him rise, bumping against the desk. “Wait,” he said, his voice rough, as if he’d had to fight to release the word. “Wait.” The feeble sound pulsed through the library as he repeated his plea. For a moment, stillness filled the space between us. “Please.”

Chapter Eleven

Unexpectedly, the anguish within me eased a little. That quiet plea opened my heart, allowing me the briefest glimpse into a very private man—one who had closed himself off for almost two years. I could only imagine what those words must have cost him. I closed my eyes as the space between us grew fragile; it seemed the tiniest misstep might unravel the connection we shared.

“Miss Graham.” The carpet must have muted his steps, for he now stood right behind me. “Please, forgive me for my callousness. I did not mean what I said.”

Shivering even in the thick layers of my dress, I still could not turn around. So much seemed to hinge on my response, yet I could not find a way forward.

He let out a heavy sigh. “I would venture to guess that, of the two of us, I enjoyed our time together more.”

The quiet, velvet quality of his voice gave me pause, and my grip on the door handle tightened. “Do not trifle with me, Your Grace. I am not a plaything.”

“I will never trifle with you, Miss Graham. I promise.”

A small breath escaped me as I released my hold on the doorknob.

The duke stepped to the side of me. “Perhaps we could try again. Won’t you come have a seat?”

Hesitating for only a heartbeat, I turned and gave him a brief nod, keeping my gaze on the floor. He led the way, taking us over to where a large fire roared in the hearth. He motioned toward the nearest chair. “Please, sit.”

I eased into the plush green chair, the deep-seated tension in me draining away. Though there were several chairs positioned around the fire, the duke took the one right next to mine. With his bad knee, the effort required to sit seemed monumental, but his expression remained neutral. Once settled, he leaned his cane against the chair and turned to face me. All at once my hands felt awkward and out of place as they smoothed invisible wrinkles in my skirts.

“Let me apologize once more for being so boorish,” he said. His brows knit together, causing a deep furrow in his forehead.

“You were boorish,” I agreed before I could stop myself. I smiled, trying to lighten my words. “But I was rather ill-mannered as well. Perhaps we could forgive one another.” I ignored the look of surprise that crossed his face, not wanting to dwell on the subject any longer. My gaze traveled up to the windows on the second floor. “I am glad you spend a great deal of time here in the library; it would be tragic for such a beautiful room to go to waste.”

The duke’s expression softened, and he relaxed and settled back in his chair. “It is my favorite room in the castle, save for the observatory.”

I jerked my head over to look at him. “The observatory?”

He nodded. “Up in the east tower.”

“With a telescope? Where you can view the stars?”

He smiled, amused by my enthusiasm. “That is the purpose of an observatory, after all.”

“My father taught me about the stars when I was young, and ever since they have held a sort of fascination for me. I’ve always wanted to look through a telescope.”

His look darkened. “I never go up there anymore.”

“Why ever not?”

“I should think it would be obvious enough. It is in one of the towers. Up six flights of stairs.”

At that realization my stomach dropped like an anchor thrown overboard. “Oh, I am sorry, Your Grace. I did not think—”

A sound of disapproval passed his lips. “There’s no need to apologize for something that is not your fault.” He waved his hand, batting away my words. “So your father taught you about the stars, did he? I believe you mentioned he was a sailor.”

“Yes.”

“And how is it that someone of your mother’s status came to marry a Scottish sailor?” He looked at me quickly. “I mean no offense; I am only curious.”

“None taken.” I crossed my feet beneath my skirts and laid my hands in my lap. “My father was a sailor aboard the ship my mother took when she visited the Continent with her father, though my grandfather knew nothing of the attachment she had formed until much later.”

“I see. After they were married, perhaps?”

I nodded. “She knew my grandfather would never agree, so she and my father eloped to Gretna Green. I was born in Scotland a little over a year later.”

“Yet you sound English, except for when you sing.” His face remained impassive, but my cheeks flushed at the reminder of that humiliating moment.

Trying to cover my embarrassment, I gave him a small smile. “Father moved us back to England shortly after I was born. Mother hated being so far away from her family. And Father was gone on long trips, rarely ashore for more than a few weeks at a time, so he wanted her to be somewhere she felt more at home.”

“She moved back to England to be near family? I rather thought your grandfather would have disowned her.”

The duke’s interest in my family surprised me, but perhaps he was just trying to make up for his earlier rudeness. “He did. But my mother still preferred England. We moved into a small house not far from my grandparents. I think she hoped, in time, Grandfather would change his mind.”

“And did he?”

I shook my head. “No. But Aunt Agnes was willing to change hers when she fell on hard times and hoped for some of my mother’s money.”

“Your mother’s money? And here I imagined you as poor as church mice.”

“Oh we were, when I was young. But my father eventually became a captain. He obtained a letter of marque and had great success in capturing French ships during the Napoleonic Wars.”

“Ah, a state-sanctioned pirate.” A half smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “I can’t imagine that helped him earn the good graces of your mother’s family.”

“No, but the fortune he made from the prize money ultimately softened Aunt Agnes toward us.” I clamped my hand over my mouth. “I’m sorry; it isn’t ladylike to speak of money. I should watch my tongue.”

The duke shifted toward me, his knee almost brushing mine. “I like you best when your tongue is unguarded.”

Heat rose in my cheeks, and it was more than just the warmth of the fire. Somehow every compliment Robert had ever given me faded in comparison with this one.

The duke stretched out his bad leg, a slight grimace on his face. “Come now. The Miss Graham I know isn’t afraid to speak her mind. You are silent now, just like you were the other night at dinner. Even my grandmother, with all her pestering, could hardly pull a word out of you.”

I touched my cheek, almost as if I could feel Aunt Agnes’s hand imprinted there. “I’ve learned it is best to be cautious when one speaks.”

“Caution makes one tedious. Neither of us is suited for it.”

I smiled a little at that. “Think what you will, but my tongue is rather well-behaved when you are not present.”

“Because your aunt has bullied you for so long. Why do you allow it?” He shook his head. “You should speak your mind more often.”

“And use my words as a whip like you do?” My eyes widened at my own brazenness.

Yet his mouth curved up. “Ah, there’s the fire I speak of.”

“Well, it’s little wonder when you stoke it so.” I glared at him, though it soon became impossible to keep my cheeks from pushing up into a grin.

He laughed, a full expression of unchecked amusement.

“But it isn’t true. I have no fire at all when I’m around Robert.” The words tumbled out of me before the thought had even registered, but I felt the truth of them. The fire in the hearth popped, as if to accentuate the difference I felt between the two men. One was so calming, so steady. The other awakened a stormy turbulence in me that I was at a loss for explaining.

The duke’s gaze became sharp. “Robert—Mr. Nicholson—is your cousin?”

I nodded.

“The one who’s in love with you?” His eyebrow quirked up a fraction.

My mouth dropped open. “How did you . . . ?”

He slid his hand toward his knee. “For anyone who is looking, it would be hard to miss.”

I shook my head, still trying to fathom it. “Perhaps I am blind, then, for it took me by complete surprise.” The decision to reveal so much had not been a conscious one. The duke seemed able to pull truth from me with little effort. I wasn’t sure whether to be pleased to have someone in whom I could easily confide, or cautious, wary of revealing more than I ought.

He sat forward expectantly. “Tell me.”

I hedged. “Surely you do not wish to be bored by the details, Your Grace.” I bit my lip as an idea came to me. “Unless, of course, you’d care to offer some advice.”

He turned himself further toward me so we were almost facing one another. Perhaps we were not as close as I imagined, but my heart thumped wildly all the same. “I’d be glad to hear the story and offer some advice—if you promise to stop calling me ‘Your Grace.’”

“And call you Halstead?” I scoffed. “You would tease me endlessly about not being a lady.”

“Since I already do, you have nothing to lose.”

I tilted my head, considering. “Next you’ll be asking if you can call me Juliet.”

He gave me a devilish grin. “It would put us on more equal footing if I put aside my gentlemanly behavior.”

“Your mother clearly did not discipline you enough in your growing-up years.” I shot him a disapproving look.

“Oh, but she did, Juliet. And so did my governess. It did no good.”

“You’re incorrigible,” I said, loving the sound of my name on his tongue.

“You are not the first to say so. Now, let us return to this story of yours.”

I looked up, trying to decide where to begin. Suddenly I felt hesitant to share so much of myself. “Yes, well. All right. It all started about a month ago—”

He waved a hand and cut me off. “Forgive me for interrupting, but it clearly started before that.”

“Oh, you mean Robert fell in love with me before that?” I paused and thought for a moment. “I suppose that’s true.”

“If you hope for me to give you sound advice, you must start at the beginning. When did you first come to live with your aunt?”

I rubbed at my brow. “Right after my father died. I was eleven. Harry was a baby.” I still remembered holding him tightly against me, hating when Aunt Agnes ordered he be taken up to the nursery. It was such a dark time, one I usually blocked from memory.

“And how old were your cousins?”

His attentiveness threw me off balance, making my brain all a muddle. I was not accustomed to anyone but Robert listening to me with such interest. “Let’s see . . . Robert would have been fifteen, and Hugh was seventeen.”

He nodded. “And did you get on with them?”

I shook my head. “Not at first. I spent most of my time in the nursery with Harry. He would cry whenever I left. Slowly, he became less anxious, but I still felt lost, devastated as I was by my father’s death. I don’t think I spoke a word to anyone for the first several months we were there.”

What I remembered most about Lymington Park was how cold and formal it had seemed, with little tolerance for my grief. So different from the warm and inviting home I had grown up in. More than once I’d wished my mother had let us stay back in our smaller but cozier home, where love and laughter had permeated the walls and memories of my father hadn’t seemed so far away.

Looking up, I waited for Halstead’s teasing. Instead his eyes held a shadowed grief, as if he mourned for the eleven-year-old girl I once was. Emotion caught in my throat, and I tried to clear it.

“That’s a great deal of change for a young girl to take in,” he finally said.

“Yes,” I agreed. “I am grateful Harry was too young to feel it or remember it now.” If it hadn’t been for his sweet babyish babbling, the tug of his hand in mine, I wouldn’t have been able to stand those months of anguish. I pursed my lips together, trying to push through the grief that threatened my composure.

“Where is Harry now?”

“At Harrow.”

“You don’t sound very pleased about that.”

I shook my head. “I miss him. And he isn’t happy there.”

“Your brother is lucky to have someone like you. But where was your mother in all of this?”

“She took my father’s death the hardest. It pained her to speak of him, so I learned not to mention him. His death seemed to suck the life from her. She became almost wholly dependent on my aunt.” As much as I held against Aunt Agnes, she had sacrificed a great deal for my mother. It was something I hadn’t really considered before this moment.

The duke woke me from my reverie. “So their love lasted? The love between your mother and father?” His voice held a note of surprise.

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“You mentioned her being homesick for England and her family. I wondered if that caused contention.” He paused for a moment, as if hesitant to speak his thoughts aloud. “They came from very different backgrounds.”

I ran my tongue along my front teeth, trying to decide how to respond. “You mean their different stations in life?”

He gave a slight nod. “That too.”

“They were very happy when they were together; that much I remember. In my father’s presence, my mother all but lit up. But he was gone a great deal, and that became difficult for her to bear. His absence seemed to weigh on her . . . and he was gone for such long stretches at a time.”

He raised his brows expectantly and waited for me to continue.

“I do not fault my parents for their marriage, but I would never enter into a marriage like theirs—with one so beneath the other. I think, in those cases, the woman always feels it more acutely, for she rises or falls by the station of the man she marries. But it is hardest on the children produced by the marriage. They don’t seem to fit in anywhere.”

The fire snapped in the suspended silence. For the first time, I’d voiced aloud a fear that was lodged deep within, as I sat beside the one man who might have been capable of making me reconsider. But how could I even think such a thing? As if the duke would ever consider someone like me. I hardly dared look up, fearful he might read my thoughts through the expression on my face.

“You are caught between two worlds.”

“Exactly,” I said, surprised at how easily he understood me.

“You may find it hard to believe, but I have felt some of the same things since my . . . accident.”

I froze, my eyes catching his, as I realized I’d been aching for him to share something of himself with me.

He broke away, staring down at the embers in the hearth. The light from the flames outlined his silhouette. Somehow I had never noticed what thick, dark lashes he had. “Ever since the accident, I have felt out of place among those of my own rank. I am an outsider now. I used to believe people were drawn to more than just my status, but now I find myself wondering if my . . . deformity . . . is only overlooked because I hold a title.” He breathed out deeply, his admission coming at a price.

I hesitated for a brief moment before reaching out and laying a hand on his arm. “They must know you very little if they value you so lightly.” Our eyes met, and his were so deep and dark I felt I would be swallowed whole.

“Halstead?” The duchess’s voice echoed through the room, making me jump.

I withdrew my hand. The duke gazed at me fiercely for another moment before reaching for his cane. “Yes, Mother?” He shifted his weight, using the cane to balance as he stood.

I stayed where I was, melting into the chair, wishing I could make a quick escape.

“Oh, there you are, Halstead. I came to ask if you plan on coming to dinner tonight.”

“Yes, Mother. I will be there.”

“You have no idea how good it has been to have you join us on occasion. I hope you don’t mind, but your grandmother has made quite a fuss about the seating. She has requested a particular dinner partner for you. Since this house party is rather informal, I thought you might . . . well, you know how I have to humor her.” The duchess sighed deeply, as if she shouldered a great burden.

“What about the seating, Mother?” he asked, a note of impatience in his voice.

The duchess stepped forward just enough that she might see me. She did not hide her surprise well, her gaze flitting back and forth between us. She glanced at me once more and pinched her lips together. “She requested you be seated next to Miss Graham.”

Chapter Twelve

I smoothed my dress, releasing the knotted tension that had resided in my stomach ever since the duchess had informed Halstead and me of the seating arrangements for dinner. Usually I waited for Aunt Agnes and we walked downstairs together, but tonight I hadn’t been able to stand another moment in my room, caged and waiting for what was to come.

Instead of going directly to the drawing room, I’d meandered through a few of the corridors in an attempt to pass the time. Now I stood directly in front of a painting of the dowager duchess and studied it with consternation. She was younger in the picture—her hair was still brown and her dress in a fashion of decades past—and she looked a good deal less threatening. Apparently intimidation was something perfected over the course of a lifetime.

I glanced up at the sound of footfalls. Robert strode down the corridor with a look of such determination that he nearly bowled me over. I rocked back in surprise, and he put his hands on my shoulders to steady me. “Oh, Juliet. Forgive me. I didn’t see you there.”

I stepped back. “You look as though you’re on the hunt for Napoleon. What on earth could possibly be so urgent?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I was looking for you, actually. Where have you been for the whole afternoon? It is as if you disappeared into thin air after services.”

“I was in the library.”

“Alone?” He regarded me carefully.

There was no way to evade the directness of his question. “Well, no. The duke was there as well.”

So many emotions flickered over Robert’s face that, for the first time, he was impossible to read. Guilt wormed its way through me as I thought of Robert spending the afternoon by himself. “Perhaps we should spend some time exploring the castle together tomorrow,” I suggested. “I don’t think I’ve seen even a quarter of it yet.”

Robert studied me for another moment, his posture stiff. “Yes, of course.”

“Come.” I motioned forward. “We’ll be late for dinner.”

Robert walked beside me. “Was it just the two of you?”

I considered feigning ignorance of what he spoke, but he would see right through me. “Until his mother joined us.”

“The duchess?” His voice went up in pitch, expressing doubt. “What did she want with you?”

The way he said it set me off. “Nothing, of course. What interest could someone of her station have in someone like me?”

He opened the door to the drawing room adjacent to the dining room and shook his head. “That is not what I meant, Juliet, and you know it. It just seems the duke and his family have taken a great deal of . . . interest in you. I am only curious as to why. They’ve singled no one else out. I’d expected Hugh to have most of their attention.”

Thankfully, Robert knew nothing of my conversation with the dowager duchess. Still defensive, I could feel myself pushing him away as he’d done to me. “I am sure I don’t know their reasons,” I said tersely. The butler came in announcing dinner before Robert could assault me with any more questions, but with the way the seating had been arranged for this evening, I knew the matter would not rest for long.

“Miss Graham,” a low-timbered voice said from behind me. “Shall I escort you in?”

Robert’s eyes bulged as he turned and came face-to-face with the duke.

I carefully avoided Robert’s gaze as I took Halstead’s arm. Though it was only a short walk into dinner, my senses were fixed on the feel of my arm in his. Beneath his jacket, his arm felt as if it were made of stone. I sensed a dormant energy in him, well concealed, that might be awakened with even the slightest prodding. It sent my heart skittering, making it almost impossible to take a decent breath.

Lady Ellen caught sight of us and sent me a questioning look. No doubt we would be the gossip of the night.

Halstead helped me to my chair, and I watched as he, with some effort, took the seat adjacent to me at the head of the table. An uncomfortable silence crept up. Ironically, his grandmother’s interference had the opposite effect of that for which she’d hoped; it put Halstead on guard, causing him to throw up a sort of barricade between us, and it seemed there was nothing I might say to tear it down.

I exhaled, needing to speak, to do something to alleviate the tension that muddied the air. “How did you pass the rest of your afternoon, Your Grace?”

“I finished some correspondence, Miss Graham,” he replied and took a large sip of wine.

I glanced at the dowager, seated across from me, who shot me a look of triumph. How I wished to give her a piece of my mind. Instead I looked around anxiously, hoping the food would soon be served.

“And you?” he returned.

“I spent some time practicing the pianoforte.”

He nodded, not even willing to tease me about what he’d overheard in my last practice session.

Though we attempted pleasantries, the conversation between us quickly grew stilted, the easy exchange from this afternoon gone. I cursed the dowager duchess for her conniving ways. After dinner I planned to find her and tell her how utterly foolish her interference was.

The sound of trays and cutlery broke through the silence as the first course was served. I fingered the napkin in my lap, hating the attention that seemed to be heaped upon us. Even though quiet conversation arose down the length of the table, it felt like we were a show, a part to be played for the sake of social display. I took a spoonful of soup, forcing it down.

Desperate for conversation, for distraction, I pressed forward with the worst sort of pleasantries. No doubt they would make Halstead detest me. “Any interesting matters of correspondence?” I tried to keep my voice low, but the whole table seemed to lean in, trying to catch wind of our conversation.

Halstead stared at me a moment, as if I’d asked a rudely impertinent question. “Nothing that would interest you.”

Foolishly, I’d believed that after our conversation this afternoon, things might be smoother, easier between us. Yet his reluctance to engage with me when others were present irked me to no end. It was more than awkward; it was humiliating. “Try me,” I challenged, raising my voice.

A dangerous glint sparked in his eyes as he set down his fork with precision. “I informed several of my fellow members of the House of Lords that I will remain absent for the upcoming session of parliament.” His voice was purposefully loud, that all seated might hear it.

“And why is that?” I boldly pushed on.

He looked at me and then over at his grandmother. The sneer on his face indicated his temper was close to the surface. “For the same reason I usually avoid the company that is paraded about in my own home. Because I have no desire to be scrutinized in the public eye, no desire to be seen as someone who can be cajoled and manipulated as though it is my mind that has been compromised, and not just my leg.” His scathing words cut right to my core, stripping me of any response.

The entire table went silent. Dread pooled in my stomach, and I dared not meet Aunt Agnes’s gaze. She would be furious at me for making such a scene. The duke’s mother glanced at me, and though her face remained expressionless, it was easy to sense her displeasure. I could practically feel the curiosity emanating from where Lady Ellen sat and knew she would interrogate me later. Robert’s anger was barely masked, and Hugh and Lord Aberdeen both gave me thinly veiled looks of intrigue, as if they sensed there was something taking place that they were not privy to.

By the end of the meal it was safe to look nowhere but at my plate. I breathed a sigh of relief when the women were excused, leaving the men to their port and talk of politics.

Before I’d gone even two steps, Lady Ellen was at my side, interlinking her arm in mine. “Well, that was quite the scene. Come now, Miss Graham. You do not strike me as one who keeps secrets,” she said in her straightforward manner, turning probing eyes on me.

I ducked my head.

“You shall not have a moment’s peace until you tell me what is going on.”

It would do little good to pretend ignorance of what she spoke. Truthfully, I was grateful for someone to confide in. “Perhaps you can advise me on a rather sticky situation,” I said at last, “involving your grandmother.”

Interest flickered in her features, and she looked around, making sure the dowager was nowhere nearby. “Come, sit with me.” While her words indicated an invitation, her strong pull on my arm suggested I had little choice in the matter. She dragged me over to a small rose sofa near the card tables.

Once we were seated she turned to me expectantly. “Well?” She leaned in. “Start by telling me about Grandmother.” Her voice remained hushed yet still managed to be demanding. It seemed there was not a single muted personality in this entire family.

I adjusted one of the pins in my hair, stalling. “She cornered me after church and asked if I would assist her with something.”

“Oh dear,” Lady Ellen said under her breath. She nodded for me to continue.

“She asked me to help with your brother.”

She gave me a piercing gaze not so very different from the one the dowager had given me on our walk. Perhaps they looked nothing alike, but there was a striking resemblance to their mannerisms. “Help with Halstead? What kind of help?” I tried to read her expression as she spoke, but her face remained carefully neutral.

“She wanted me to . . . draw him out. I think she harbors some frustration at his lack of interest in rejoining society.”

“Yes, that much is clear. It’s a frustration she shares with Mother, though they have different ideas about how it is to be achieved. What exactly did she mean—draw him out?”

“I cannot say I know what exactly she had in mind.”

She waved away my lack of knowledge, and her barrage of questions continued. “But why you? And why now?”

My gaze fell to my lap, for my mind burned with the same question—why me? Every time I made some progress with Halstead, invariably something sent us sprawling backward. I found myself growing exhausted by the effort.

Lady Ellen trampled over the silence. “There is something you are not telling me.” She ticked a glance toward her grandmother, her gaze swiftly coming back to rest on me.

“I am sure your grandmother has her reasons, but I am not at liberty to discuss them.” I traced my finger along a seam in the settee. “I only know she is concerned about your brother’s refusal to . . .”

“Ahh, Halstead’s refusal to marry. Yes, he has been rather vocal about that. But did she say what exactly she expects you to do?” The puzzlement on her face mirrored my own feelings.

I fiddled with my glove. “Well, not in so many words, because I refused the task.”

Lady Ellen’s mouth fell open. “You did?”

I glanced over at the dowager, who was speaking with Aunt Agnes. After her interference tonight, I didn’t like that one bit.

Lady Ellen shook her head as if recovering from a great shock. “It takes someone with a great deal of backbone to put off my grandmother. Was she furious?” Her lips curved up with delight.

“Surprised, I think. And, well, yes.” I lowered my head. “She was furious.”

A giggle escaped her, which she did not even try to stifle. “Oh, I only wish I could have seen it. No one says no to Grandmother. My father never did. Not mother, not I. Halstead is the only one of us who dares.” She looked at me with something new in her eyes. “I suppose I can see why Grandmother thought you might be of some help with Halstead.” She tapped her thumb against her leg. “But why now? That is what I must know. Why can you not speak of it?”

“We struck a bargain, and I agreed not to mention it.”

Lady Ellen pursed her lips and nodded. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” She looked up. “But then, why were you seated next to Halstead at dinner?”

“I’d like to know that very thing.” I raised my brows. “Apparently my refusal meant nothing to your grandmother.”

Her mouth twisted a little. “She does not like to be told no; that is certain. And she isn’t opposed to being underhanded.”

“Yes, I see that.” I looked over at the dowager once more, still chagrined at her audacity. “But what can I do when she clearly does not play by the rules? I can’t exactly refuse her in such public matters.”

“Can’t you? Perhaps she needs to hear your answer loud and clear.”

I shook my head forcefully. “I couldn’t. If Aunt Agnes discovered I had been so impertinent . . .” I shuddered.

Lady Ellen tilted her head, studying me. “Do you like spending time with my brother, Miss Graham?” The amusement from her expression had disappeared, and her voice had taken on a note of sincerity.

I hedged, for it was not even a question I could answer satisfactorily for myself. “Not under the scrutiny of everyone else.”

She sat forward. “But you do like him?”

Her earnestness made avoiding the question difficult. “When he is not saying something vastly insulting, he can be quite pleasant.”

Lady Ellen laughed. “You know him well already, I see.”

I shook my head, smiling all the same. “And what about you? How do you find Hugh—er, Lord Everdale?” I asked, anxious to move the conversation in another direction.

Though Lady Ellen was no blushing debutante, a flush crept up her neck. “His mother counts as a point against him, though I am sure you are well aware of that. But I do like him; we get on well. And he doesn’t try to suffocate me as other men do.”

I lowered my voice and leaned toward her. “Dare I hope you might become family . . . despite Aunt Agnes?”

“Well, nothing is settled. And of course, I do not know his feelings.”

“Oh, but I do.” I gave her a knowing grin.

Just then, the doors opened and the men entered the room. At the sight of them, Lady Ellen and I exchanged glances and were both caught in a fit of laughter. Hugh walked toward us as we tried to calm ourselves, looking at the two of us as if he feared for our sanity. “A reasonable man knows to avoid women who are laughing or crying, so I am taking a terrible risk in approaching the two of you. Is there any chance this sort of behavior might be remedied by a game of cribbage? Or a cup of tea?”

“Whist,” Lady Ellen choked out.

“Some tea!” I said at the same time.

We stared at one another, still in stitches.

Hugh shook his head. “Perhaps both,” he said, more to himself than to us.

“Ellen, do get ahold of yourself,” the dowager said from where she sat near Aunt Agnes. “Your behavior is most unbecoming.” She stroked the top of her cane with authority.

Though Aunt Agnes kept her thoughts to herself, the way she clenched her fists in her lap made her own feelings abundantly clear. I quieted; regret settled over me. I knew that look intimately. Aunt Agnes would be sure to pay a visit to my room after I retired tonight.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Halstead staring at me, a severe look upon his face. “Yes, Hugh. Some tea, please.” Was Halstead still angry about his grandmother’s interference at dinner? My stomach tied itself in knots trying to sort through the whole mess.

Lady Ellen gave me a sidelong glance.

Hugh soon returned with some tea for us. “I asked the duke to join us for our game, if that is amenable to both of you.”

I whipped my head over to where Halstead sat as Lady Ellen nodded in agreement. Why would he have agreed when dinner had proved his clear distaste for my company—at least when others were present?

“Come and join us when you are finished with your tea.” Hugh went and took a seat at the table, pulling out the cards.

Sipping slowly for fear of burning my tongue, I cast my gaze about the room. Robert stood in conversation with Lord Aberdeen. He glanced my way, as if thinking about approaching me. I couldn’t bear a confrontation with him tonight. Tomorrow and his host of questions would come soon enough. I quickly set my cup down. “I am finished,” I announced.

“Already?” Lady Ellen asked.

“Yes. And I find I am anxious for a game of whist.”

“Very well,” she said, setting down her cup as well.

We joined the gentlemen at the table, and I couldn’t help but wonder how Halstead and I would fare during this game. Would the awkwardness of dinner continue, or would the ease of conversation from earlier return? And how would it be affected by the presence of my cousin and the duke’s sister?

Since Lady Ellen and Hugh were to be partners, they took opposite sides of the table, leaving me to sit directly across from Halstead. I offered him a smile, and for a moment it almost seemed as if he might return the gesture, before the austere look of earlier returned. Seated as we were, not only would it be nearly impossible to carry on a private conversation but it would also be difficult to ignore his less-than-welcoming gaze.

Unwilling to maintain the silence that had prevailed at dinner, I spoke up as Hugh dealt the first hand of cards. “Lady Ellen, how did you pass your afternoon?”

Halstead reached out and picked up his first card. “You didn’t manage to discuss the course of your afternoons before dissolving into fits of laughter?”

“Apparently not,” Hugh said, his tone dry. “But then, women never discuss such tedious topics when men are absent. It is all a show they put on for us.” A smirk lifted the corners of his mouth. He handed out the last of the cards and turned over the trump card. Spades.

“It is not,” I protested as I arranged my cards. “It is only that we were discussing other, more pressing matters before your arrival.” Remembering our conversation, a smile threatened to break free, another fit of laughter close behind.

Halstead raised his brows. “Such as?”

A furious blush overtook me, and I raised my cards to cover my mouth, relieved when Lady Ellen answered. “How difficult it is for me to enjoy the roasted fowl at dinner when having to endure your surliness. If you insist on joining us for meals, you could at least try to be pleasant.” She turned to Hugh, her expression softening into a smirk. “And your cheeky remarks are not appreciated. It is conceit indeed to think we would put on some sort of display for you.”

Though it was Lady Ellen who had just spoken, Halstead looked up from his cards and met my eyes. “Is it so outlandish to believe you might have different facades you choose to present at different times?” His tone became derisive. “That is precisely what Society teaches you to do, is it not?”

I met his hardened stare, and suddenly the conversation had narrowed to just the two of us. “That is quite an opinion for someone whose temperament is as changeable as the fall weather. Does that make you a product of Society? Or does it perhaps mean you are a complex person, with an abundance of thoughts and feelings you don’t wish to reveal to everyone all the time?”

He huffed, arranging the cards in his hand. “It is true I do not wish to reveal all I think and feel to anybody who might feel some interest. But I certainly do not try to fool Society by pretending to be what I am not.”

I shook my head, hardly believing my ears. “Only a duke would have the luxury of such an attitude. Despite what you think, I do not think it a strange thing for a person to have different facades. I believe there is a common desire among us to have someone who will see each of these sides of us, seek to understand them, and love us all the same.”

“And that is your desire, Miss Graham?” His voice was low, but its intensity made my heart pound against my ribs.

I hesitated for only a moment. “Yes, of course. But such trust is gained only over time.” Reaching deep, I pushed out the rest of my thoughts. “And it certainly would not be given to someone who wears such a look of disapproval as you do.”

Hugh gave a slight shake of his head, as if in warning. I ignored him, too indignant to feel the need for niceties.

Halstead studied me, his gaze so thorough I felt as though he could see down to all of the deep corners of me that I wished to keep hidden from the world. My bones seemed to melt under his scrutiny.

“Are you two quite finished?” Lady Ellen asked. Her pointedness and the suggestive note in her voice brought the fading blush right back to my cheeks. “For I believe you are to lead, Miss Graham.”

I played an ace of diamonds, biting my tongue and staring intently at the cards in my hand.

My outburst left a calm in its wake, and we all played for the next hour with light conversation and a bit of good-natured ribbing when Halstead and I won. Hugh gathered up the cards and then rose to help Lady Ellen from her seat. For a moment I wondered whether I should scoot out my own chair, but something gave me pause. Halstead stood with the help of his cane and came around to where I sat. Leaning on his cane with one hand, he pulled out my chair with the other, his hand lightly brushing my shoulder.

Unexpected courage surged in my chest. “Thank you, Halstead.” He looked at me sharply. I stood and turned to go.

“Juliet.” I looked back, and he leaned toward me, so close that the soft scents of pipe smoke and balsam filled my nose. “What you said before—about the different sides we show people. You are right, I think.”

I took a breath, my lungs seeming to expand with his every word.

Halstead’s voice remained low, meant for my ears alone. “But you make it sound so easy. Knowing every side of someone. It almost makes me . . .” He turned away, and I could only just make out his parting words. “Lucky is the man who will know every part of you.”

His words, his form, both vanished. But the impression, the thoughts, the strange emotion he stirred within me only grew.

Chapter Thirteen

That evening after Betsy helped me into my night things, I sat at the vanity, too restless to climb into bed. The fire was dying, and the chill would soon drive me under the covers, but so much weighed on my mind. The little carved mountain goat from my father sat in my hand, and I ran my thumb over the grooves of its fur.

Thus far, I’d made some effort to avoid letting my thoughts wander to uncomfortable places, especially to thoughts of Halstead, but I could evade them no longer. What was it about him that seemed to consume me, even when I escaped his presence?

Dinner had been nothing short of a disaster. I knew the dowager’s influence irked him, but why had he been so reluctant, so intractable with me? It had almost been like we were strangers or, worse, adversaries. I thought again how the halting and erratic nature of our relationship exhausted me. I’d never experienced so much uncertainty. At least with Aunt Agnes I always knew where I stood.

But there was something exciting about the uncertainty too. It was so different from Robert’s steadiness. As I stared into the mirror, I played over in my mind my time with Halstead in the library. His words, his voice, his quiet “Please.” That word had lodged in my heart, making it almost impossible for me to barricade it against him. For a man with so much pride to lower himself and make such a request of me—it was too much to be believed.

And the ease with which we’d been able to talk once the uncomfortable feelings between us had faded . . . There was a way he had of turning every ounce of his attention on me that made me feel significant. I treasured that feeling, letting it burrow within me.

I sighed, putting down the goat and pulling out my brush. Undone, my auburn hair tumbled halfway down my back, and I brushed it in long strokes, unable to curb the rush of exhilaration that came from remembering my time with Halstead. A smile crept across my face, and I caught sight of it in the glass mirror. I set down the brush and began to plait my hair, scolding myself.

It was a dangerous practice to let my thoughts run away like that, for the thought that anything could happen between us was absurd. The man was a duke, after all, and I was no one. He was meant for the likes of Lady Margaret—someone born to be a duchess.

And besides, as I’d admitted to Halstead, I’d made up my mind long ago that I would never marry significantly above or below my station. Whatever the force of feelings that might lead to an unequal marriage, there were other parties to be considered. And Harry. Nothing was more important than seeing that Harry was taken care of, and I couldn’t have anyone distracting me from that. Still, it was a sort of relief to my traitorous heart that Halstead had vowed never to marry.

A knock sounded at the door, interrupting my thoughts. Without waiting, Aunt Agnes pushed open the door and strode in. “You embarrassed me tonight and made a fool of yourself at the dinner table and again in the drawing room.”

My shoulders tensed, but I turned the vanity bench, anxious to face whatever lecture she had in store for me so I could be done with it. My feet had grown cold during my contemplation, and the warmth of my covers was inviting compared to my aunt’s sour face.

She crossed the room, coming to stand in front of the fire, blocking much of the heat. I curled my toes up under my nightgown.

“Juliet, I don’t like your secretive manner. You evaded my questions this morning on the way to church, and then this evening, with nary a warning, you were seated next to the duke. You are making a nuisance of yourself, and I don’t like it.”

“But how can you say that?” I protested, wrapping my arms around my middle. “It isn’t as if I requested to be seated next to him.”

“No, but you have your ways, and I’ve never seen someone so clever at getting what she wants. You have all the aspirations for being a social climber just like your father.” The severity of her brow left no doubt as to her opinions of the man I so loved and on my being like him.

Anger flared within me. “My father married my mother because he loved her. He never received a single pound from the family. To say otherwise is unjust.” I hated the way she talked about him; she never even really knew him, by her own choice.

The lines around her lips grew more pronounced. “That may be so, but he benefited from your mother’s status all the same. You see how quickly he moved through the ranks to become a captain after he married a person of quality.” She said quality with such hauteur, it seemed impossible for her to raise her chin another millimeter and not be staring at the ceiling. “I have done my best to keep you in your place, to not let you get above yourself, at least in terms of your aspirations for marriage. Don’t set your cap at the duke; the thought is laughable.”

If only she’d known I’d had the exact same thought just moments before. But her words still smarted. I folded my arms across my chest. “I am not setting my cap at him, whatever you may think.”

The sharp lines on her face softened, instantly making me wary. “Juliet,” she said, taking a seat on the small blue-floral fainting couch in the corner. “I didn’t come in here to speak with you about the duke.”

Her claims were laughable since she’d started off with that very topic. Even still, I waited, curious to hear what she might say next.

“I came to speak with you about Robert. Surely you cannot be ignorant of the fact that he cares for you.”

The turn in conversation surprised me, and I nodded slowly. My defenses began to settle. “Yes, I’ve come to understand that.” My chest constricted as I remembered Robert’s confessions of love.

Her cheeks pulled upward into the smile I was accustomed to seeing her use in front of company. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a man so besotted. He loves you, Juliet.”

Hearing the words from her lips, from one I might have expected to disapprove, took me off guard. “It’s been a lot for me to take in,” I confessed. “As much as I care for him, I am still uncertain of my own feelings.” Was I? I had thought for sure I knew my own mind, and yet . . . Robert’s kind smile came to mind, his gentle manner. How could I not at least consider him, when he offered so much?

“Difficult as it might be to believe, I remember quite well being your age.” She sighed, and her face relaxed further. I couldn’t remember ever seeing it so natural and unguarded. “It’s a whirlwind of emotion, of hopes and dreams for the future. Of weighing out options and wondering if you’ll choose right.”

I blinked, speculating whether it was truly my aunt who sat before me. Somehow I couldn’t reconcile the thought of this disapproving woman, ever cold and masked, with the image of a young woman my age, giving voice to so many of my own thoughts. How was I to choose? And how was I to know that I’d made the right choice?

Aunt Agnes nodded at me. “Having already chosen my path, I offer only a word of advice. The world can be a cold, hard place. To find someone who adores you as Robert does, whom you know will cherish and care for you—it is not something to be passed over lightly.”

Her words echoed the fears that constantly resounded in my head. I’d never really felt like I belonged anywhere, not since my father had died and our little family had gone to live at Lymington Park. Yes, Robert had been my friend and my confidant, but I’d always felt like an intruder in his home, a temporary passer-through. Would that change if I married Robert? Would the ache to belong dissipate if I opened my heart to him?

My aunt rose.

“Aunt Agnes, I—” The words died on my lips. “You approve, then? Of Robert’s affections?”

Her lips tightened into the stiff line I knew all too well. She was silent for a moment before answering. “You know Robert’s happiness is of the utmost importance to me.”

My gaze lingered on her. Was that approval? Acceptance? I forced a smile. “It gives me some comfort to know you feel that way.”

“It has been a tiring day, and we should both get some sleep. But think on what I’ve said.” She reached the door, turning the handle. “You could do far worse.” Then she walked out of the room, leaving me even more confused than I’d been before.

After the barrage from all sides the night before, the next morning I sought solitude. I inquired of the staff if there was a smaller—and hopefully empty—library I might peruse and was led to the east side of the house, where a footman held open a door that led into a sun-drenched room of cream and gold. Its shelves held only perhaps a quarter of the books the large library did, but it promised isolation and still had more books than I could ever hope to devour.

At breakfast Robert and I had made plans to meet in the conservatory, but for the next few hours I would enjoy some time to myself. Back at Lymington Park, life was simple. I avoided Aunt Agnes and her daily lectures as much as possible, had passing conversations with Hugh, and spent time with Robert. But I always had long stretches of the day to myself.

Here, things were more complicated. Being a guest in a prestigious home meant heavy demands were placed on my time. Both the duke’s mother and grandmother seemed to have their own priorities concerning me, and even Lady Ellen, whom I adored, seemed to have her own agenda. Not to mention the fact that my relationship with Robert had grown monumentally more complex.

And then there was Halstead.

I pushed all of that aside, walking over to a cheery and inviting corner of the room where a study table basked in the window’s plentiful light. A large volume occupied its center, and I removed my shawl and took a seat, closing the book in order to see what it was called. Much to my delight the tome was entitled, The British Catalogue of Stars. What good fortune! I eagerly pulled it back open, remembering hours spent on my father’s lap as he pored over maps of the sky and the stars that guided him as he sailed.

The sun shone on my back, but it was more than the warmth of its rays I felt as I turned page after page, reading about stars. When we first went to live with Aunt Agnes, I’d spent hours searching her sparse library for a book on stars, with no success. I’d asked my mother where our things had gone and received only a blank stare.

Yet here, in front of me, sat the very thing my eleven-year-old heart had hoped for—something tangible to bring back memories of my father, to feel his presence through a passion he had passed on to me.

It wasn’t until my stomach began to growl that I looked up and realized almost three hours had passed. Robert would have expected me more than ten minutes ago. I reluctantly pushed the book back and stood, stretching my back as my muscles groaned in protest after sitting for so long in one position.

After leaving the small library, I glanced around the corridor trying to orient myself. In a castle of this size it was entirely possible it would take me another twenty minutes just to find the conservatory. I’d hate for Robert to think I wasn’t coming. Thankfully, I caught sight of a servant, a maid with a stack of linens in her arms.

I cleared my throat as she approached. “Excuse me, but could you direct me toward the conservatory?”

She peered around her large bundle. “Yes, miss. Work your way toward the west side of the castle, go down the first corridor, and take a left. The conservatory will be all the way at the end of the corridor on the right.”

I repeated her instructions in my mind. My stomach growled again, an audible reminder I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “Thank you very much. Also, will you have someone send a tray to the conservatory? Just a small and simple repast will do.”

“Of course, miss.” She bobbed a curtsy and then hurried on her way.

After a brisk walk I pushed open the doors of the conservatory, congratulating myself on having taken only one wrong turn. I was at once impressed by the tall walls and arched windows that gave added height and light to the place. The room was warm and humid and full of well-placed greenery. I removed my shawl as I walked, taking in the spacious conservatory. Oddly enough, this enclosed space felt more natural and organic than many of the gardens that surrounded the castle.

“Robert?” My voice echoed up to the high ceiling.

“I am over here,” came his response. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

I made my way down the tiled walkway, looking this way and that, still unsure of where to look for him. Through the window I caught sight of a separate building that housed some unusual-looking trees, but I passed by, still searching for Robert. “It’s only that I lost track of time.”

Robert appeared from behind one of the arches and greeted me with a smile. “That’s no great surprise.”

“You won’t believe what I found this morning in one of the libraries,” I told him eagerly. “A book on stars!”

“At last, after all these years.” He shook his head. “If we stay in a castle with such well-endowed libraries for too long, you’ll never care to hear about the things I learned at Oxford.”

“Of course I will. Having a book is not the same as having a living, breathing professor. It would be hopeless to think I could ever catch up.” I batted at him playfully.

“Well, be careful you don’t turn into a bluestocking.” Before I could pull my arm back, Robert grabbed my hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. “Have you ever seen such a conservatory? So many gorgeous and exotic plants. But let me show you what I found. Did you see this structure over here?” He pointed to the building I’d spotted through the window.

“Yes. Any idea what it is?”

Robert steered me over to a door that led outside, where we crossed a small courtyard. “It’s an orangery,” he informed me, holding open the door and letting me pass through first. I caught sight of the fruit hanging from the trees.

For once, I enjoyed the manmade design. Each tree was placed in the direct sunlight of an arched window, one on each side of the corridor. The trees marched down the walkway in a perfect row, their branches all trimmed to a uniform size. A faintly familiar smell reached my nose—heavenly citrus.

“The gardener informed me the trees were imported from Portugal. Aren’t they extraordinary?”

I reached out and rubbed the waxy-looking leaves, intrigued. “Such wealth. These must have cost a fortune.”

“No doubt.” He nodded, green eyes alight with excitement. “But just think—they could be ripe in the next few weeks. Perhaps even while we are here.”

My stomach growled again, reminding me I still hadn’t eaten.

“Are you hungry?” Robert asked. “Shall I send for a tray?” Always he saw to my needs.

“No, I’ve already sent for one. Come, let us keep walking.”

Inclining my head toward the nearest tree, I breathed in the citrus scent. My mind drifted to a Christmas long ago, when my father’s gift to me had been an orange. I’d spent the whole afternoon turning it over in my hands, smelling it.

Instead of picking one of the oranges as I was tempted to do, I found one that was nearing ripeness, bright as a sunset, almost glowing in the light coming through the window. I extricated my hand from Robert’s arm, and my fingers slid over the fruit, the smallest marks and grooves giving texture to the otherwise smooth outer peel. Once again I was a girl of five, thrilled with the excitement of receiving something so bright, so colorful, that was all my own.

For some reason the memory made me feel the chasm between my world and Halstead’s with grave extremity. With the war my family’s fortune had changed, and I’d had plenty of oranges since then, but even so, to me, the fruit represented a memory, an entire Christmas. To Halstead it was an everyday treat. Appreciated, perhaps, but not treasured. The thought left a lump of misery knotted in my stomach.

Determined to ignore it, I turned to Robert, who stood next to me as I paused. “I’d love to eat one, but the smell is almost as satisfying. And that color. They hardly look real!”

Robert laughed. “Not that you’re the best judge. Do you remember that time when you touched Lady Winthrop’s hat, certain there was a real bird perched upon it?”

I let out a small laugh. “How could I forget? Your mother was horrified I offended her guest. I was forced to stay in my room for the next three days!” I frowned. It was no wonder she watched me so carefully here at the castle; she still feared I might say or do something that would embarrass her and reflect poorly on the family.

Robert seemed not to notice my irritation. “I hope you are not forgetting all the services I rendered you during those days. You ran me quite ragged.”

“As I recall,” I shot back, “you were more than willing. You seemed to think yourself some sort of liberator, even though you never actually broke me free.”

Robert gave me a look of extreme forbearance. “I brought you fresh scones, books from the library, and plenty of art supplies, and yet all you remember is my failure to steal the key that was carefully guarded by my mother.”

I laughed aloud, remembering the incident with the scones. The crack under the doorway was an inch high at most, and the first scone Robert had tried to give me was a squashed lump by the time he’d forced it under. After that he had to carefully cut the scones in half before he slid them to me. The effort, I’m sure, was more than he’d bargained for. He had certainly done his part to make those long three days tolerable.

That had been only a few months after my father’s death and our relocation to Lymington Park. But even Robert’s efforts couldn’t erase the pain I’d felt as Aunt Agnes had meted out my punishment while my mother stood by, unblinking, unwilling to speak in my defense. That was when I’d known I couldn’t count on her any longer. It was that day, not the day Mother had died, that Harry had truly come into my care.

I shook away the memories of that dark time to find Robert looking at me, a perplexed expression on his face. I sighed. Perhaps Aunt Agnes was right. Was I foolish to so quickly dismiss Robert’s constancy, his devotion? If we married, I might, for the first time in almost ten years, really belong somewhere. Have a place, a home I could call my own.

“Juliet?” Robert’s voice held a note of concern.

I looked up and met his gaze, trying to see him as something other than a brother. “Thank you.”

Confusion passed over his features, his brow wrinkling.

“For the scones. And the books. For helping me through those first dark months.”

Robert reached out, laying a gentle hand on my elbow. “I know you were miserable, but you were such a sweet, gentle thing even in the midst of your grief. How could I help but care for you?”

His countenance held such sincerity, such goodness. It would be natural for me to accept his offer. There was a small piece of me that wanted to. It would be simple. Yet something held me back.

“Excuse me, miss?” A footman stepped forward, bearing a silver platter. “Here’s a tray for you, sent from the kitchens.”

I turned back to Robert. “I’m glad you didn’t keep your distance.” I said the words softly and found them to be true. A strange tug pulled at my heart, and I felt as though I’d been inconstant to the one person who had made my life bearable these past nine years.

Chapter Fourteen

Dinner that evening was a quiet affair. Though I tried to curb my reaction, I was disappointed and surprised when Halstead didn’t make an appearance. Much of the meal took place in silence. Over the past week, our small group had come close to exhausting the topics of polite conversation, and everyone took turns trying not to yawn. After a short time in the drawing room, it was with some relief that the party dispersed quite early.

As we made our exit, I purposely slowed my steps, waiting for Hugh to bid Lady Ellen good night. Robert was caught up in conversation with his mother, and I hoped for an opportunity to speak with Hugh alone. With his long strides, he caught up to me in no time.

“You’re looking more and more pleased with yourself every day,” I observed. I held my hands behind my back, still unsure how to broach the topic I wished to discuss.

He grinned, his arms swinging at his side. “Yes, I suppose I am. For all I doubted Mother, I do believe Lady Ellen and I will make an excellent match.”

I turned to him in surprise. “Are things settled? Have you asked her?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. We’ve been here only a week. But I feel quite confident she returns my regard. There’s no reason we won’t have things settled between us before we depart.”

Though I was certain my grin adequately conveyed my feelings on the matter, I couldn’t help but say, “Oh, that makes me very happy, Hugh. Lady Ellen is . . . well, I’ve never met anyone quite like her. And you do make a striking couple.”

“We do, don’t we?” Humility had never been a strong point of his.

I smacked his arm. “I know how your mother feels about the match, but I assume Robert is happy for you as well?”

Hugh nodded. “Yes, though he hasn’t said as much. I sense something is troubling him.” Hugh’s normally easy-going expression was replaced by a more discerning one. “That wouldn’t have anything to do with you, would it?”

I ducked my head.

“Juliet, what is going on between the two of you? The whole carriage ride here you barely spoke a word to one another, and now there’s an awkward tension that seems to follow the two of you about. You normally get on so well.” Something snapped into place, and Hugh turned to me, his mouth hanging open. “Did he finally confess how he feels about you?”

I let out a half groan, half sigh. “So you knew as well.”

“I am shocked you didn’t. Robert always looks at you as if he’s some sort of lovesick cow.”

An unwilling smile lifted the corners of my mouth. “He does not.”

Hugh raised his brows. “Just watch him. Now that I’ve pointed it out, you will notice.”

“Even if it’s true, that doesn’t make the matter any less complicated.”

“Complicated how?” This was what I was hoping for from Hugh—someone who would get to the heart of the matter. Be direct.

“I don’t know exactly. Only that I’ve never seen Robert in that way, and now it seems that everyone thinks I should.”

“Everyone meaning Robert?”

“And your mother.”

Hugh’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth drew into a line. “Really?”

“She told me so herself last night. I was as surprised as you are.”

He shook his head.

I turned fully toward him, wishing he would say something. “I was hoping for your advice—an opinion. You know Robert. And me.”

We had reached the corridor that led to my chamber, and we both stopped. “I think you know well enough by now that if you turn Robert down, he’ll be heartbroken.” He shifted, looking uncomfortable. “You’ve been a part of this family for a long time now. I can’t imagine that changing. But none of that holds a candle to how you feel. You can’t force your feelings with Robert.” Hugh gave a little shrug. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t give him a chance. Give it a go and see what you think. Don’t make up your mind too quickly.” He gave me a brief smile. “You’re still young, after all. There’s no rush.”

He was right. There was no reason to feel as though I had to decide at once. “Thank you, Hugh. You are much wiser than I give you credit for.”

He laughed. “Not sure if that was a compliment or an insult, but you’re very welcome. Good night, Juliet.”

Several hours later I jolted awake to the sound of terrible thunder rattling the windows of my bedroom. Panic rose up inside of me, my heart pounding against my ribcage with dread. I clasped my hands over my chest, hoping to calm myself before I lost control. Rain pelted the windows, but all else was silent save for the moaning of the wind against the castle walls. I urged myself to take several large breaths—deep, slow ones that filled every corner of my lungs. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, forcing my thoughts away from visions of my mother standing out in the pouring rain.

Just as my breathing resumed its normal rhythm, lightning flashed so brightly I could see it through the drawn curtains, and seconds later a large crack echoed through the room, pulsing through my veins. I jumped from my bed. I would spend the night in the corridor if necessary, but another moment in this room with its tall, gaping windows . . . Heart in my throat, I crossed the room in three large steps and yanked open my wardrobe, pulling my dressing gown out and throwing it around my shoulders.

With shaky fingers I clumsily tied my wrap and hurried out into the corridor as another momentous crash of thunder shook me through the castle walls. I slammed my door closed, my breaths coming in shallow gasps. Hardly aware of where I was going, I hurried down the staircase, only knowing I needed to find an area of the castle where there were no windows, where the storm couldn’t reach me.

Without the light of a candle I kept a firm grasp on the railing, keeping my gaze trained on my feet, though I could barely make them out in the permeating darkness. I neared the main floor, unsure of where to go next.

“Juliet?” A light and shadow appeared from around the corner, making me jump.

“Halstead?” I turned, still full of panic and anxious to be on my way.

He adjusted his cane and held up a candle. “What on earth are you doing roaming the castle at this hour?”

A flash of lightning illuminated the passageway momentarily, and a sharp clap of thunder followed.

I fought against the gasp that tried to escape my throat. “The thunder woke me.” My voice trembled, and I hugged myself against the chill of the corridor. “I don’t do well in storms.” I tried to laugh, but it came out shaky and unconvincing. “I was looking for a room without windows . . . where I might wait until the storm abates.”

Halstead took a step toward me, and I could feel him scrutinizing me. “You’re as white as a ghost, Juliet. And your whole body is shaking.”

I bowed my head. “Do you know of a place that fits my description? I would only stay there until the storm has passed.” I peeked up at him.

He gave a curt nod. “Follow me.” He turned to go the opposite direction, holding up his candle to light our path.

“Why do you not have a candle?” He glanced back. “Surely you did not think you could find your way around the castle in such darkness.”

“I left my room in a hurry.” I shivered as more thunder shook the windows in the corridor. “What are you doing up at this time of night?” He was still fully dressed, though his cravat hung loose about his neck.

“I don’t sleep well” was all he offered.

We walked in silence for the next several minutes, until Halstead led me to an out-of-the-way door I’d never before noticed. He held out the candle, shining it on a set of steep stairs that were obviously used by the staff, and motioned for me to go ahead.

I slipped past him in the narrow space, my elbow brushing against his chest. Even for that brief moment of contact, his body’s warmth radiated through me. Thank goodness he couldn’t see the blush that rose to my cheeks.

“Hold on a moment; I’ll be right back.” The light disappeared until he returned, holding a dark lantern. “Here. If you’ll just hold it, this will provide better light.” He handed me the lantern and used the candle to light it. A soft glow soon permeated the stairwell. “This place will be as good as any—there are no windows. The storm should be largely muted.”

A distant rumble seemed to contradict his words, but with one swift motion he pulled the door closed behind us. “Take a seat.” He motioned to the stairs.

I’d been so out of sorts earlier that I hadn’t considered the state of my dress, but now, in the small stairway, lit by the warm lantern light, I became quite self-conscious. I eased myself down onto the fourth stair, carefully tugging at my shift and using my wrap to cover my bare feet.

Halstead set the lantern on the stair next to me and then turned, using the banister to lower himself to sit, half facing me. The slow progress of his gaze assured me I was not the only one aware of my underdressed state.

It took me a moment to voice my protest once I realized his intentions. “Oh, there’s no need for you to stay. I imagine these stairs can’t be comfortable with your . . .” I leaned forward, my arms crossed over my knees.

“With my leg?” he finished for me. “No, it isn’t. But neither are the most luxurious of chairs, and you obviously aren’t fit to be left alone.” The patronizing tone in his voice rankled.

Trying for dignity, I straightened my back. “I will be perfectly well now that I’m away from the storm.” I spoke each word with a great deal of emphasis. “There is no need for you to stay.”

Halstead half groaned, running a hand through his hair and leaving it faintly mussed. It gave him a softer, gentler look. “You misunderstood me. I only meant I didn’t wish to leave you alone when you’re so clearly upset.” He looked away, exhibiting the slightest degree of hesitation. “Perhaps I could stay and keep you company until the storm has passed.”

I slid my hands down my night rail, unable to find them a resting place. A host of emotions rose like a cresting wave, but I didn’t pause to sift through them. “If you wish.”

“I do.” The light of the lantern shone in his dark eyes, softening them, his thick lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. Something about the light reminded me of the first time I’d seen him, sitting in a dark corner of the library, far from the fire. What I’d been able to make out of his handsome features then had astonished me, but now, with so much more history between us, our proximity frightened me. I felt the dizzying pull of attraction I’d been trying so desperately to ignore.

A warm ruggedness slid across my palm, and I looked down to see Halstead’s hand holding my own. “What is it about the storm that unsettles you, Juliet?”

At the moment I was more afraid of the shiver of pleasure that ran along my spine as his thumb stroked my knuckles than I was of the foul weather. The terror of the storm seemed far away as he squeezed my hand gently, his gaze unwavering.

My lungs constricted as if to bar me from sharing something I’d never before told anyone—not even Robert. I bit the inside of my cheek, wrestling with myself.

“Juliet?” The soft timbre of his voice comforted me, undoing my defenses.

I cleared my throat, dropping my gaze to a knot in the wood on one of the stairs. “There was a storm the night we received news of my father’s death.” I paused, trying to collect my thoughts as I waded through painful memories. “The messenger came and handed my mother the note. She read it and didn’t say a word—just let it fall to the ground. So I picked it up and read it for myself.”

I closed my eyes, trying to block out the memory of how those words had so utterly changed my life.

Halstead shifted a little, but when I opened my eyes again, I saw that his attention remained fixed on me, and I was struck by the earnestness of his countenance. I pursed my lips, trying to keep my composure. “I was eleven, but Harry was still a baby. I remember my mother put him in his crib without singing to him or rocking him. As the storm grew worse, he began to cry, to scream, but she wouldn’t go to him or pick him up. Finally, I went and got him, tried to comfort him, but the lightning and thunder frightened him. I begged her to hold him, to make him stop, but it was as if she couldn’t hear me. She opened the front door and just went and stood out in the rain as the lightning and thunder continued, staring out at the sea.”

Hot tears balanced on my lashes, but I blinked them back, determined not to let the awful memories undo me. Halstead set down his cane, taking my other hand in his, his grip so firm it kept me grounded.

“I took Harry under my bed and pulled a blanket over us to try and soften the sounds of the storm, but it was hours before we cried ourselves to sleep.” I took a shuddering breath. “I’ve hated storms ever since.”

Halstead nodded slowly, his thumbs tracing gentle arcs over the back of my hands. “You lost both of your parents the same night.”

The truth of his words hit me, almost knocking the wind from my lungs, and a sob tore from my aching throat, so tired was I from holding in emotion as I’d been forced to do at Lymington Park. Aunt Agnes detested any show of emotion, and I had learned quickly how uncomfortable it made Robert and Hugh as well. But now that I’d begun, it was as if a sluice had been lifted, and the force of my tears couldn’t be stopped. A handkerchief was pressed into my hands, and the stairs creaked as Halstead shifted, pulling me against his chest.

My arms went around him, feeling the strength of his shoulders, the smooth skin at the back of his neck. Somehow his warmth, his solidness undid me further, for whenever I’d cried before, I’d muffled my sobs in a cold pillow to ensure no one could hear. I cried for the loss of my mother and father, and for Harry, who’d never really known either.

Slowly my tears abated, and the tension eased from my body, leaving me with an exhaustion that seeped down to my very core.

Still Halstead held me, one hand stroking back my hair. The steady rhythm of his heart beat beneath my palm. Comforting. Calming. I melted into his chest, peaceful at last. It was only when I heard his faint grunt of discomfort that I pulled back. In the cramped stairwell he’d been holding me in a terribly awkward position, and I could see now that he’d been straining his leg.

“I’ve hurt you.” I wiped fiercely at my eyes, knowing I must look a mess.

He shook his head. “No. No worse than usual.”

“Are you always in pain?” I asked, almost afraid of the answer.

He used both of his hands to readjust his leg, faint beads of sweat dotting his forehead. “In varying degrees,” he answered finally. His features slipped into the carefully schooled repose that hid all outward signs of discomfort.

“So there’s never a time where you are unburdened by pain?” The very thought made me recoil, as if his discomfort were my own.

“There’s no need for you to concern yourself.” His eyes grew hooded, his voice aloof.

Frustration rose up inside me. Halstead’s shirt, perfectly tailored a moment before, was now wrinkled and damp from my tears. I’d shared something of myself with him, given him a part of me no one else had ever had. And yet, now our fragile connection shattered, snatched away by my reminder of his accident, his injury.

“Why? Why must you do that?” I wiped at my cheeks again, trying to erase all evidence of the weakness I’d displayed.

“Do what?”

“Why must you throw up a barrier between us?” My voice cracked halfway through, my already weakened emotions pushed to a breaking point.

Halstead sighed, running a hand down his breeches. “Perhaps you want more than I can give, Juliet.”

Something in his words pressed on me, something terrifying. My mother had given everything to my father, yet he’d left and never returned, swallowed by the sea. It seemed every time Halstead and I were together I gave him something more, yet there was no certainty that what I offered would be returned.

“You, give?” I said bitterly. “No, you only take.” He looked at me sharply, but I went on. “You profess the wish to know me, to see my different sides, yet you offer little in return.” I shook my head, my hair tumbling over my shoulders. “It is the worst kind of selfishness.”

Something in him snapped, his mask disappearing, anger tightening the lines around his mouth.

Good. I’d touched a nerve.

“More selfish than your cousin Mr. Nicholson?” he flung back.

“Robert?” I asked, as a wave of defensiveness washed over me. “He is one of the most giving people I know.”

Halstead leaned forward. “Yet he demands the one thing you do not wish to give him.”

“I don’t know for certain whether I wish to or not,” I snapped.

“Don’t you?”

How dare he turn this back to me? “He at least shares something of himself with me. Whatever Robert may be, he is not selfish. Or cowardly.” My chest heaved, rage thundering through my veins. Oh, how I wished to topple the wall of haughtiness Halstead hid behind.

“If you choose him—” He cut himself off and placed a hand on my shoulder. “He would douse your fire, Juliet.” I was struck by the look in his eyes, pierced to the very center. “You condemn me for my cowardice, but if you marry Mr. Nicholson, it will be because it is the safe choice, not the one your heart desires.”

“And you know so much of my heart, do you?”

Silence pulsed in the small space.

His fingers brushed down my cheek, leaving a trail of embers in their wake. “I want to, Juliet, more than I can ever remember wanting anything.” The cords in his throat tightened, and he lowered his voice until it was no more than a whisper. “But as much as I wish to . . . I can promise you nothing.”

His words halted my response, the only sounds the thrumming of my own pulse and his measured breaths.

My lungs refused to take in air, but somehow I managed to eke out two small words. “But why?”

He dropped his hand. Involuntarily I shivered. The hand that had warmed me a moment before was now fisted on his knee, his knuckles white with tension. I desperately yearned to take it, unfist it, and entwine it with my own. But I did not. Instead I clasped my own hands together to keep myself from doing something I’d regret.

I straightened my shoulders and met his gaze.

“We’d better return to our rooms. The storm has passed,” he said through gritted teeth.

“How can you tell?” I looked into his dimly lit face, all angles and harsh lines.

He rose. “I can feel it.” The bulk of him towered over me. Finally, he turned away, reaching for the doorknob.

But he was wrong. The tempest beyond the walls may have dissipated, but the storm inside me had only begun.

Chapter Fifteen

I lay in bed, the palm of my hand resting against my cheek. Sleep felt far away; every part of me was alert and awake, despite the late hour. When I closed my eyes, I imagined the tender feel of Halstead’s palm against mine, the security of my hand in his. And the dizzying wave of longing that came with it. A part of me wished to give in to that longing, throwing caution to the wind.

Thank heavens for the instinct that guarded my heart.

I hated the way things had ended between us. Something had changed between Halstead and me; some invisible barrier had been crossed, in him and myself. It was more than just how he’d held me in his arms as I cried hot tears against his chest. It was the words we had spoken—and all that had gone unsaid.

I’d taunted him in my frustration. And you know so much of my heart, do you?

His response echoed through my mind. I want to, Juliet, more than I can ever remember wanting anything.

Such words. They breathed inside of me, almost like a living thing, making me ache to know him. No matter how I tried to reason with myself, my heart overruled my head. I wanted more of us, more of him. More of who I was when I was with him.

With a sigh I turned to lie on my back, but even with my eyes open I could see his face. The creased lines in his forehead that spoke of concern. The way his mouth quirked as he listened to me intently. What was it about him that loosened my tongue and made me share my deepest fears and darkest memories? Blood rose to my cheeks as I thought about the way he’d held me in his arms. Even now, all alone, a blaze filled me as I remembered his warmth, his strength.

But as I lay in the darkness, the utter loss I’d felt as he’d pulled away from me returned. That hollowed-out feeling I was all too accustomed to.

The thrill of our time together, the passion of our words, faded into the night. My mind grew weary, and fears began to plague me. Perhaps my imaginings, my hopes were much wilder than they deserved to be. Halstead was a duke. One who had vowed he would never marry. And I was wise enough to know how much unhappiness, how much loneliness, how many repercussions could be caused by a marriage of social disparity.

And then a stinging reminder of Robert surfaced, of the pain he would feel if I rejected him. I could list countless reasons I should accept his affection and agree to marry him. Nine years of steadfast loyalty burned into my mind, encouraging me to put aside my reckless fascination with the Duke of Halstead.

For some reason, a memory from two summers ago came to mind. Robert and I had been out walking, trying to put off the reality of his imminent return to school. “Why must you leave?” I’d complained, only half joking. “Must you really go for this last year?”

There was a horrid monotony to life whenever Robert left. Without him, Aunt Agnes became more irritable and inevitably more demanding. Robert had turned to me then, with such sincerity etched in his face, that even now, over a year later, tears threatened to fall. “I’ll come back, Juliet. I always come back.”

And I knew he would; it was a promise I could hold to. So why did I feel so torn by Halstead’s words? Much as I wish to . . . I can promise you nothing. Nothing. The word reverberated through my mind.

Every thought, every feeling turned me this way and that, like a small boat afloat on a stormy sea. It wasn’t until almost dawn that my body finally gave in to sleep and allowed me to escape these plaguing uncertainties.

When I finally awoke, most of the morning had already passed, and the sun was high in the sky. Despite my oversleeping, my body felt wrung out by the events of the night before. It took a few minutes for me to slough off my fatigue, but once I did, memories of the storm and spending it with Halstead resurfaced.

A nervous thrill shot through my stomach at the thought of seeing him today. After last night, would things be different between us? My cheeks grew warm, and I shook my head and quickly pulled back the covers as something struck me. What would it be like when I saw Robert? Would he be able to sense the tempest of uncertainty that left me so thoroughly confused?

The thought of seeing anyone overwhelmed me; I needed to escape. Instead of calling for Betsy, I hurriedly dressed myself and pulled my hair back into a knot. A glance in the mirror gave me pause. Though my appearance was hardly passable, my eyes were bright, and with a bit of color in my cheeks I looked a great deal like my father did after he returned from one of his sea voyages—invigorated. Happy. I turned away, not wanting to give it too much thought.

A quick peek out the window told me that although the sun shone brightly, a stiff wind blew, and the air would be brisk. The thought didn’t deter me; a walk out in the cold air would do me good and give me time to get hold of my emotions. I tied my pelisse as I hurried down the stairs, my steps light and quick, my shoes echoing up to the cavernous walls of the castle’s main entry.

On my left the door to the drawing room was open. Voices, both familiar and unfamiliar, reached my ears. Visitors, perhaps? I glanced around, hoping to slip out unnoticed. The last thing I wanted to do this morning was make trivial conversation in the company of strangers I would likely never see again. The butler stood by the front door, his craggy features impassive. Something about him made me feel as though I was a disobedient child trying to sneak out. My shoe caught on the rug, and I tripped, barely keeping my feet.

“Miss Graham, is that you?” Lady Ellen’s ring of authority was unmistakable.

I groaned inwardly, a hand going to my poorly done hair. Much as I wished to dart for the door, I shrugged out of my pelisse, grudgingly handing it over to the butler. As I entered the drawing room, all of its occupants immediately turned in my direction.

I smiled at Lady Ellen first, though I was immediately aware of Halstead and the growing warmth in my middle from just being in the same room with him again. I forced myself not to look at him as three unfamiliar faces caught my eye.

“Miss Graham, allow me to introduce you to Lord and Lady Wollerton and their daughter, Lady Margaret.” Halstead’s mother looked me up and down, an expression of disapproval marring her brow.

I felt myself deflate. The smile that had come so easily only a few seconds before now took a great deal of effort to maintain. I’d forgotten about the visitors the dowager duchess had told me of only a few days before. But how could I? Lady Margaret was Halstead’s intended.

I nodded, keeping my thin smile in place, venturing another glance at the new houseguests. Lord Wollerton was a distinguished-looking man, with jet-black hair that had begun graying at the temples. His wife had a gentler look about her, with twinkling eyes and rosy-red cheeks.

“Miss Graham, what a pleasure to meet you.” Lady Margaret stood just next to her mother, a soft smile on her face, nothing like the stuffy and haughty woman I had envisioned. Tall and willowy, she wore a dress of pale blue that perfectly complemented her strawberry-blonde hair and creamy skin.

There before me, in perfect elegance, stood the reason why Halstead could never know my heart and why I could never know his. Why Robert, dependable Robert, was the future I ought to latch on to. Time stopped for a moment, as unwilling tears fought for release, my smile requiring ever more effort.

Thank goodness we were leaving in less than a week.

“Miss Graham?” The soft-spoken Lady Margaret repeated.

The slight tremor of her voice surprised me. With her hands clasped together in front of her and the way her glance flitted about, it almost seemed she was as ill at ease as I.

I curtsied. “Lord and Lady Wollerton, Lady Margaret. The pleasure is all mine.” My facade was fading quickly, and I stepped back, taking the open seat next to Robert.

“Where have you been this morning?” he asked. The conversation among the others resumed, the soft clink of china and muted voices filling the room.

Lady Ellen passed me a cup of tea, giving me a look that said she hoped to have a word with me later. I could feel Halstead’s gaze on me, but I couldn’t bear to look at him.

I turned to face Robert. “The storm kept me awake until all hours of the night. I am afraid I overslept.” Though I spoke to Robert, my attention remained on Lady Margaret, who was answering some question about their journey. Everyone laughed, and she blushed deeply. Yet the deep timbres of Halstead’s laugh were noticeably absent.

At last I lost the battle and looked toward him. He sat a few feet away from Lady Margaret, though he was angled toward her. I could see the two of them now, the Duke and Duchess of Halstead. He glanced up and caught me staring.

Humiliation funneled through me. I could hardly breathe past the lump in my throat, and I turned away. How could I have been so foolish last night? Though I hated to admit it, I had begun to let myself hope, to give way to feelings that were best tamped down and left unacknowledged. My stomach fought off waves of nausea.

Robert leaned toward me. “You must be hungry. Shall I send for a tray?”

I blinked, forcing back tears as I shook my head. “No, thank you. I’m not hungry.”

“Are you feeling all right, Juliet?” Robert touched my elbow lightly, and I took comfort in the gesture. A small measure of relief poured in, just to be near him. There was no doubt in my mind he would always be there.

I smiled, and this time it wasn’t forced. “Yes, thank you. Though, I would like to get some fresh air. Perhaps you would like to join me for a walk when tea is over?”

A grin split his face. “Of course I would.”

An hour later Robert and I walked arm in arm outside. I’d been wrong about the temperature. The air was quite balmy for a day this late in the season, but I was still grateful for the warmth Robert provided. I shivered against some inner chill.

“Lady Margaret is quite lovely, isn’t she?” Robert asked.

Lead filled my stomach. “Yes, she is.”

Robert peered at me, and for once I wished he did not know me so well. “Juliet, are you sure you do not wish to go in and lie down? You look ill.”

A strange sort of gravity pressed down on me, making it difficult to smile, but I shook my head adamantly. “No. I need the fresh air.” And I needed to stay in company, for if left to myself, I would surely fall to pieces.

“If you are certain.” Doubt was evident in his voice. “Perhaps you would like to know I wrote to the headmaster of Harrow this morning.”

“You did?” The distraction was a welcome relief. “What did you say?”

“I told him of your concerns. Asked him to keep a close eye on Harry and let me know if something seems amiss.”

“Thank you, Robert. You cannot imagine how much that means to me.” I scoffed inwardly at the thought of Robert being selfish. Was this not a perfect example of how he attended to my every whim? How could that be selfish?

“But of course,” he said, dismissing my thanks.

“How long do you think it will be before you hear back?”

“Oh, it should not take long. Several days at most. We’re an easy journey from London.” How quickly he allayed all my fears in regard to Harry. My arm that rested on his tightened, and I determined to look at Robert with new eyes, to try and put aside all thoughts of him as a brother. He had promised me time to think things over, and I did not intend to waste it.

“What did you do this morning?” I asked, hoping to deflect Robert’s attention while I took the opportunity to study him.

“Hugh and I went riding with Lord Aberdeen for several hours. We still haven’t seen all of the castle’s grounds.” He shook his head, a slight smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “I am afraid Lady Ellen will be sorely disappointed in Lymington Park after living in a castle like Shaldorn.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “And this is only one of their many holdings. Hugh will have to use all his charm to distract her from the disappointment.”

He laughed at that, and I enjoyed the sound. Robert had a willing laugh, easily given, even when a comment hardly warranted it. I could count on one hand the number of times I had been able to make Halstead laugh. The thought brought back the pit to my stomach, and I pushed it away.

Neither of us spoke for the next few minutes as we walked along the path, leaves crunching underfoot. I did my best not to stare at Robert, but I wanted to take his measure, to try and form an opinion of his person and looks as though we’d only just met.

He stood maybe five or six inches taller than me—not particularly tall, by any standard. But it was an easy height for conversation; there was no need for me to strain my neck to look up at him as we talked.

Robert’s position shifted, and I had to squint against the brightness of the sun as it peeked around his shoulder. His profile was more familiar to me than my own, but I tried to examine it anew. He had rather regular features—a nice nose and well-rounded cheeks that were raised in a smile more often than not. But his best feature was certainly his eyes, the soft green of an olive branch. Always warm. Familiar.

Nothing like Halstead’s.

My cheeks grew warm as I remembered the feel of Halstead’s arms around me. The solid, unyielding strength of his chest pressed against my cheek. I glanced at Robert’s chest. Could he possibly—

“Juliet, you are staring at me in the strangest manner.” He glanced down. “Is my cravat out of place?”

I shook my head fervently and hoped he couldn’t read my thoughts. “No, it’s just . . . a fine knot.”

“Your cheeks are very flushed. Should we head back inside?”

“No, no. Let’s walk for a bit longer. With the new arrivals, the castle is growing quite crowded.” I turned my gaze forward.

“I, for one, am grateful for the addition to the house party,” Robert confided and shrugged.

“Oh?” I couldn’t guess at his reasoning.

“Both the duchess and dowager duchess set me on edge, and save for Lady Ellen and Hugh, conversation has been running rather thin around the dinner table.”

I nodded, looking off into the distance, yet not seeing. “I will not disagree. And Lady Margaret seems like a pleasant conversationalist.” Try as I might to dislike her, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

“Yes, the very thing. And Lord and Lady Wollerton seem affable as well. Perhaps I’ll even get a small reprieve from Lord Aberdeen. He does cling so.”

I chuckled. “Give him some credit; with cousins such as his, can you blame him for seeking out your company?”

Robert laughed again. I sighed.

He looked at me closely then, with a penetrating gaze. He came to a stop and turned to face me. “You know you can always confide in me, Juliet. No matter what troubles you.”

I smiled briefly. “I know.” But I couldn’t. How could I explain how jumbled I felt inside, especially when Robert cared for me so dearly and so much of my confusion centered on another man?

We resumed walking, and our conversation continued. I enjoyed our time together, no doubt. It was easy and comfortable. Most people would be thrilled at the prospect of such a match—cousins, equal enough in situation and wealth, who got on well together. Perhaps I was ungrateful to turn my nose up at what Robert offered.

I had no business being confused when my path was set so clearly before me. There were worse things than a lifetime full of pleasant afternoon walks. And besides, the thought of rejecting Robert was a scary one—terrifying, even—for there was no easy alternative, no simple path forward.

But my thoughts disregarded reason, wandering into dangerous territory. Who would I, Juliet Graham, be if I married Robert? What would I become? Certainly nothing like the Juliet in the stairwell last night with Halstead, all passion and flame. That Juliet had no place beside Robert.

And that is what frightened me most of all.

Chapter Sixteen

“Juliet, did you not hear Lady Ellen?” Hugh asked across the dinner table.

I set down my wine glass as everyone turned to stare at me. “Pardon me, but I did not.”

“Poor Miss Graham is so far down the table, she probably cannot hear us,” Lady Wollerton said. “We have been talking of today’s rising temperatures and debating about whether we might have a Saint Martin’s summer.”

I nodded. “It was warmer today, come to think of it. And I certainly don’t think any of us would complain about a few nicer days before winter sets in.”

“That’s just it,” Lady Ellen said. “We must take advantage of this short turn in the weather. Shall we have a picnic tomorrow?”

General assent sounded up and down the table.

I glanced at Halstead, who, like me, kept quiet.

“Perhaps we could play some battledore,” Robert suggested, his mouth quirked in excitement.

Lady Margaret offered a timid smile. “I have never played battledore, but I would be willing to learn.”

“Then, learn you shall,” Lord Aberdeen announced.

The dowager’s mouth twisted. “I have never understood the desire to eat out of doors, exposed to the elements.” She didn’t seem to be afraid of going against the general consensus. “Isn’t that the purpose of buildings? To stay inside?”

“Oh, let them have their fun.” The duchess set down her fork. “There is no need for you to join in if you don’t wish to.”

“I enjoy a good romp outdoors every so often.” Lord Wollerton set his fist on the table with a thump. “I say we join them. It’ll help keep us young.”

Lady Margaret turned toward Halstead, meeting his eyes over her wine glass. “And what about you, Your Grace? Will you join us?”

I paused mid-bite.

Halstead touched one of the buttons at his wrist, a slight upward tilt to his lips. “We may as well make an afternoon of it.”

My fork clattered against my plate. “Excuse me,” I said at once. I took a sip of wine to cover my embarrassment until the conversation resumed.

Until now, Halstead had made no effort to attend anything but a few dinners and an evening here and there in the drawing room. But it seemed Lady Margaret’s company would change all that. The thought of being forced to watch him and Lady Margaret together while I receded into the background made my head swim. And then, at the end of the week, there would be the ball, where not only Hugh and Lady Ellen were expected to announce their betrothal, but Halstead and Lady Margaret as well.

Robert turned toward me. “I enjoyed our time together this afternoon.” He spoke in soft undertones so our conversation would remain private.

“And I as well.” I made no move to pick up my fork again. I had already drawn enough attention to myself for one night.

He raised a brow. “You do not seem overly excited at the prospect of a picnic.”

No sense in lying when I didn’t have to. I clamped my tongue between my teeth before giving Robert a pained smile. “I bit my tongue is all. I am afraid it’s still smarting.”

“Are you already conjuring up excuses for when I beat you at battledore?” Lines creased around his mouth as he tried to keep a straight face.

I tipped my nose into the air. “How very unchivalrous of you to take my injury so lightly. Now I shall have to win, if only to teach you a lesson.”

“I daresay I am more than willing to learn.” He gave me a look—one that was growing more frequent—that I didn’t quite know how to read. So I gave a light laugh and continued the conversation, while my mind began turning over possibilities about what tomorrow would bring.

The next afternoon I joined the others on the steps on the east side of the castle. We stood in the shadows, and even with the unseasonably warm temperatures, I shivered, glad I’d worn my pelisse.

Lady Ellen looked around in satisfaction. “I think everyone is here. The picnic baskets have been sent on ahead. Shall we be off?”

Hugh extended his arm for her, and she took it. Lord Aberdeen took Lady Margaret’s arm, and Robert and I took up the rear. Our group seemed small, but the others had chosen to take a barouche. I supposed I should at least be grateful Aunt Agnes had declined the invitation. She’d claimed too much sun gave her a headache. Perhaps that was one of the reasons her manner was always so dour.

Robert tucked my arm into his. The gesture was easy, natural. I wondered that I didn’t feel anything more when we touched, but perhaps it was only because we’d known one another for so long. “It is hard to believe it is almost November,” he said.

The logical side of me didn’t trust the warmer temperatures, especially when so many leaves had already fallen from the trees. I kicked at a few of the ones beneath my feet. “A Saint Martin’s summer never lasts for long. Winter is still just around the corner.”

“Don’t hurry it along, Juliet. Let’s just enjoy it while we can.”

We walked in silence for some minutes. The sun washed over the chill in the air, warming our backs and bringing a flush to our faces as we headed east, out to the rolling meadows. The remaining leaves danced on the trees, their beautiful hues highlighted by the bright blue of the sky.

“Stop for a moment, will you? I want to take off my pelisse.” My breath was a little ragged from the gradual but steady incline of our path.

Robert stood behind me and pulled as I tugged on the sleeves. In a moment I was free. I turned to take the pelisse from him, only to find him much closer than I’d expected.

He looked at me, seemingly with no thought of catching up with the others. “Perhaps we should rest for a moment. Your cheeks nearly match the color of your hair.” He reached out and tugged at one of my curls.

The gesture took me off guard. “Oh no. Let’s join the others. I am famished.” Trying to be playful, I snatched my pelisse from his hands. But even as I dashed away, I scolded myself. Why hadn’t I allowed that moment to unfold naturally? Why did I always become so infernally awkward?

As we crested the hill, we met the barouche that rested at the top of it, where Halstead sat with Lord and Lady Wollerton, as well as the duchess and the dowager, who had apparently decided to come for the picnic after all. I didn’t allow my gaze to linger on Halstead for long, especially when Lady Margaret stepped forward and began to speak with him.

Several footmen had been recruited for the picnic, and one stood near the hack, helping the ladies down. Once everyone had alighted, the footmen set out two blankets—one large and one small—and unloaded the baskets.

The dowager quickly took control of the seating arrangements. She pointed to the large blanket. “Lady Margaret, take the open seat next to Halstead. Ah yes, and Lord Everdale and Ellen can join you. Lord Wollerton, perhaps you could sit next to the duchess.”

Which left Robert, myself, Lord Aberdeen, Lady Wollerton, and the dowager. How quaint.

In due time, the food was laid out. I could not have imagined a more lavish picnic. There were finger sandwiches and salads, puddings and jellies, meats and cheeses.

Once everyone had a full plate, conversation veered away from the selection of food. The dowager, who leaned against a large cushion, turned her attentions to Robert. “So, young man. You are a second son. What is your aim?”

Robert set down his sandwich. “I shall have a basic living from a small estate I have inherited from my mother, but I am afraid it isn’t adequate. I am leaning toward purchasing a commission in the army.”

I stared at Robert. “But you have always talked of taking a position in the church, the one at Lymington Park.”

“Yes, I considered it for a long while, but this new idea has taken hold of me, and I believe it will suit me better. The church has always sounded a bit tiresome, to be honest.”

A strange unease settled over me. I’d thought I knew everything there was to know about Robert. How had we not discussed the matter? Or rather, how had he never broached the matter with me?

Lady Wollerton bit into a grape. “I have always considered the army to be a noble profession.”

“My brother recently purchased a captaincy in the Navy,” Lord Aberdeen volunteered.

There was a moment of silence.

“The wife of an army man is guaranteed a great deal of solitude.” Halstead’s voice carried over to where we sat. I froze, fighting the blush that rose up my cheeks. I pursed my lips and turned away. He had no business listening in on and interrupting our conversation.

“Yes, the church is certainly more suited for family life,” the dowager observed, and for once our thoughts were in agreement.

Robert shrugged. “That may be, but let’s save that topic for another occasion. Discussing the living of a second son is a dreary prospect for such a fine day. Lady Wollerton, you must tell us more about life in Devon. You live near Exeter, do you not?”

The conversation moved on, and I did my best to join in, but it was difficult when so much of my attention was focused on whether Halstead was listening and what he might be thinking.

As everyone grew full, conversation began to languish. The brightness of the sun made my eyes heavy, and I was not alone in my drowsiness.

“Oh look, Juliet, some fresh orange slices. We were just admiring the orangery the other day,” he informed the dowager. He handed me the tray, and I put several slices on my plate.

The dowager lifted a haughty brow. “Yes, it’s quite stunning. Halstead insisted on it when he returned from his year touring the Continent. It seems they are quite common in Spain and Portugal.”

I engaged all my willpower to not look toward Halstead as I bit into one of the orange slices. My mouth was encompassed by a burst of tangy flavor. With the sun beating down, I could almost imagine myself somewhere exotic.

Lady Ellen called over from the other blanket. “Grandmother, I think Mother is going to head back, and perhaps Lord and Lady Wollerton. Would you like to join them?”

“Yes, I believe I will. It is well past the time of my afternoon nap.”

Once they’d been seen safely off, Robert stood quickly. “Who wants to play a game of battledore?” He grabbed the battledores and held one out to me. “Juliet?”

I took his hand and stood to join him.

He turned to Lady Margaret. “Perhaps you and Lord Aberdeen wish to play as well?”

I winced at the way Robert passed over Halstead.

Lady Margaret glanced at Halstead and shook her head. “No, His Grace and I will stay here. We’ve not had ample opportunity to reacquaint ourselves. Perhaps Lady Ellen and Lord Everdale will join you.”

“That we will.” Hugh helped Lady Ellen to her feet.

“I suppose we shall be allies instead of opponents,” I said to Robert.

He drew closer and handed me one of the rackets. “I do not mind.” I blushed, hoping Halstead had not heard Robert’s intimate tone.

Hugh’s voice boomed toward us from where he and Lady Ellen had positioned themselves for play. “I see no point in wasting the whole of the afternoon. Let’s make quick work of them, Lady Ellen.”

Robert marched out to join them. He tapped the racket against the palm of his hand. “Lofty words for one who was so thoroughly bested the last time we played.”

“Can one be bested in battledore?” I asked.

Robert grinned. “Certainly. By showing oneself less than capable of returning the shuttlecock.”

The game began, and it quickly became clear that I was to be nothing more than a bystander. Except for the occasional hit when the shuttlecock was launched in my direct vicinity, I had little opportunity to participate. Lady Ellen was quite adept, and Hugh and Robert seemed determined to show off. The game grew more and more heated.

“Robert,” Hugh yelled. “That was an easy hit you missed.”

Lady Ellen laughed. “Yes, Mr. Nicholson. Even I am ashamed of that blunder.”

Robert shook his head. “Lady Margaret, give us your opinion, since you have the most objective view. Would it not have been impossible for me to retrieve that?”

Lady Margaret held up her hands. “I shall not be drawn into taking sides.”

I couldn’t stand the way Halstead was being so deliberately ignored. “Perhaps His Grace has an opinion on the matter,” I said loudly.

Everyone stopped and turned toward Halstead.

Halstead’s expression was one of calculated coolness. “Perhaps if Miss Graham were given half a chance, she might have been able to retrieve it.” He looked pointedly at Robert.

I didn’t particularly care to be given more opportunity in the game, but my stomach dipped all the same that Halstead had noticed.

A look of annoyance flickered over Robert’s face before he shrugged. “I suppose we’ll never know.” Then he picked up the shuttlecock and hit it with his racket, restarting the game.

Everyone shouted back and forth, names being called out in the heat of the game. Lord Everdale. Lady Ellen. Lord Aberdeen and Lady Margaret. Even Halstead was consulted every so often. And it was then I realized Robert and I were the only ones without titles. Well matched. Perfectly paired.

I set down my racket and abandoned the game.

“You shall not quit on us already, shall you?” Robert had removed his jacket. Perspiration trickled down his temples.

“I am hardly a worthy competitor. Lord Aberdeen can take my place.”

I resumed my earlier seat on the blanket, grateful to be far enough from Lady Margaret and Halstead that for them to include me in their conversation would be awkward, if not impossible. Adjusting my skirts around my ankles, I turned back to watch the game. Robert continued to play with enthusiasm, bellowing every time the shuttlecock was in danger of hitting the ground.

Time seemed to stop for a moment as I watched him, still minutely aware of Halstead seated next to Lady Margaret. Could I see Robert as my husband? The dilemma weighed on me heavier than ever, for it was not only Robert’s feelings that hung in the balance, but my entire future.

Chapter Seventeen

Later that afternoon, worn out from our time in the sun, I made my way up to my room. I carried my pelisse, wondering why I’d thought it necessary to bring it along. Lady Ellen stood just outside my door. “Ah, there you are, Miss Graham. I wanted to pass along my mother’s wish to have a musical display this evening. I hope you will be a willing participant. Lady Margaret and I don’t wish to shoulder the burden of tonight’s entertainment alone.”

The thought of performing in front of others made the contents of my stomach heave to and fro. I had practiced the pianoforte only twice in the week since our arrival, including the afternoon Halstead had caught me performing a song that was most assuredly not appropriate in company. But I knew what Aunt Agnes expected of me. Tonight there would be no escape.

“Of course I will, though I do hope your standards are sufficiently low.”

Lady Ellen smiled. “We are not at a musical soiree in London. And I sketch much better than I play, so you need not worry that you are out of your depth.”

I nodded, desperate to find some time to practice before it was time to dress for dinner.

She cocked her head to one side. “Juliet, were you upset by the Wollertons’ arrival?”

“No,” I protested. “Why would I be?”

“I mean no offense. Only once you laid eyes on Lady Margaret, it was as though . . .” She began to nod. “You knew, didn’t you? Somehow you knew the Wollertons were coming. But how—?”

“I confess I did know they were coming.” I dipped my head in acknowledgment. “Your grandmother told me as much. But she made me promise . . .”

Lady Ellen tipped her head back and nodded once more, her lips pursed together. “Ah, I see now.” She huffed. “How like Grandmother, the old fiend. I should have known she’d have something like this up her sleeve. He may not have shown it in company, but Halstead will be furious.” She regarded me closely. “Are you and Halstead—?”

“No,” I said much too quickly, shaking my head. “No.” A soft compassion settled over her face, and I couldn’t bear it. “You’ll have to excuse me, but I fear I must practice before dinner, lest I embarrass myself.”

She let me go, but I felt her gaze upon me as I walked away. I still carried my pelisse, having been deterred before returning to my room, but I had no wish to turn back and face more of Lady Ellen’s searching questions.

There was a large pianoforte in the main drawing room, where we would play tonight, but I could not practice there without being overheard. Instead I made my way toward the room where I’d lost my temper with Halstead. At least there was little chance of anyone hearing me play there. But as I turned down the passageway, I passed the duchess’s sitting room, where I could not miss the heated conversation taking place between Halstead and his mother and grandmother.

“The thought that you would invite them without my permission is not only irksome; it is intolerable. I will not allow you to meddle in the affairs of my life.” Halstead’s voice had a perilous edge to it.

“Oh, calm yourself. I had as much a hand in this as your mother.” The dowager clearly had no intention of apologizing. “It is obvious that you no longer have the best interests of the dukedom in mind. I had hoped that seeing that silly Lord Aberdeen might awaken some sense of duty in you. The very thought of him inheriting because you refuse to marry and produce an heir . . .” A heavy sigh punctuated her frustration.

His mother spoke as the dowager trailed off. “What’s done is done. And whatever you may think of our actions, Halstead, I hope you will not embarrass our family by snubbing the Wollertons. Lady Margaret deserves better.”

“And what do I deserve?” he thundered. “To be hounded by every female relation I have?” A loud thump sounded, which I could only assume was his cane. “The accident took everything from me, and now you demand even more. As I have made abundantly clear, I shall not marry. And your ill-schemed attempts will not convince me otherwise.”

My chest constricted to hear him speak so bluntly. For while there was anger in his voice, there was something else too. Before I could think on it further, the dowager let out a puff of annoyance, ignoring his outburst.

“Curse your stubbornness, Halstead. Stop and think for just a moment. Have you even considered the position Lady Margaret has been in these past few years?”

“A position she easily could have remedied,” Halstead shot back. “I made my intentions clear. No doubt she could have had her choice of suitors.”

“Yet she has remained unmarried.”

“So I should marry her out of pity?”

His mother cleared her throat. “I see you are not to be reasoned with, so there is no point in arguing any further. Only I wish you would at least consider.”

Silence.

“I shall at least move forward and keep the two of you seated together at mealtimes,” she said.

“You may do what you wish, but rest assured it will have no influence over me.”

Footsteps sounded, sending a jolt of awareness through me. If I stayed still, I would be caught eavesdropping. I dashed forward, not stopping until I reached the music room.

I took a seat on the bench at the pianoforte as my heart rate slowed. Lifting the fallboard, I tried to push away all thoughts of the conversation I’d overheard. I’d already wasted precious time, and I still hadn’t the faintest idea what to play this evening.

I riffled through the limited selection that rested on the bench. Most of the pieces were too difficult for me to even attempt. As I looked at the complicated arrangements, a steady pulse began to beat in my temples, signaling an oncoming headache. I closed my eyes, massaging my fingertips over my eyelids, wishing the day were over.

The evening loomed before me, hours during which I would have no choice but to admire Lady Margaret, her perfect breeding and elegance. No doubt Halstead would eventually fall prey to her many charms. How could he not? But the thought of trying to make myself feel something for Robert as I looked on made my insides swirl with discontent.

The clock on the mantel chimed the hour. I bit back a curse, for I was no closer to choosing a song, and it was already time to dress for dinner. Aunt Agnes’s shrill voice sounded in the back of my mind. I’d be punished for my performance this evening, no question.

As I passed the drawing room on my way upstairs, I considered sneaking in and loosening the strings on the piano, rendering it horribly out of tune. Then, at least, I’d be relieved from any obligation to play. But the embarrassment if I were caught . . . No. I’d have to face the group and do my best to avoid censure.

Up in my room Betsy had laid out a pale-pink dress, one that always made me feel more like a young girl than a woman about to reach my majority. I walked to the wardrobe and pulled out my dark-green evening gown. “I’d like to wear this tonight.”

Betsy’s mouth turned down in surprise. “But it’s one of your best gowns.”

“Yes, and with the arrival of the new guests and me being expected to perform this evening, heaven knows I need every ounce of confidence it will give me.”

“Very well.”

She pulled my day dress up over my head and then adjusted my stays. “Your hair leaves something to be desired,” she said as she pulled the green gown over my head. The soft silky feel of the material against my skin sent a wave of shivers down my spine.

“Yes, I was hoping you might be able to remedy that.” I looked at her pleadingly as she smoothed out my dress.

Betsy stepped back, observing me with a look of concentration. “The green suits you.” She nodded her approval.

I turned, catching sight of myself in the mirror. She was right. It enhanced my muddy-brown eyes, bringing them to life. My whole complexion brightened with the contrast.

She guided me over to the vanity and motioned for me to take a seat. “Now, let us see what can be done about your hair.”

“Yes, please,” I agreed. It was still pulled back in the simple knot I’d done this morning.

She took more time than usual with my hair, weaving it into an intricate design and leaving several soft wisps curling around my face. But I worried for her. I met her gaze in the mirror. “Won’t Aunt Agnes be waiting for you?”

Betsy shook her head. “I saw to your aunt first. She wanted to be ready early. You know she’ll want to impress Lord and Lady Wollerton.” She stepped back. “There. All finished.” She looked at me proudly, as if I were an artistic masterpiece she’d just completed.

“Thank you, Betsy,” I said with feeling.

Downstairs I slipped into the drawing room quietly. People stood in small circles, chatting as they waited for dinner to be announced. With a quick survey of the room, I determined that everyone was present save Halstead. Would he upend the entire evening with his absence? We’d soon find out.

Robert walked straight toward me, his face alight. “Juliet, you look . . . lovely.” He leaned toward me, his breath tickling my ear. “Captivating.”

There was a warmth, a passion in his voice that was unfamiliar. I took a small step backward. “Thank you.” It came out as more of a question than I’d intended.

Lady Ellen stood in the far corner of the room, conversing with Hugh, Lord Aberdeen, and Lady Margaret. She looked my direction and waved the two of us over, saving me from further embarrassment.

Lady Margaret smiled as we approached. “Miss Graham, Mr. Nicholson. We were just discussing Shaldorn’s multitude of gardens. Have you ever seen anything more lovely?”

I tried not to grimace.

“I can only imagine what they are like during the summer months,” Robert said in his usual amiable way.

“Ah yes. The gardens are superb.” Lord Aberdeen looked to Lady Margaret, as if hoping his compliment would meet with her approval.

They continued talking, but I found myself looking at the door more than once, hating that I kept waiting for Halstead to come through it. Lady Ellen touched my arm and pulled me to the side. “I am glad to see you looking so well this evening. I was worried about you earlier.”

“Whatever for?” My voice sounded high-pitched, even to my own ears.

“Please,” she said sternly, crossing her arms over her chest. “I thought we had agreed to avoid triviality.”

The sincerity etched in her face made me contrite at once. “You are right, of course. I am not quite myself, but it is only a matter of time. By tomorrow I am sure I shall be restored.”

“I hope so. Tomorrow I hope we may steal a little time for ourselves to speak alone.”

“Dinner is served,” the butler announced from across the room, and I could only nod as everyone began pairing off. Robert held out his arm and led me into the dining room.

The head of the table sat empty. Lady Margaret was led to the seat just left of where Halstead should have been. And it came as no great surprise that I was placed on the far end of the table. From where she sat, the dowager duchess glanced down at me, her mouth ticking up in a celebratory smile. I turned away.

Right after everyone took their seats, the door opened once more, and Halstead entered. The room went quiet. Halstead surveyed the room, and my stomach pitched as he found my eyes down the length of the table. There was a token of appreciation in his gaze, and he gave me the briefest of nods. It took every ounce of willpower I possessed to finally look away. All at once everyone began to talk, and I counted myself lucky to be seated next to Lord Aberdeen, who shouldered the burden of conversation.

When at last dinner was finished, I rose, following the rest of the women into the drawing room while the men lingered behind. The matrons all sat together, and I joined Lady Ellen and Lady Margaret in a gathering of chairs near the pianoforte. My lungs slowly deflated as my nerves from earlier returned.

Lady Margaret arranged her hands on her lap, turning her gaze on me. “Miss Graham, I hope you won’t think me forward, but I have never been one who excels at small talk. Pray, don’t think ill of me if I speak openly.”

Lady Margaret’s ingenuousness struck me at once, and I liked her the more for it. “Lady Ellen and I spoke only a few days ago of our distaste for trifling conversation, so you are in good company,” I assured her as Lady Ellen nodded confirmation.

Lady Margaret smiled as she glanced between Lady Ellen and me. “I must admit, I have dreaded this visit for some time. My parents expect so much, and I hate to disappoint them.” A line of worry creased her forehead, and then, just as quickly, it was gone. “But I do not wish to think about that just now. Do tell us what is happening between you and Mr. Nicholson.” She gave me a look of encouragement.

Taken aback, my mouth dropped open a bit. Unsure of what to say, I remained silent.

“Come, do not be modest. I could not help but notice the way he looked at you tonight. He is ever so handsome and kind. Has he professed himself? Is it a mutual regard?”

Lady Ellen pursed her lips, looking at me with interest.

“Well,” I said slowly, weighing out my words. “He has given me reason to think he wishes for . . . more between us.”

As if she could sense all that I had held back, Lady Ellen narrowed her eyes.

Lady Margaret sighed contentedly. “It is just as I suspected.” She leaned forward. “And? What of your own feelings?”

“I have told him I need time to consider things.” Why did my mouth feel so dry all of a sudden? I touched my tongue to the roof of my mouth. “I do not wish to rush into anything.”

Lady Margaret’s brows pinched together. “That’s . . . prudent of you.”

The door opened, and the men filed in. The duchess got to her feet. “Ah, very good. Shall we all gather near the pianoforte?” she asked.

My stomach tied itself into knots of worry. Whatever was I going to play?

“Lady Margaret, as our guest of honor, would you be so good as to share your talents with us this evening?”

With easy grace, Lady Margaret rose and made her way to the pianoforte. She exuded no hint of nerves, and I suspected she had a great deal of musical ability. I envied her tall, slender figure, the easy sway of her hips. She pursed her lips together as she looked through the music. “Ah,” she said at last.

She began playing an opera, and soon Italian flowed from her lips. She had a high register but hit every note, a perfect vibrato accentuating her words. My gaze wandered to Halstead as she played. His focus was trained on her, yet his mouth was grim, his posture stiff. I yearned to know what he was thinking. As she finished, the room filled with applause; Halstead clapped as well, his attention steadily fixed on her.

Almost as if he sensed my gaze, he looked toward me. I quickly turned back to Lady Margaret, heat creeping up my neck.

Lady Ellen was invited to go next, and a harp was moved toward the pianoforte. I groaned inwardly the moment she began to play. Despite her earlier claims, it was soon apparent she had received a great deal of musical tutoring. She plucked the strings with finesse. The worry in me grew, for I knew Aunt Agnes would compare my performance to those of two very accomplished young women.

When I was called forward, my heart began to palpitate erratically, much as I imagined a fox’s would at the baying of the hounds. If there was something I hated more than performing before others, I couldn’t think of it in this moment. It was the very thing I’d avoided since the night of our arrival.

The walk toward the pianoforte seemed to take ages. My mind grew numb, and I only pretended to sort through the music, not really seeing. Finally, I placed some music upon the pianoforte. But when I began to play, it was not the music set before me. My fingers seemed to have a mind of their own. It was a song I had learned from my father long ago. My fingers ran the length of the pianoforte, playing a memory I hadn’t known existed. It was simple; a lilting Scottish folk song.

The music washed over me as I remembered a happier time. I could almost see my mother dancing around the room as my father sang, the two of them encompassed in a world of their own making. In those moments the months Father had been gone at sea didn’t exist, and the disapproval of Mother’s family faded into the distance.

A hacking cough from the far side of the room pulled me from my reminiscence. I glanced out at the audience, a roomful of people staring at me, and all of a sudden my fingers tripped over each other, my memory faltering.

Out of nowhere the purest baritone I had ever heard began to sing. My head jerked up, searching the room before my gaze came to rest on Halstead. Though the evidence was right before me, I could hardly believe it. His gaze captured mine, and every note jolted through me, splintering and seeping into my limbs, filtering right down to my core.

Everyone in the room turned toward Halstead, astonishment playing over their faces. His voice rose and fell with the melody, each word and note telling a story I’d long since forgotten. It was a song about going away to war, one my father used to sing to us before he left for sea.

I grieve to leave my comrades dear,

I mourn to leave my native shore,

To leave my aged parents here,

And the bonnie lass whom I adore.

But tender thoughts must now be hushed,

When duty calls, I must obey;

Fate wills it so that part we must,

And the morn I will be far away.

He stood with the help of his cane, edging toward the pianoforte, where I played. His voice smoothed over my missed notes as I recovered. The music flowed easily once more. No longer was I looking at my hands as I played, for I could not look away from the Duke of Halstead.

I continued playing while he moved toward the pianoforte, still singing. The sleeve of his jacket brushed a loose curl at the nape of my neck as he came around me and stood at my left. The hypnotic tones of his voice lured me in and sent chills chasing down my arms. It seemed as though every word was meant for me.

Adieu! dear Scotland’s sea-beat coast!

Ye misty vales and mountains blue!

When on the heaving ocean tost,

I’ll cast a wishful look to you.

I glanced up, but his gaze no longer rested on me. Instead his eyes sparked with a look of defiance aimed at his mother and grandmother. My mind spiraled back to the conversation I had overheard earlier today. Of course. He hadn’t begun to sing because he wished to save me from embarrassment. No, this was his way of making clear that he had no intention of following along with their schemes. He’d seen the perfect opportunity and taken it.

Hurt slashed through me, disbelief that he would use me thus. Dash the consequences; I would not allow it. A dissonant chord sounded, and I looked down at the realization that it had come from me. “I am sorry; I seem to have forgotten the last part.”

Halstead’s gaze came to rest on me as everyone gave somewhat stilted applause. No doubt most were confused as to what had just taken place. Despite my efforts to stop it, my face began to crumple. I hurriedly stood, not bothering to excuse myself as I brushed by Halstead and made my way back to my seat.

“Well, I suppose that concludes the musical portion of the evening,” the duchess said. “Please make yourselves comfortable. Tea will be brought in shortly.” She looked at Lady Ellen, who stood immediately.

Lady Ellen waved over one of the footmen. “Shall we bring out the game tables? I find myself in the mood for a game of whist.”

Lady Margaret rose as well. “Yes, let’s.”

I stayed in my seat, arms crossed over my chest, and consoled myself with the assurance that we were trapped in company—at least Aunt Agnes would wait until later to make her displeasure known. I tried to convince myself that my roiling emotions were due to the punishment she was sure to mete out.

Robert appeared at my side. “Would you care to join me at the card tables, Juliet?”

“No, thank you,” I said shortly, unable to conceal my foul temperament. “It does not suit my mood this evening.”

“Juliet, what exactly—?”

“Go join the others, Robert.” A voice in the back of my head urged me to curb my anger. What had happened tonight was certainly not Robert’s fault, and I would gain nothing by pushing him away. But I was far too worked up to put on a facade and sit at a card table, making frivolous conversation. I wanted space. Couldn’t Robert see I hadn’t the patience for his questions?

He clenched his teeth. “Very well. Sit alone if you wish, but after your embarrassing display just now, Mother will not be happy.”

Robert turned away, and I was irked that he would use his mother to try to manipulate me. A scowl crept over my face as I picked up a book that sat on the table beside me and leafed through the pages. It was a book on Roman architecture, and it took great effort to even feign interest. Inwardly I seethed, frustrated at the entire house party but myself most of all. I had allowed myself to be taken in by Halstead, his captivating dark eyes and his mysterious ways. The man was a cad. A blackguard. One who had no place in my heart.

Unable to stand another moment in the same room with him, I got to my feet. Wisdom urged me to leave at once, but some force pulled me past the tables where everyone chatted, laughing over their games. Halstead sat near the fire, away from the others.

He looked up in surprise as I approached. “Juliet.” He kept his voice low.

I ignored the way the deep timbres of his voice sent a rush of warmth through me. “How dare you,” I said in a fierce whisper.

“How dare I what?” One brow ticked up.

“How dare you use me! Am I nothing more to you than a pawn?” I demanded. “A part of your scheme to show your distaste for having Lady Margaret thrust upon you?”

He got to his feet in one swift motion, leveraging his cane as he balanced his weight. At once he was looking down on me, the angles of his cheekbones catching the light of the fire. “What I think of Lady Margaret is none of your concern.”

I bristled with righteous indignation, my anger rising. “It is my concern when you use me to convince your mother and grandmother you’ll not be bullied into marriage against your wishes.”

The room had quieted, and though we kept our voices low enough to not be heard, it seemed certain we had everyone’s attention. Prudence dictated I leave before my temper got the better of me, but I could not resist one parting shot. “You don’t deserve the likes of Lady Margaret. She is much too good for you.”

Chapter Eighteen

I watched the flames in the hearth through the reflection in my vanity mirror, waiting for the knock that was sure to come. Exhaustion from my lack of sleep the night before seemed only to fuel my frazzled nerves. The small wooden mountain goat sat on the table near my brush. I picked it up, turning it over and over in my hand. I traced the lines of the goat’s carved fur, mesmerized by the precision of the wood carver’s knife.

The impatient knock that sounded at my door a few minutes later jolted me out of my daze. I set the goat down and turned. “Come in.” I exhaled, resigned to whatever punishment Aunt Agnes had in store.

She strode into my room, her face expressionless. Yet beneath her unruffled facade simmered a great deal of frustration, and every bit of it would soon be turned on me. The slightest wrinkle appeared between her brows. “Do you care to explain what happened down in the drawing room this evening?” Her tone suggested I had little choice in the matter.

I willed myself to be demure, to take her reprimand with meekness. “Are you referring to my performance on the pianoforte?”

Her lips almost disappeared as she pressed them into a thin, unforgiving line. “Take your pick, Juliet. What happened during your performance was only one of many disasters this evening.” Her hands went to her hips. “Did you arrange for the duke to sing with you tonight?”

It took a great deal of effort not to jut out my chin in defiance. “I did not.”

It was not the answer she had expected. “I can hardly trust you enough to believe that.”

“But it is the truth.”

Her eyes looked as if they might shoot out lightning bolts. “Whatever possessed you to cut him off before the song came to an end? It only drew more attention to the whole awkward affair! And then the impudence you had to make a scene with him before leaving the drawing room, unexcused. You will ruin Hugh’s chances, Juliet, and I will not have it.”

“If my behavior can so easily affect Lady Ellen’s affection for Hugh, then I doubt very much their chance for happiness in marriage.” The words rolled out of me before I could even think, and I knew at once I would be made to pay for every one of them. Aunt Agnes’s hands twitched as though she might slap me.

All at once her entire demeanor changed, the cool mask of repose slipping back into place. Fear settled over my heart. “I am sure you won’t be so flippant when I tell you Harry will not be coming home over the Christmas holidays.”

My mouth opened in protest, but Aunt Agnes continued. “I promised your mother I would give Harry the very best upbringing I could. Turn him into a gentleman—something your father never was. You can hardly expect me to bring him home for Christmas, where he will be subject to your unladylike behavior. That kind of influence would only undermine my efforts.”

Suddenly I was fourteen again and Harry a boy of four. I had invited Harry downstairs to take tea, thinking it would be fun to act as if he were a proper little gentleman, but in a moment of excitement he had spilled his tea on Aunt Agnes’s cream-colored settee. I still remembered the look on her face when she’d come in and caught me by surprise before I’d had opportunity to remedy the situation—the absolute disdain, the malice as she walked toward him.

In that moment I had vowed not to ever let her lay a finger on Harry. So I had done the only thing I could. Stepped forward and claimed the fault as my own. That was the first time she had slapped me, and I’d never forget how hard my head whipped to the side, how long the sting on my cheek lasted.

My heart pricked from memories of the past. “Aunt Agnes, please—”

She raised a hand, cutting me off. “I shall brook no protests. Perhaps you will be more amenable to discussing your behavior after the gravity of your actions has sunk in. Good night, Juliet.”

A loud click sounded as the door fully shut. My breaths came in quick little bursts as I tried desperately to think of what to do. But protecting Harry was no longer as simple as stepping forward and admitting culpability. Aunt Agnes had new ways of hurting us both, and until he was safely within my care come my twenty-first birthday, she would.

I turned back around, staring at myself in the mirror, my pulse pounding in my throat. Harry. I’ve hurt Harry. And I was powerless to help him. Indeed, I was only a chess piece moved at the convenience of others. Control of my own life, of Harry’s, lay just out of reach.

A furious desperation grew within me, straining against all that held me bound, pushing for release. I grabbed the only thing within reach—my wooden mountain goat—and hurled it across the room. It ricocheted off the edge of the mantel and landed in the embers of the dying fire. Regret pummeled me at once. I rushed to the hearth and reached in, desperate to save the only remaining possession that connected me to my father. The low flames licked my hand as I picked it up, and the wooden figure itself seared my palm. I cried out in pain, dropping the trinket on the hearth beside me.

My hand throbbed, and I cradled it against my chest, grinding my teeth together to keep from crying out again. The pain mounted with every passing moment. I glanced around, desperate for relief. The window. I ran across the room, pulled back the curtains with my good hand, and pressed my burned palm to the windowpane. The chilled glass from the cold outside air brought sweet relief. The temperature must have plummeted since this afternoon’s picnic. I exhaled, never more grateful for autumn’s cooler temperatures.

But in less than a minute the pane warmed under the heat of my burn. I drew my hand back for a moment and examined it. My fingers were a deep red, but my palm had sustained most of the damage. Three angry blisters sweltered under my crimson skin. I berated myself as I inspected my burn. My temper had gotten the better of me, and now Harry would pay for my outburst. The burned flesh of my hand seemed almost a fitting punishment. Air hissed between my teeth, and my hand began to tremble. The insistent pain demanded reprieve. I needed something else, something stronger.

I rushed over to retrieve the basin of water Betsy had left out for me and brought it over to the window seat. After plunging my hand into the cool water, I pushed open the window with my good hand and let the near-freezing air blast against my palm.

I repeated the process again and again, my mind turning numb through the ritual. The room grew cold from the night air, overpowering the dying fire. I pulled the coverlet from my bed and wrapped it around me before returning to my spot in the window seat.

After almost an hour I began to force my hand away from the window for a few seconds at a time. Fatigue and pain fought for precedence, and exhaustion finally began to win out. I pulled in the window and left it open only a crack. Sinking back against the wall, I rested my hand near the cool air of the windowsill. My eyes grew heavy, and I pulled the coverlet up around my shoulders, giving in to sleep as the strength of my exhaustion overpowered the throbbing of my burn.

When I awoke, my hand was stiff. It screamed with pain when I tried to open my palm and examine my burn in the light of day. Two of the blisters had burst, leaving my hand raw and bleeding. My eyes pricked with tears. I rang for Betsy.

She came in, a severe look on her face. “You know I am supposed to attend to your aunt first.”

“I know, but first I need something for my hand.” I held it out to show her. “Do you think you could find something for it belowstairs?”

All severity disappeared, and her mouth gathered in worry. “What happened, miss? That’s not a burn from a cup of tea, if you know what I mean.”

“Don’t you worry about that; I just need something for it.”

“I could have someone fetch a doctor,” she offered.

“No,” I said firmly. “No doctor.” Aunt Agnes would be furious if I drew any more attention to myself.

Betsy nodded and hurried from the room.

Now that I was awake, the pain in my hand came back full force. I looked around the room, eager to distract myself as I waited. Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of my mountain goat—now a mostly blackened lump. I walked over to the hearth and picked it up. One side was far more damaged than the other. One of the horns had been burned off, along with much of the fine detailing in the fur. I closed my palm around it, grateful to have any of it left at all.

Betsy knocked before pushing the door open with her back, her hands occupied with a tray of supplies. “I have some cool water and yeast, which is what cook recommended.” The wrinkling of her nose suggested doubt as to the worth of the method. “If you desire something more medicinal, I’m afraid we’ll have to call for a doctor. Which, I might add, is what I think we should do.”

I took a seat at the vanity and set down my charred mountain goat. He seemed to stare back at me with condemnation. The ash left my hand coarse and sooty. I turned back to Betsy. “No, no. I don’t wish to make a fuss. Let’s try the cool water and yeast and then wrap it with this gauze you brought. We need to hurry so you can attend to Aunt Agnes.”

Betsy knelt before me and set down the tray. My palm stung as she applied the yeast, and I took in quick breaths to keep my gathering tears from falling. “No one will notice if I pull my glove over it, will they?” I spoke through clenched teeth.

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Good, then go and see to Aunt Agnes before she grows impatient.”

By the time I was ready for the day, breakfast was almost over. I walked into the breakfast room and headed straight to the sideboard. The footman stepped forward. “A little of everything, please.” Usually I served myself, but today it would be impossible for me to both hold my plate and fill it. The footman bowed. He let me take the lead as I showed him what I wanted.

“Would you like me to take your plate to the table?” he asked.

“No, thank you.” I took the plate with my left hand and approached the others. Much to my surprise, Halstead was seated at the table. He had never joined the breakfast party before today. I quickly looked away, not eager to face him after last night’s confrontation. If I could, I would remain in my room for the remainder of our time here.

“Miss Graham, good morning.” Lady Margaret greeted me as all of the gentlemen rose. I eyed the only open seat—between Lord Aberdeen and Halstead.

“Good morning,” I returned, settling into my seat. “Lord Aberdeen.” I nodded.

Lord Aberdeen gave me a pained look. “Miss Graham, I hope I will not offend you by leaving just as you arrive. I have some business in town to attend to.”

I set my napkin in my lap. “Oh no. Please do not think of it.” My voice was prim, my manners overexaggerated in reaction to the pain.

He stood and gave an extravagant bow before exiting the room.

I picked up my fork and tried to cut my sausage without the benefit of a knife. My attempt was inelegant and unfruitful, but not eating would only draw attention. I abandoned the sausage and stabbed at a bite of eggs.

Lady Ellen pushed back her plate. “The great outdoors calls us. Would you care to join us for a ride this morning, Miss Graham? You left last night before we made plans.”

My heart jumped skittishly, as it soon became apparent that everyone but Halstead would be leaving. The minute they left we would be alone, save for the footman standing against the wall. I chewed for longer than necessary, trying to think up an excuse as to why I wouldn’t be joining them.

“Perhaps Juliet wishes to stay back and practice on the pianoforte,” Hugh joked.

Heat rushed up my neck. I silently considered whether I could slap proficiently hard with my uninjured hand. I cast a furtive look at Halstead, whose gaze skirted over me, but I kept my head down.

Robert leaned back in his chair. “Would you care to join us, Juliet? I could wait while you finish.” Cordiality lined his tone, his mood from last night quite altered. He glanced toward Halstead.

I wanted to go. Last evening’s frustration with Robert had evaporated, or perhaps it was only buried under the constant throbbing of my palm. Either way, riding was impossible, the thought of holding reins in my hand excruciating. “No, thank you. I believe I shall stay in this morning.”

Robert gave an abrupt nod. He rose and joined the others, and silence pervaded the room. I glanced down at my plate, tempted to retreat to my room, but I couldn’t very well run off after only eating three bites.

Halstead sat unmoving, watching me. I did my best to eat with my left hand, but my movements were awkward at best. Only sheer force kept my tears at bay, my hand silently begging for attention. Each bite became more difficult to get down.

At last Halstead broke the silence. “What happened to your hand?”

I bit my cheek, remembering last night. “It’s none of your concern,” I said coolly.

“And why not? Because you think last night I somehow used you?” His words contained a challenge.

“Didn’t you?” I turned toward him, brows raised. Strange as it seemed, I was grateful for the chance to argue, to distract myself from the searing pain in my hand.

The set of his mouth was severe. “Sometimes you’re so thick in the head it’s infuriating, Juliet.”

“I saw the look you gave your grandmother,” I said willfully.

“And what of it?” He laid a fist on the table. “She would have me bend to her will, and I have no desire to. Is that a crime?”

“It is if you use me to defy her. Isn’t that exactly what you were doing? Sending a message to her that you won’t be forced into a marriage with Lady Margaret?”

He shook his head. “If that is what you believe, I’ll not convince you otherwise. It is often easier to believe a lie than the truth.”

His words sounded familiar; I combed my memories, trying to remember where I’d heard them before. It flooded back all at once. The broken figurine, the lie he’d told his mother. And how easily she’d accepted it.

My anger faltered. “And what is the truth?”

He pushed a hand through his hair. “Juliet, I have no desire to use you.” He looked up then, and there was such raw sincerity on his face, I couldn’t disbelieve him. “Perhaps I have done nothing to deserve your good opinion, but the truth is, I saw you struggling and I wished to help you.”

His words left me speechless. My shoulders bent, and I suddenly felt very small for having misjudged him so thoroughly.

“Your hand, please.”

“It is nothing worth troubling about,” I protested. But a stray tear leaked out of eye and tumbled down my cheek, belying my words.

He leaned forward and held out his hand. “Let me see.”

The authority in his voice was almost impossible to ignore, and I extended my hand. He took my wrist, easing off my glove with the utmost care. I was reminded of the night of the storm, how his palm had gently slid against mine.

“How did you know?” I asked meekly.

“You were attempting to cut with your fork.” He tilted his head with a knowing look. “Not well, I might add. And you did not remove your gloves.”

I gulped, my cheeks growing hot. At least no one else seemed to have noticed.

The hand that held my wrist was warm. He gently unwound the strip of linen gauze on my hand, revealing the raw and angry burn, and at the sight of it, drew in a sharp breath. I winced as the air hit my palm. Out in the direct sunlight, it looked worse than I remembered.

“How did this happen?”

“The fire,” I said dumbly. “I had to retrieve something from the fire.”

He gave me a stern look. “Something you threw, perhaps, in a fit of temper?” His thumb wandered over my wrist in a slight caress, sending a shiver up my arm.

“Not exactly that.”

He raised his brows.

I squirmed. “It may have been exactly that.”

“Have you set this in wine? Or linseed oil? You need something to keep it from festering.”

With my hand cradled in his I could hardly think straight. “Just yeast from the cook, and some cool water.”

Halstead shook his head. “That’s an old wives’ method. We need to send for a doctor.”

“I cannot. My aunt . . .”

He stiffened. “Was she the reason you lost your temper?”

“Halstead, please. Don’t make things worse for me.”

His jaw tightened. “I promise you, in a castle the size of Shaldorn, you can see a doctor without your aunt finding out.” He bent over, examining my hand again. “The palm’s skin is very sensitive and isn’t likely to heal on its own. You hide the pain well, but it may worsen.” His dark eyes met mine, full of insistence.

“Very well,” I whispered. “But no one else can know. I do not want everyone inquiring after me for the remainder of my stay.”

He nodded. “That I can understand.” He held on to my hand for a moment longer than necessary, the gentle pressure of his grip grounding me against the pain. With his hand still holding mine, he rewrapped the strip of gauze and replaced my glove. For hands so large, they were unexpectedly gentle.

He pushed back his chair, using the table to balance as he reached for his walking stick. “I will send for the doctor. Meet me in the library in an hour.”

Chapter Nineteen

I pushed open the door to the library and let it close behind me. The room appeared to be empty. The large clock on the far wall revealed I was several minutes early. The minutes had ticked by over the last hour, and I’d come to see the wisdom of calling for a doctor. As it was, my right hand was useless to me. The constant pain made it almost impossible for me to focus on anything but the throbbing of my palm.

The door pushed into my back, forcing me to take an unbalanced step forward. Out of instinct my palms flew open. I let out a little moan as the raw skin of my burn was pulled taut.

A hand on my elbow saved me from a likely fall. “Are you all right, Juliet?”

I turned to find Halstead and, taken off guard by his proximity, forgot my pain. Mere inches separated us, and I breathed in the lingering pipe smoke that clung to his jacket. “It is my own fault for standing at the door.” Inhaling, I enjoyed the scent a moment longer.

A slight knock sounded, and we both stepped back. A footman appeared in the doorway. “Dr. Andrews, Your Grace.”

“Come in.” Halstead motioned the doctor forward. “Miss Graham, this is Dr. Andrews.”

The man had silvery hair, trimmed and combed with precision. He carried a black bag, and though he wore a serious expression, he looked down at me with a kind smile. “Let me take a look at this burn and see if we cannot give you some relief, Miss Graham.” His voice had a gravelly quality to it that made him sound older than he looked.

“Is there anything else you require?” the footman asked.

The doctor glanced up and nodded. “Yes. We will need a large basin, as well as a pitcher of water. See that it is cold.” The footman bowed and slipped out the door.

“Miss Graham, perhaps you could take a seat so I might examine your hand.”

We moved toward the center of the room. Halstead eased himself down on a high-backed sofa, and after a second of deliberation, I took the seat beside him. The doctor pulled forward a spindle-legged chair and sat in front of me.

“I see you favoring your right hand,” he said. “Perhaps we could remove your glove and take a look.”

Under the doctor’s gaze, I held out my hand, and he inched off my glove. “You will probably need to avoid wearing gloves for the next several days. Too much compression for a burn can be harmful.”

I nodded. He unwrapped the gauze as we all sat in silence, and then he carefully held my hand in the light, which streamed through the second-floor windows down to where we sat. He shifted, examining it from several angles. I gritted my teeth against the pain. The doctor looked at me. “It is a nasty burn, no doubt. You didn’t think to call for me when it first happened?”

“I didn’t wish to be a burden. It seemed an unnecessary step.”

The doctor exchanged a glance with Halstead before returning his focus to me. “I hope you take this as a compliment when I say there are many women who send for me for much less. I admire a woman who can handle a bit of pain, but it still doesn’t hurt to exercise a bit of caution.”

I swallowed and could sense Halstead watching me. “Yes, I see your point, sir.”

“What has been done to it already?”

“Just yeast and cool water.”

The doctor made a noise of disapproval as he pulled out a small metal bowl from his bag. “Why anyone thinks that method is worth its salt is beyond me. We are going to soak it in linseed oil for a few moments. It may burn, but this will help ensure it doesn’t fester. If it does, the healing process will be halted and our methods will become much more drastic.”

The severity of his tone made me shift in my seat. From the same bag he produced a bottle. He uncorked it and began to pour its contents into the basin. The only sound was the gulping noise of the liquid as he emptied it from the bottle.

Then he put the cork back on the bottle and put the basin on his lap. “I will need you to put your hand in and keep it there for at least thirty seconds, no matter how painful it is. Do you understand?”

“Yes, of course.”

The footman reentered and stood just behind the doctor, a basin in one hand and a pitcher in the other. “Bring over that table,” the doctor instructed, “and you can place both the basin and the pitcher on it.”

Halstead glanced up at the footman. “Stephen. I don’t wish news of Dr. Andrews’s visit to be common knowledge. I trust I can count on your discretion.”

The footman gave a stiff nod.

The doctor turned to me. “Try, perhaps, to think of something else, for that might help distract you. I will count aloud to thirty so you may know how long to wait. Are you ready?”

“I think so.” With a quick glance at Halstead and a deep breath, I extended my hand and put it into the basin. The oil encased my skin, slimy and smooth and calming for a second before a blazing pain encompassed my entire palm. So fierce was the pain that I clenched my teeth together to keep from crying out and squeezed my eyes shut. I struggled for any sort of thought that might anchor me, but the jolting pain in my hand would not allow it.

My stomach began to churn, and sweat began to bead on my upper lip. I breathed deeply through my nose, fighting against the urge to withdraw my hand.

A slight touch on the small of my back surprised me, and my eyes flew open. The doctor’s voice droned on in the background. “Seventeen . . . eighteen.” Halstead looked at me steadily, his expression muted. Calming.

“You’re almost done,” he whispered, and his hand on my back moved ever so slightly. “Just a little longer.”

“Twenty-six . . . twenty-seven.”

My eyes squeezed closed again, and my hand shook as though the flames were licking it all over again.

“Thirty.”

Air burst from my lungs in a gasping breath. I pulled my hand back, the linseed oil dripping onto my dress, but the pain continued, despite my escape, and I could not bring myself to care that I might be ruining the fabric.

The doctor set the basin of oil down on the floor.

“Can she not rinse it off now?” Halstead asked sharply. He reached for the empty basin.

The doctor grabbed my arm and held it over the basin, using his other to pour the cold water from the pitcher over my hand, rinsing away the oil. I let out a sigh of relief. The reprieve was so immediate I could have cried in gratitude.

Halstead exhaled, and his features relaxed. He’d been nearly as tense as I during the ordeal, and I imagined it had not been a pleasant sight. “What now?” he asked.

Dr. Andrews produced a towel, which he used to gently dab my hand dry. The slight pain the motion produced was hardly noticeable. My hand still trembled from the cleansing sting of the oil. “Now we must wrap it. With breathable gauze, just like before. And I am sure this will not be welcome news, but this is a procedure that needs to be repeated tomorrow.”

Right then it did not matter, for the seething pain was gone, and my breathing had become regular again.

The doctor began to wrap my hand. “Is there someone who can assist you with this task? It will not be easy to do by yourself since it is your right hand that is burned.”

“My maid, Betsy . . .” My voice trailed off as doubt took hold. I didn’t want her telling Aunt Agnes a doctor had been called in.

“I can help her,” Halstead said, and the doctor and I both turned to stare as one.

I shook my head. “I am sure it isn’t necessary for—”

“You seem intent on keeping your visit with Dr. Andrews a secret. Even the most discreet of servants has a hard time keeping secrets belowstairs.” There was an unfamiliar softness in his expression.

It was true, and Betsy’s loyalty lay with Aunt Agnes, despite my aunt’s mistreatment of her. “If you are certain you do not mind . . .”

He shook his head. “I will have Dr. Andrews send what we need.”

The doctor finished putting his supplies back into his bag and then stood. “It is also important that you hold your palm open and stretch the skin several times a day; otherwise you may lose some flexibility in your hand. Painful as this is, you should heal quickly, Miss Graham. If you follow the procedure I’ve described, I don’t foresee any difficulties.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“Oh. One more thing.” He opened his bag again and pulled out a small vial. “Some laudanum, to help you sleep. It won’t take much—just enough to ease the worst of the pain.” He set it on the table.

I nodded. After last night’s fitful sleep, I wouldn’t refuse.

“Thank you, Doctor. Stephen can see you out.” Halstead nodded to the footman over by the door.

“I have been attending to your family for almost thirty years now, Your Grace. I think I may be able to find my way to the door.” Mirth shone in the doctor’s eyes. He picked up his bag, gave a brief nod, and left.

The room was quiet once the doctor left, yet sitting with Halstead next to me, I felt anything but alone. And now, with nothing of import taking up space between us, embarrassment crept up on me. My outburst the night before and my false accusations weighed me down. Each remembered word heaped a heaviness between us. After how I had treated him, I couldn’t possibly accept more of his help.

I glanced down at the spots of oil staining my dress. “It really won’t be necessary for you to help me with my hand any further.” I flexed my hand a little as the familiar pain crept over the burn in my palm, causing me to wince. “I am quite capable of managing on my own.”

“No doubt,” Halstead said brusquely. “But that doesn’t mean pain should be endured alone.” He turned to face me; deep lines etched around his mouth made me feel the weight of his words. The earlier scents of pipe smoke and fresh cedar reached my nose. It was a masculine smell. Comforting. Permanent. The kind that might fade over time but would never truly be gone.

“Do you smoke a pipe?” The words tumbled from my mouth before I’d had time to consider them.

He gave a brief shake of his head, the hand in his lap tensing, his fingers curling into a fist. “No, but my father used to. When he was alive the library always smelled of pipe smoke.” He paused, and the moment hung in the air. His fingers slowly unfurled from his palm. “Sometimes I light a pipe to bring back the smell.”

The smallest of victories. Dared I hope for more? “How old were you? When he died?”

“Nineteen.”

I stayed quiet and hoped my silence would encourage him to continue. My back began to ache. The pain in my hand had made me hunch my shoulders, holding tension in my spine. I eased back, smoothing the grimace from my face, and adjusted my gauze-wrapped hand.

Halstead looked at me steadily. “It was sudden—completely unexpected. Everyone in my family took his death hard, but so much was heaped on me so quickly. I hardly had the opportunity to mourn his passing.”

“A duke at nineteen.” I shook my head, trying to comprehend it. “What were you like before?” I asked abruptly, giving voice to the question that had been swirling around in my mind over the last week.

“Before what?” He fingered the gold knob at the top of his cane.

“Before your accident.”

He looked up, his gaze pulled across the room. “What does it matter?”

I clenched my fist involuntarily, and my skin pulsed with pain. Air hissed between my teeth. Part of me wanted to lecture him. To begin a tirade about his unwillingness to share of himself when he demanded so much from me. But something held me back. Instead I turned and faced him squarely, trying simple candor. “Because I wish to know you, Halstead.”

He shut his eyes, and when he opened them, I half expected to see them hooded, closed off from me and from this moment. Instead they were unguarded. Troubled. He exhaled. “Like any young man, I enjoyed the attention, the power that came with my title.” He grunted. “Perhaps a little too much.”

I hardly dared breathe for fear he might stop.

“My father’s early death changed little of the path laid out before me; it only altered the timeline. I had always known I was to be the Duke of Halstead. Even with the host of responsibilities heaped upon me, I always felt as though I was the master of my life, my fate. That is the kind of naivety that comes from having your every whim and desire granted, never being told no.” He glanced at me briefly, a mournful look in his eyes. “In every way your opposite.”

As he spoke, I turned my palm faceup, searching for a position that would bring relief from the pain.

His jaw tightened, lines forming in his forehead. All of the earlier softness was gone. “You wish to know what I was like before? A fool. Shallow and petty, unable to look beyond my own wants and pleasures. I was raised to be a duke and had been treated as such from a very early age. I had all the time in the world, or so I thought. So I drank and gambled and pursued debutantes with no thought of the future.”

He let out a deep breath, and I felt the need to inhale, as if our breath was somehow connected. “The accident shattered the illusion of that control. My title may not have changed, but the power to decide my own future certainly did. My course, my destiny, was ripped from my hands. For several months I refused to accept it. But the doctors, my leg, even my mother—none of them seemed willing to listen to my demands. Every ounce of control I had possessed was gone. And so was my future.”

His words were laced with a worn-out bitterness. I fiddled with the glove the doctor had removed, unsure what to say. “You seem disappointed to have discovered what most people who have experienced a normal life already know—that life hands out twists and turns, unexpected surprises.”

He laughed softly, but there was no humor in the sound. “Perhaps you are right, Juliet. It seems a lesson I was doomed to learn in the cruelest way possible. And now I am stuck with a way of never forgetting.”

As he spoke, he seemed to have become lost within himself, and even though we sat only a few inches apart, he felt very far away.

Suddenly I wanted very badly to bring him back, to anchor him the way I’d grown accustomed to him doing for me. “And have you accepted it, Halstead?”

He looked up at me then and swallowed heavily. “I am not sure. At times it feels like I have; at others . . . I still fight against it.”

I looked down at my bandaged hand, remembering the desperation of the night before—my frantic desire for control that had led to an agonizing burn. “There is a part in each of us that longs for a sense of control, battles for it, foolish though it may be. It is what makes us human.” I reached out, setting my still-gloved left hand atop his own.

He inhaled sharply but didn’t pull back.

Even through my glove I could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. “Perhaps control is an illusion meant only to torment us.”

Halstead leaned a fraction of an inch closer. “Then I dearly miss that illusion. I’d give anything to have it back.”

“Is that why you refuse to marry?” Suddenly his answer mattered much more than it should.

He stiffened, and I withdrew my hand, shocked by my own forwardness.

“You should go rest, Juliet. The others will be back soon.” What he left unsaid hung in the air: that it would not be wise for us to be found alone together.

“Yes, of course.” I got to my feet, a viselike clamp squeezing around my heart. He had shared something of himself with me, a glimpse into his past. And I’d gone and ruined it with an impertinent question, the need to satisfy my own curiosity. My chest felt unexpectedly heavy.

“Juliet?”

I turned back, foolishly hoping . . .

“You forgot the laudanum.” He held it out to me, and I could have sworn he took care to ensure our fingers did not brush as I took it.

For the rest of the day I kept to myself. It seemed the wisest course of action, for although Aunt Agnes hadn’t given voice to her expectations, I knew instinctively that it would behoove me to stay out of the way. Of her. Of Halstead.

I barricaded myself in my room and made a feeble attempt at writing to Harry with my left hand. After half an hour, all I had to show for my effort was a half-page of unreadable scrawl. It looked as if someone still in leading strings had penned it. At least it would make Harry laugh.

As Betsy dressed me that evening, I reminded myself I was supposed to be making an effort with Robert and had been rude to him last night and curt with him this morning.

So after dinner I allowed myself one brief glance at the table where Lady Margaret sat next to Halstead and then turned my attention to Robert. He sat by himself, reading a book in an out-of-the-way corner.

“May I join you?”

He didn’t smile. “If you wish.”

I took a seat on the sofa next to him, but he had returned to his book and didn’t look up.

Not to be dissuaded, I leaned over his shoulder. “If you find a book on”—I leaned closer—“the flora and fauna of the southern region of Wales more interesting than me, I have more to apologize for than I thought.”

He let the book slide shut. “I’m listening.”

“I am sorry for being so short with you last evening. You know how it wears on me to be in company night after night. But even so, you did not deserve to be treated thus.”

He turned, a fond look on his face. “Knowing you as I do, I was quite surprised you didn’t feign another headache.”

Without thinking, I reached up and rubbed my temples. “Believe it or not, last night I wouldn’t have had to pretend.”

Robert narrowed his eyes and seemed to notice my missing glove for the first time. “Have you injured yourself, Juliet?” He grabbed my hand and unwittingly put pressure on one of my blisters.

I winced and drew back, sliding my hand into the folds of my dress. My palm began to throb again. “It is nothing of concern—just a small burn. But my glove bothers it.”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

I had no desire for him to know the extent of my injury or the reason behind it. I quickly changed the subject. “How was this morning’s ride?”

Robert shrugged. “You know I have never particularly cared for riding. But Lady Margaret did save me from a morning of dull conversation with Lord Aberdeen, so I cannot complain.” He pursed his lips into a frown. “I did wish you had come though.”

“I know. It is only that with my burn I did not dare try riding today.”

He shook his head. “Of course. I should have made the connection.”

“It’s no matter. Have you received a reply from the headmaster yet?”

He thought for a moment before shaking his head. “No. Likely tomorrow. Are you still worried?”

“My father used to say, ‘Worry gives a small thing a big shadow.’ It was a saying he picked up on one of his travels.”

Robert nodded thoughtfully. “Your father was a wise man, for someone of such a common background.”

More than the words he said, it was the way he said them I found offensive. “I have rarely found wisdom and rank to be much associated. Take the Prince Regent, for example.”

He held his hands out, palms up. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it, Juliet.”

There was no malice on Robert’s face. It must have been the pain of my burn causing my irritability. “No, it is I who am sorry. I didn’t sleep well last night, and my tiredness has caught up to me. Perhaps I’ll say good night.”

“If it assures me of more of your company tomorrow, by all means. Shall we go for another walk since you cannot ride? At nine?”

“Let’s say ten, in case I oversleep. Right now I feel like I could sleep for a week straight.”

Robert helped me up and escorted me to the doors of the drawing room. Several people turned in our direction, but Robert didn’t seem to notice. He stayed by my side and walked me out into the corridor. “I hope you sleep well, Juliet.” There was real sincerity in his voice. He made no move to go.

“Thank you, Robert.” I reached up and pressed a kiss to his cheek, trying to determine whether his nearness had any effect on me at all. I felt nothing but tired, but I supposed that was to be expected, given my state of exhaustion.

He smiled, however, pleased by my token of affection and didn’t seem to notice how quickly I turned to go. I hurried up the stairs, anxious to take a dose of the laudanum and lose myself to sleep.

Chapter Twenty

I awoke to rays of sunlight streaming through my windows. Betsy must have forgotten I had asked her not to come in and open the drapes this morning. I groaned and tried to pull the covers up over my head, but one slight movement made my hand sting and sent a wave of shudders all the way to my core. I gingerly flexed my hand and flinched at the stretching of the tiny layer of skin newly formed over my blisters. Though my palm was bounds better than yesterday, it was far from healed.

And now I was fully awake, so there was little point in staying abed. I swung my legs over the side and walked over to the vanity. The mirror painted a rather dreary image of my appearance. Despite having retired early, my skin was pallid and my prior restless nights had christened my eyes with deep shadows. Fortunately Betsy had left a fresh bowl of water out for me. With my left hand I splashed my face with the ice-cold water.

“Ah, you’re finally up,” Betsy said, pushing open the door.

I picked up the fresh towel and rubbed my face dry. “Yes. You made sure of that by opening the curtains.” Though the laudanum had proven effective in helping me sleep, it had done little to improve my mood. “Is breakfast over?”

“Put away over half an hour ago.” She went to the wardrobe to rummage through my dresses.

My stomach let out a low growl, as if to taunt me. Could she not at least have brought a tray?

“But I’ve been tasked with giving you a message.” It was the singsong quality of her voice that caught my attention. And a subtle smirk, as if she had some sort of secret. “The Duke of Halstead asked me to tell you he’d have a tray sent to the music room this morning.”

I forced a disinterested look, but my stomach leapt at her words. “Which music room? You know the ridiculous proportions of this castle. There are at least three, by my count.”

And then a full-on smile appeared. “He said to tell you it’s the one that brings out your Scottish brogue.” A scorching blush rose to my cheeks, but Betsy was too preoccupied with my stays to notice. “I wasn’t sure as to his meaning, but I must admit, I lost my tongue a little, what with a duke speaking to me.”

If only he had the same effect on me. I licked my dry lips.

“What will my mother say when I tell her the Duke of Halstead spoke to me?” Betsy chattered on, content to answer her own questions.

For the first time yesterday, Halstead had opened up and shared something of himself with me. But after my brazen question he’d quickly withdrawn, and he certainly hadn’t made any attempt to reconcile yesterday evening. Was the breakfast offering his attempt at an olive branch?

Once Betsy had finished with me, I made my way downstairs to the music room where I’d given Halstead a thorough tongue-lashing. It seemed so long ago now; I never would have guessed the man who had so thoroughly mocked me that day would come to hold such power over me. I could almost believe that were it not for him, I might have already accepted Robert’s hand.

I brushed back an errant strand of hair and turned the door handle. The door squeaked as it had before, only this time the room wasn’t empty.

Halstead sat in an overstuffed chair near the pianoforte, his walking stick resting across his lap. How was it that his mere presence could unnerve me? I suppressed the urge to fiddle with the lace on my collar.

He got to his feet as I walked in, his knee bumping the silver tray that had been laid out on the table next to him. The china clinked before settling. Quiet encompassed the room. “I trust you slept well?”

I could not help myself. “A wee tay weel. Ah nearly slept th’ morn awee,” I said in my best Scottish brogue.

He laughed, a full, rich sound. Yesterday’s awkwardness faded into nothing.

The silver tray held enough food to feed three of me, and I gave it an appreciative glance. “You needn’t have worried about my breakfast. I am capable of sending for my own tray.”

“I thought it might serve as a reward once we’ve finished cleaning your burn.”

I took a closer look at the table where the breakfast tray rested. A bottle of linseed oil was set to the side, the cap removed. Of course. I stepped back as it dawned on me why I’d been summoned. And Halstead stood there so calmly, knowing I had come at the promise of breakfast. The fiend.

My burn ached just remembering the stinging pain of yesterday. This morning the burn was not nearly so severe. Was it really necessary to go through it all again?

“Thinking of disregarding the doctor’s orders?” Halstead lifted a brow.

I made no move to come closer. “It had crossed my mind.”

“Come. Let’s get this over with.” He raised a hand and motioned me over as if he expected to be obeyed.

The discomfort between us returned full force. If he didn’t wish to spend time with me, I had no wish to be in his presence any longer than necessary. I straightened my shoulders and hurried to take a seat.

No hint of emotion played on his face, only a line of concentration marking his forehead. As he poured the oil into a basin, I took pains to distance myself. The thought of his proximity, of being so vulnerable in his presence again, made my chest tighten.

So I retreated.

It was a practice I had not used in some time, but I’d done it a great deal when I first moved to Lymington Park. Having watched my mother do it, it was not hard to imitate. I became a mere shell, hollowed out and unfeeling. It was easier—and safer—than feeling the sharp pangs of grief and misery that had encompassed my eleven-year-old heart at the time.

I did not wait. Once I was safely locked away, I thrust my hand into the linseed oil. Somewhere there was pain, but it couldn’t quite reach the safety of my refuge. Halstead’s voice sounded in the background, but it was murky and distant, as if I were underwater. I could see the whole scene but had no part in it.

Not until I heard Halstead repeat himself several times, his voice echoing through my mind, did I force myself to return. “Juliet? Juliet? Are you sure you are all right?” His tone was laced with alarm.

A wall of pain hit me as I emerged, but I only nodded. He had already rinsed my hand with water and now dabbed at it with a towel.

“By the heavens, you frightened me. The look on your face was . . . haunting.” There was a strain of concern in his voice that tempted me to retreat within myself again. I ignored the gentle strength in his hands and pulled away.

“I assure you I am quite well.”

The corner of his mouth ticked down. “Tell me what has changed.”

“Nothing.” I shook my head and reached for the gauze with my left hand. There was no reason I couldn’t wrap the burn myself. I bit down on my tongue to keep my emotions at bay.

Halstead reached out and covered my left hand with his own. “Please. You are angry with me.”

“And it’s no wonder. You push me away time and time again.”

“Is it because I did not answer your question yesterday?”

“No.” I shook my head, frustrated. “Yes. Halstead, if you are so determined not to share anything of yourself with me, very well. But don’t expect from me what you will not give.” I averted my gaze, my lashes thick with tears.

He sat forward. “And what part of me do you want?” he demanded.

“I want to understand you, all of you. Your memories, your hidden thoughts.” Your heart. I silenced myself before I could say the last words aloud.

Halstead scrubbed a hand along his clenched jaw. “Did you ever stop to think, even for a moment, that I push you away for a reason? There’s a chasm inside of me so deep and dark I sometimes think it will swallow me whole.” He paused, breathing heavily. “And I fear if I give you even the smallest glimpse, I will frighten you away.”

I looked down at his hand covering mine. “Do you think me so fragile? One look at something unpleasant and I’ll back away?”

Silence resounded through the room, but neither of us moved. Halstead kept hold of my hand, his grip as firm as iron.

He bowed his head. “You are the very opposite of fragile.”

“Then do not drive me away.” I bit my lip. Sometimes I could see the darkness he alluded to, the storm that swirled inside him. “Forgive me my candor, but my mother . . . she locked herself away from me, barricaded herself in her despair. And I watched her waste away to nothing. It is not a path I can walk again.”

Halstead nodded, comprehension dawning. “I see.” He cleared his throat. “Be patient with me, if you can.”

His sincerity took me aback, and I sought to lighten the moment. “You would try the patience of a saint, you know. And I cannot claim to be such a blessed being.”

A devilish glint entered his eyes. “No. I think we’ve established you’re not even a lady.”

I gave him a saucy tilt of my head. “And it’s no wonder, given such company.”

The clock struck the hour, and I looked up. Drat. Ten o’clock. I was late for my meeting with Robert. “I am sorry, but I must go. I am late for an outing.”

I searched for something in his expression, the tiniest clue as to what he might be feeling, but he simply nodded. “Very well. Won’t you at least take something before you go?” He motioned to the tray of waiting food.

Ignoring the memory of his hand on mine, I snatched up a crumpet and hurried out the door.

I hurried out to the gardens where Robert and I had agreed to meet, but he wasn’t there. Surely he would have waited for a few minutes. Would I not have passed him on his way back to the house if he had given up on me? I pressed my good hand to my chest, my lungs still burning. A few yards away sat a cozy garden bench, a large bush on either side. Worn out by my brisk walk, I took a seat and tilted my head back.

The sky was cloudless, and the sun’s rays found their way through the crisp air, warming my face. I exhaled slowly, thinking over my time with Halstead. The tiniest bit of hope lifted my chest. For a moment it seemed possible he might let down his walls and allow me to—

Loose gravel crunched and I straightened up. Robert took long, brisk strides as he approached. He held something up for me to see. A letter.

I stood and closed the distance between us. “Is it the headmaster?”

Robert’s mouth pulled into a grim line. “I am afraid it isn’t good.”

“Won’t you let me see it?” I took the note from his hand and unfolded it. I paced as I read it myself.

Dear Mr. Nicholson,

I am sorry to inform you that your cousin, Mr. Harrison Graham, is having a difficult time adjusting to our expectations here at Harrow. While his grades are mediocre, it is his behavior that has given me true cause for concern. Yesterday he was brought into my office by Mr. Stuart, one of our prefects, having started a fight with another of our students.

Let me make it clear that in the event of another outburst, Mr. Graham will no longer be welcome as a student at Harrow. We simply cannot tolerate such behavior at this school. Many of our students come from the highest peerages, and their parents expect all of the students to exercise proper deportment and abide by certain standards. Please write him immediately and express the gravity of his situation, for should anything else happen, I will have no choice but to expel him at once.

Yours, Etc.

Thomas A. Carson

Headmaster

Heat raced through my veins. “Why, it’s preposterous! Harry told me in his most recent letter he is teased mercilessly. What must those boys have said to provoke him? You know Harry is as gentle as a lamb!” I stomped toward Robert. “This man wouldn’t know proper deportment if it walked up and struck him between the eyes. How can he say such things?”

Robert grabbed my wrist and extricated the note I’d unknowingly crumpled. “Juliet, calm yourself. Your impulsive behavior will get you nowhere. Remember, I went to Harrow myself. With boys of this age, bouts of fisticuffs are not as uncommon as you might think. I am certain the headmaster only sounds harsh because he doesn’t wish to be seen as condoning such behavior.”

“You can think what you will, but I have no doubt no one else received such an insulting letter.”

“Are you unwilling to think, for even a moment, whether Harry may have been at fault? It is one of the things I admire about you—that fierce loyalty.” He gave me a warm smile.

“Humph.” I turned away from him and folded my arms across my chest, frustrated that Robert shared none of my indignation.

He came up behind me and placed gentle hands on my shoulders. “Mother will have to be told.”

I whirled. “No, you mustn’t tell her. She will do something drastic.”

Robert shook his head. “And have her find out once he’s been dismissed? I think not.”

The same frustration of two nights past welled up inside of me, and I was tempted to pummel Robert. My still-tender hand held me back. “Why are you so certain he’ll be expelled? One letter, one incident, and you dismiss all you know about Harry’s character?”

My mind careened helplessly, anxious to think of any defense I might use in his behalf. I set my good hand on Robert’s chest. “Please. Let me write to Harry. If your mother threatens him, it is bound to make it worse.”

Robert glanced down where my hand rested on his vest. The lift of his mouth made me regret it at once, for he’d interpreted it so differently than I’d intended. I immediately removed my hand.

Indecision played across his face, until finally he nodded and took my hand in his. I gulped, remembering the warmth of Halstead’s hand just minutes before. “Very well. But you must send off a letter today.” He pointed his finger at me. “And you mustn’t sympathize with him—you can be certain I will read what you write, just to make sure. And I would like to add a note of my own.” His finger tapped my nose.

Flirting. Robert was flirting.

I nodded, unable to meet his gaze. Guilt clung to my insides as he stared at me. I shouldn’t have so thoughtlessly encouraged him. “Of course. Thank you, Robert. Thank you. I shall go write him this minute.” I turned away.

Robert chuckled, shaking his head. “I should have shown you this after we’d finished our walk, for now you’ll abandon me.”

“Tomorrow,” I promised as I headed toward the house at a brisk pace. As soon as Robert was out of sight I began to run. But it was not only my anxious need to write Harry that drove me away; it was my acute sense of guilt.

Chapter Twenty-One

I spent most of the afternoon in my room working on a lengthy letter to Harry. With careful positioning, I could now hold a quill in my right hand. I’d had to dispose of several drafts, worried they would be too sympathetic for Robert’s taste. In the end I settled for a firm tone that conveyed some of my underlying worry and a plea for him to write me himself as soon as he was able.

Rereading the letter one final time, I was certain it would meet with Robert’s approval. But there was a sinking feeling in my stomach. Would Harry think I blamed him for the incident? I, better than anyone, understood the difficulty of his position. Perhaps I would write him again tomorrow with a softer stance. Robert certainly couldn’t forbid me from that.

I made my way downstairs, anxious to find Robert so we could post our letters. Where would he be at this hour? The library, perhaps? Or the billiards room?

Now, if only I could remember where the billiards room was. I turned back the way I had come, certain it was in either the second corridor or the third.

“Miss Graham.” I jerked up in surprise to find Halstead’s mother standing in front of me.

I curtsied. “Your Grace.”

“I’d like a word with you.” Her fingers fluttered against her skirts.

The way she was eyeing me gave me pause, but I had little choice but to acquiesce. “Yes, of course.”

“Perhaps you would join me in my sitting room so we may enjoy some privacy.”

She led me down a small corridor. My mind churned as I followed along behind her, unable to think of any positive reason she might wish to speak with me. Alone.

The duchess opened the door to a tastefully decorated room of cream and soft gold. The sun’s bright rays beamed through the west-facing windows, warming the room despite the chill outside.

“Won’t you sit down?”

I chose an elegant yellow-and-gold-striped chair that was surprisingly comfortable, given its refinement. The duchess chose the matching chair and seated herself beside me.

The muted sound of the wind could be heard just outside the window as we sat in silence. We’d hardly spoken above a dozen words to each other since my arrival, and I wondered that she would request a private audience now. I took a moment to appraise her and sensed her doing the same to me.

The duchess was elegant in every way, her face fine-boned and pale. Her eyes were light gray, her lips a perfectly practiced line of gentility. Halstead looked nothing like her. As his grandmother had said, his looks favored his father’s side—strong Corinthian features with a regal bearing, dark brows, and a stark jawline. What I could not so easily discern, in my few seconds of scrutiny of his mother, was which of his parents he favored in temperament.

She finally cleared her throat, a graceful hand at her neck. “One thing I have learned in my years as a duchess, Miss Graham, is there is no sense in pretension. I will be direct and expect you to be the same.”

I ran my tongue over the back of my teeth, intensely interested in what she might say next. Even though the room wasn’t overly warm, the new skin forming over my burned palm grew clammy under the gauze.

“What, exactly, are your intentions with my son, Miss Graham?” With her back so straight, her spine barely touched the back of the chair, and she looked every inch the duchess.

I fingered the necklace at my throat. “You’ll have to clarify your meaning, Your Grace, if you wish me to answer.”

She nodded and went on, her words passionless, matter-of-fact. “You can have no illusions as to what Halstead’s duty is. He may find you interesting for the course of a few weeks, but nothing more will come of it.” The skin around her mouth grew taut. “What I’m struggling to comprehend is why you encourage his attentions, unless you enjoy the process of having your heart broken.”

Every piece of me rankled under her arrogance. Several satisfying retorts jumped to my mind, but thoughts of Aunt Agnes held me back. I had little doubt that were I impertinent with the duchess, my aunt would hear of it. And I would be punished—through Harry. With the letter Robert had just received from Harry’s headmaster, I could not give Aunt Agnes any incentive to make things worse.

Before replying I sifted through my thoughts. “I hold no illusions. Your son is a duke. While my mother was the daughter of a gentleman, I am also the daughter of a sailor.” I dragged my bottom lip through my teeth. “It would be preposterous of me to have any expectations beyond bidding each of you farewell at the end of our stay.”

But the coldness that trickled through my middle belied my words. A foolish hope had taken hold of me, so subtly I had only realized it now that Halstead’s mother sat across from me, a look of disdain on her face. I folded my arms across my stomach, trying to keep hold of my emotions.

“I can only hope you feel those words with the same conviction you say them. Lady Margaret has always been intended for Halstead, and given the opportunity, his head will come to rights on the matter. Tomorrow evening’s ball holds a great deal of expectation. I believe today and tomorrow spent in each other’s company will allow them the time they need to settle things. In the meantime, I will ask you to keep your distance.”

Was it true? Perhaps I did not know Halstead nearly as well as I believed I was coming to know him. Or maybe his mother feared what she’d seen between Halstead and me and hoped to drive a wedge between us. My throat squeezed closed, choking me. How could I agree to stay away from him? But I dared not defy her.

She gave me a forced smile. “Halstead can be intractable, but I am sure you will think of something to make it clear you have no intention of continuing on as you have.”

Unable to speak, I gave a brief nod. She waved a hand, dismissing me. I bolted from my seat. Once in the corridor, the walls blurred around me. My lungs compressed, and I felt as though I were suffocating.

Air. I needed air. I made my way outside, and once out on the steps I breathed in deeply, but even with my lungs full of fresh air, I felt an acute sense of panic, as if life were closing in on me from every side.

I longed for a place to hide away. Somewhere I could be alone without fear of being discovered. With a hand pressed over my breastbone, I raced to the stables. The grooms were outside, riding some of the horses in the paddock, and I darted by them and ducked inside the large structure while they were busy.

I turned in and rushed down the aisle, determined to find an empty stall where I could cry in peace. The second to last one on the left had clearly not been occupied for some time, so I undid the latch on the door and entered. I leaned back against the wall and slid to the floor.

But instead of the assaulting emotion I’d been expecting, numbness washed over me. My heart felt as hard as a rock, which was precisely what I needed, because the duchess—even with her highhanded ways and haughty manner—was right. Somewhere along the way I’d made the mistake of letting my heart wander where it had no business being. It was only now that I finally had the courage to admit it to myself.

I had fallen in love with Halstead.

I stared down at the white gauze encasing my palm, wondering if perhaps it had been that night in the stairwell. The moment Halstead had slid his hand into mine and let me cry against his chest as I revealed the broken parts of me. A night of tenderness and anguish, where walls had come down and secrets and scars had been bared.

The duchess, in a few words, had shined a light on that moment. A moment that could happen in a servants’ stairway but not in the light of day.

My heart, hard as it was, cracked, and the tightness in my chest eased, letting loose a tidal wave of emotion. Try as I might to hold it back, the pain split free. I buried my face in my knees, heaving out sobs that echoed through the lofty stable ceilings.

Cold seeped through my bones, and I began to shiver uncontrollably, yet I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing, and I dared not return to the castle until I had a better hold of myself.

“Juliet?”

My pulse stuttered, and I glanced up to find Halstead leaning over the stall door. I turned my head away and wiped furiously at my tears, ashamed he should have heard such a display. “Heavens, you scared me,” I said. The packed earth must have muted the sound of his walking stick.

“I saw you running toward the stables as if your very life depended on it. What’s wrong? Is it your hand?” His words were sharp with concern.

“No.” I shook my head and got to my feet, dusting off loose bits of straw. “It’s nothing.” I undid the latch on the stall and stepped out, brushing by without meeting his gaze. The duchess had insisted I keep my distance, and I intended to start now.

“What has upset you, then?” He stepped in front of me and looked me over—no doubt taking in my tear-stained cheeks, my red-rimmed eyes. “Is it your brother, Harry?”

At last something I could latch on to, even if that wasn’t the precise reason I had been crying. “Yes, though Robert is certain I am overreacting. He got into a scuffle, and we received a warning from the headmaster. If Aunt Agnes finds out . . .” The ache in my chest grew.

In the next stall a beautiful roan stallion pranced impatiently, anxious for attention. I put my left hand out and let him nuzzle my palm.

“I am sorry, Juliet.”

I shook my head. “It isn’t your fault. And it’s not for much longer. When I turn twenty-one, Harry’s guardianship comes to me.” That day couldn’t come soon enough.

“Still. I wish there were something I could do.” Halstead nodded his head toward the horse. “He likes you.”

“He’s beautiful.”

“His name is Atlantic. He has the finest pedigree in the entire county. I think my grandmother prefers his company to that of any of her blood relatives.”

At the mention of his grandmother my mouth pulled into a frown.

A hint of intrigue entered Halstead’s expression. “Based on the face you just made, I would almost think you had reason to dislike my grandmother.” He took a step toward me.

But I took several steps back and put a hand on the next stall, keeping a safe distance between us. “We’ve crossed swords before, she and I. I am not anxious to do so again.”

“And when was this?” He lifted a hand and stroked his chin, watching me.

Now that Lady Margaret was here, telling him the truth of the matter couldn’t hurt. “Your grandmother approached me last Sunday and asked me to . . . spend time with you.” I laid a hand at my throat. “She thought I might be successful in urging you to participate more regularly among company.”

Halstead’s eyes hardened, and his neck flushed with anger. “And let me guess, once Lady Margaret arrived, you were to disappear.” He cursed softly, but I’d been at the docks often enough with my father as a young child that I was unaffected.

I nodded as a muscle ticked in his cheek.

He gave a brief shake of his head and turned away. “Well then, what are you doing? Your work here is done.”

A retort leapt to my tongue, but I bit down so hard I drew blood. Two parts battled for supremacy. An easy solution had presented itself: I could leave and let him believe the worst. But my heart rebelled. How could I allow him to think I would use him in such a way? Before I could decide, the words flew free. “I told her no, Halstead.”

He pivoted, almost losing his balance before he put out his walking stick to ground himself. “You did?” The tiniest bit of hope lifted one corner of his mouth, but then, just as quickly, it pulled back down. “Was this the night she requested we sit next to one another at dinner?” I could see his mind working, drawing conclusions that were nowhere near the truth.

I raised my chin. “I am sure you know, as well as anyone, she doesn’t fight fair.”

He studied my face, his gaze flitting over me as he evaluated my words. “You told her no?” Something like disbelief filled his voice.

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?”

He stepped forward, staring, almost as though he were seeing me for the first time. Reaching out a hand, he pulled a piece of hay from my hair. “Of course you would.” His gaze never left my face. “Shame on me for expecting anything less of you.”

His words did much to wash away the hovering disapproval of his mother. No matter what she’d instructed, I wouldn’t have Halstead think our time together had been a sham. That it hadn’t meant something to me. With every inch of his attention on me, an ache started down in my belly, reminding me that it meant far too much.

I let down my defenses, just for a moment, and let my gaze roam over his face, memorizing each detail—eyes the color of melted chocolate, the tiniest scar just below his bottom lip, the line of his strong jaw, now darkening with stubble. His hand came to rest on my shoulder, and my breath caught. A giddy feeling poured through me at his nearness. But why not? my heart rationalized. Just for a few minutes more I could forget every wall that stood between us and allow myself to hope.

Buttermilk blew out a breath and nipped at my shoulder. I gave a short laugh, and Halstead’s hand dropped.

He let out a deep laugh that echoed through the stables. “Oh, that I could have seen her face.”

I knew who he meant. “I’ll admit I took a measure of satisfaction in it.”

Before he could question me further, the muted clip-clop of approaching hooves sounded. A familiar commanding voice reached my ears. The dowager. My gaze darted about as I desperately looked for an escape. After what I had just endured from Halstead’s mother, I could not face another one of Halstead’s relatives.

Her voice grew louder, with an occasional murmured assent from the groom. “See that she’s rubbed down immediately. And some oats would be in order. I pushed her hard today.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Without taking another moment to think, I lifted the latch on the nearest stall, squeezed in, and shut the door behind me, silently praying Buttermilk would not be alarmed to find me sharing his space.

Halstead looked askance at me. “Juliet, what are you—”

“Shh!”

“Halstead, is that you?” came the dowager’s sharp voice.

I stepped back, relieved to be out of sight. Buttermilk nickered, and I put out a hand to calm him before I took another step back. Something sharp poked into my back. It was a nail, from which a feed sack hung. I edged myself into the corner and gave Halstead a desperate look.

He leaned on his cane and stepped forward, effectively ensuring the dowager would not catch sight of me. “Yes.”

I breathed out slowly. Buttermilk swished his tail.

“I will not even pretend not to be surprised to find you here, of all places.”

Halstead shrugged. “The castle is overrun with guests—whom I did not invite.” His words were biting, accusatory.

She walked toward him, edging into my line of sight as I peeked through the crack in the wooden slats. Her piercing gaze scrutinized him, and I was grateful not to be the subject of such an inspection.

“No, you did not.” She drummed her gloved fingers along the stall door. “But that doesn’t seem to be interfering with your enjoyment of one of our guests.”

I pressed even farther into the wall.

Halstead gave a mirthless laugh. “And what an irony your displeasure is, since you invited them.”

“My displeasure? You quite misread me. But there are plenty of people who would be astonished by your interest in someone of Miss Graham’s station.” My stomach tightened. “And abhorred at the thought of where that interest might lead.”

He tapped his cane in the dirt. “She is like no one I courted before the accident.”

I sucked in a breath.

The dowager snorted. “Some might count that as a point in her favor.”

“Do you?”

“Halstead, I do not hide my feelings well. You know you have always been a favorite of mine.” She paused, and though she kept all trace of emotion from her voice, I sensed a well of feeling within her. “The accident has already stolen nearly two years from you. It would be foolish to let it take any more. Quit all this nonsense about not marrying.”

The dowager was silent for a moment before she spoke again. Her words were cadenced, as if she meant every one. “People always think titles should marry titles and money should be kept with money. But marriage is a bit like horse breeding. If you have too many of the same characteristics in one line, it is often a detriment to the pedigree.”

Sometime while she’d been speaking I had stopped breathing, so intent was I on hearing what she had to say. My limbs grew numb, and I sank back against the stable wall, oblivious to the rough wood catching on my dress. I didn’t understand the first thing about horse breeding. What on earth did she mean by it? And what must Halstead be thinking? I wished myself far, far away.

“Mother doesn’t seem to share your opinion.”

“Which must mean I am right,” she said haughtily. “Though you’ve never put much stock in either of our opinions.”

Halstead barked out a laugh.

“I must be off to dress for dinner. But Halstead”—she paused, her tone grave—“don’t be obstinate merely out of habit. It doesn’t suit you.”

Even after her footsteps disappeared, I stayed frozen in place.

Halstead flicked a glance over to the shadowed corner where I hid, and I tried to make myself smaller. He drew a hand down Buttermilk’s nose. His face held no indication of what he might be feeling, but tension radiated from him, belying the indifference he pretended.

“You can come out now.”

I stood, brushing bits of hay from the bottom of my skirts. Buttermilk turned as I stepped forward. The awkwardness of his grandmother’s words hung heavily between us.

Anxious to distract the both of us, I asked, “Why was your grandmother so surprised to find you in the stables?”

He glanced at an empty stall. “I’ve come here only twice since my accident.”

I breathed out a tiny “Oh.” His riding accident. Of course.

He pushed a hand through his dark hair. “What? No questions?”

“I have plenty.”

“But?”

A twinge of pain lit through my palm. “I am trying my hand at patience.”

He glanced up. I could sense some internal battle taking place within him, though his features remained unreadable. “Walk with me.”

Without hesitation I fell into step beside him, walking toward the entrance of the stable.

“It happened in January, almost two years ago now.” His voice was harsh, but I knew his tone had nothing to do with me. “I was half a day from home and decided to ride the last leg of the journey in hopes of making better time. But the weather was terrible. It had snowed for the last several days—it wasn’t deep, but the low temperatures made the snow as hard as ice. Riding had always made me a little reckless.”

We passed through the stable doors, out into the open. His limp seemed especially pronounced as he dragged along the dead weight of his bad leg. I kept my eyes fastened on him, trying to imagine it all.

“It happened just over there.” He pointed to where the road emerged from the woods on the edge of the meadow. “That road is a shortcut so steep it isn’t used by carriages, but I took it anyway because it leads directly to the stables. Prince was fatigued from several hours of hard travel in the snow, and the ice was slippery. He lost his footing and sought for purchase, but instead he stepped backward into a hole. He fell on top of me, crushing my knee and breaking my lower leg.”

Much as I wanted to say something, I couldn’t. My mind was full of the images he’d put there, the excruciating pain he must have been in.

His eyes were solemn and dark. “I lay there for almost three hours before someone found me. It was somewhat of a miracle I didn’t die of winter fever, but it didn’t seem that way at the time.” He stopped midstride, his gaze still resting on the spot where the road came into view. “The cold numbed my pain, but when I came back to the castle and feeling returned to my leg, it was unbearable. The doctor kept me drugged for almost a week because I would thrash about whenever I woke.”

I shook my head. How difficult that must have been for a man for whom control was paramount. “And after that?”

A bit of the tension in his voice slipped away. “That was just the beginning. My mother called in doctor after doctor, and I went through several operations before they realized this”—he motioned toward his bad knee—“was the best they could do.”

“I wish it didn’t give you such constant pain.”

He considered for a moment. “I have learned to block a great deal of it out.”

Which explained the hard set of his face so often—he tried to keep much of the pain in. “Is there no hope it could continue to improve?” I looked at him anxiously, for the thought of a life of pain stretching out before him seemed almost unbearable.

“Perhaps. I try not to hope. Better to face the reality of what is.”

“I can’t decide if that is admirable or troubling. Perhaps both.”

“There are moments I forget it. Until my mother invites visitors who come with their inevitable stares. I’ve endured enough to know that will never change. Despite the pleadings of my mother and grandmother, I refuse to go back into the public eye.”

“And to marry.” After hearing him describe his pain, the thought of him alone threatened to cleave me in two.

He gave me a hard look. “No doubt you have an opinion on the matter.”

Anything but honesty felt impossible with the way he was looking at me. “Your grandmother is right. The accident has taken enough from you. Why have you resigned yourself to being alone?” A slight tremor shook my voice.

He grunted. “What woman would want to marry a man with such an injury? And why would I subject her to a life full of my pain, my limitations?”

Halstead leaned over the fence railing, staring past the paddock into the distance. I came and stood beside him and, for a moment, tried to imagine him as he was before—young and carefree, without a thought for the future, his face unmarred by the constant effort it took to keep his agony hidden.

Much as I wished his pain away, I knew I would never have loved that man as I did the one who now stood by my side, forever altered by a chance accident. He was a little harsh at times, perhaps, but he was a man who understood what it was to suffer, who had held me in his arms and shared my pain, whose empathy had healed me as much as the doctor’s treatments for my hand. Even if it couldn’t be me, even if it wasn’t Lady Margaret, he deserved to find someone to share his life with.

I swallowed against the ache forming in my throat. “Perhaps if the burden of the pain were shared, it might ease.”

His gaze remained aloof. “To expect that of . . . anyone . . . would be unfair.”

At that moment nothing seemed fair.

Neither of us was prepared to continue this conversation, fraught as it was with the danger of uttering words that couldn’t be taken back. We both stared out into the distance. Thick gray clouds had rolled in since I’d fled the house a few hours before, and only now did the cold begin to sweep through me. I rubbed at my arms, trying to get warm.

Halstead laid his cane against the fence as he removed his jacket. “I’m sorry. I should have offered when I first saw you were without a cloak.” It took him almost a full minute as he tried to shuffle out of his jacket while keeping his balance. I could sense his mounting frustration at a task that should have been the work of seconds.

At last he set it about my shoulders. And though the coat was warm, rich with his smell, I shivered.

Chapter Twenty-Two

I was on my way up to change for dinner when Lady Ellen’s voice came echoing down the corridor. It took every ounce of willpower I possessed not to run, for I had not the strength to face Halstead’s third female relative of the day.

“Miss Graham, you’ve certainly made yourself scarce of late.”

I turned as she caught up with me and almost spouted off some trivial reply, but I stopped myself. Lady Ellen’s lips were pursed in a way that communicated an unwillingness to be put off. It was hopeless to keep her at bay. And I found I no longer wanted to.

What I needed, more than anything, was someone to confide in. And to whom else could I turn?

“I hope you aren’t offended by my distance,” I apologized. “Only I thought it might be better for . . . better if I stayed out of the way.”

“Better for whom, exactly?”

There were so many ways I could have answered her, but the truth fell from my lips. “For me.”

Lady Ellen searched my face for a moment before tugging my arm into hers. “May I join you in your room, Miss Graham?”

I nodded. We walked together in silence, but the moment the door fell closed behind us, Lady Ellen turned every bit of her attention on me. “No,” I said quickly.

“No?” Her necklace swung as she whipped her head toward me. “I haven’t even asked anything yet, though my first question would most decidedly be why are you wearing Halstead’s coat?” She looked me over from head to toe, waiting.

I glanced down in embarrassment. I had been so comfortable wrapped up in its warmth that I’d forgotten. “I am not yet ready for your interrogation,” I replied. “So you shall have to wait. In the meantime, perhaps you could inform me of your progress with Lord Everdale.”

A fierce blush rose up her cheeks. I smirked at her. “You aren’t quite so forthcoming when someone else is asking the questions, are you?”

She laughed. “I see I have met my match. Fair enough.” She took a seat on the fainting couch in the corner of my room. “Come,” she invited, even though as a guest, the room was temporarily mine. “There is room for both of us.”

Once I was seated next to her, Lady Ellen turned toward me, hardly able to contain her smile. “I find myself unexpectedly pleased with Lord Everdale.”

I shook my head. “One can be pleased with a great many things. The latest fashion in bonnets, for example, or a turn in the weather.” There was a fair amount of sauciness in my tone.

“Very well.” She laughed. “I find my affection for Lord Everdale growing day by day. And I think you know I wouldn’t say so if I did not mean it, especially since Mother takes credit for every good character trait he has. I wonder if she will be willing to shoulder the blame for the weaknesses I discover after Hugh and I are married.”

I turned to stare, grabbing her arm with more force than was ladylike. “Married? So it is settled?”

Happiness beamed over her face. She gave a quick, forceful nod.

My chest pricked with joy. One piece of uncomplicated, happy news. Heaven knew I needed it. “So we shall be family! I couldn’t be happier.”

She pulled at her glove, as if trying to hide her embarrassment at being so happy. “I’m a little giddy myself, which is quite disconcerting, as I pride myself on being a sensible female.” But even as she said it, I sensed a contentment in her I’d not seen previously.

I let a smile wash over my face. “I’m inclined to believe sensible females miss out on quite a bit of the fun.”

She ducked in toward me, and without thinking, I reached out and put my arms around her. “So we shall be cousins.” She hugged me back, and the comfort of her arms was like a safe haven from the swirling confusion that had plagued me these last few days.

When we released one another, Lady Ellen remained close. She held up a finger in warning. “You mustn’t say anything. We are waiting to announce it tomorrow at the ball.”

Could the ball really be tomorrow? That meant our departure was only two days hence. My stomach swooped.

“And now,” she said, wasting no time, “I’ve answered your questions. It is high time you answer mine. Will you please explain to me what is going on? I cannot stand to stay in the dark for another moment.” She looked up at the ceiling for a moment and then fixed me with a stare. “It all seemed to start with the Wollertons’ arrival.”

I glanced around the room, avoiding her gaze. “Yes, I suppose it did.” But from there I was helpless to go on, for where did I even begin? A week ago my life had seemed so simple, and now it seemed a helpless tangle of knots. I feared tugging at even one of the threads, afraid I might make the whole thing worse.

“I am inclined to warn you, Miss Graham, that having ensnared Lord Everdale, I feel very little need to obey Society’s strictures. I don’t plan on leaving until my curiosity is satisfied, even if it means I go down to dinner in this.” She gestured to her mauve-colored day gown. “After all, it is one of Lord Everdale’s favorites.”

That brought a smile to my lips. “If we truly are going to be cousins, and you insist on being so overbearing, you might as well call me Juliet.”

Her eyes twinkled. “And I have been ‘Lady Ellen’d’ enough for a lifetime. You may call me Ellen.”

The tiniest weight lifted from me, the reassurance of her friendship loosening at least one of the knots that plagued me. I let out a sigh as I attempted to sort out my thoughts.

Her lips drew into a pout of consideration. “Perhaps if I asked a few questions, it might make this conversation a little easier. What happened the other evening during your musical performance? When you spoke to Halstead afterward you looked ready to tear him limb from limb.”

I ducked my head. “Yes, I suppose I was. I mistook his actions—I thought he’d perhaps only joined me to make it clear he had no interest in Lady Margaret.”

She spoke softly. “When, in reality, all he wished was to be near you.”

“Do you really think so? It seems everyone in this household is more certain than I am.”

Her expression grew tense. “What do you mean?”

I wished I had guarded my words more carefully. But now that I’d spoken, she would ferret it out of me one way or another. “Your mother pulled me aside this afternoon. She has all but forbidden me from spending any more time with your brother.”

She groaned. “My mother is sometimes the worst combination of stubborn and dimwitted.” She tilted her head back for a moment. “Perhaps it will help if I explain. Mother and Grandmother have attempted to browbeat Halstead back into Society for almost a year, with no success. The man is immovable when he wants to be. Yet one day after your arrival he joins us at dinner of his own volition.”

She shook her head, and the smile from her face faded. “He’d not attended church services in nearly two years. Two years, Juliet. And then last Sunday he walked in and surprised us all. Did you not see the look of shock upon the rector’s face?”

With each word she spoke, warmth spread through me. Did she really believe these changes were somehow connected to me? It seemed impossible I could have so much influence. For a moment it felt as though my heart might lift right out of my chest. Until I remembered his mother’s stern warning. If she spoke to my aunt, I could only imagine what Aunt Agnes would think up next to punish me. Harry would be involved; of that I was certain.

Heavy chains wrapped around my heart, tugging it back into place. “That doesn’t change your mother’s feelings on the matter. And if she speaks to my Aunt Agnes—”

“You leave Mother to me. I’ll force her to see reason.”

But even that reassurance didn’t calm some of my other fears. “I’m glad if I’ve had anything to do with these changes you speak of, but it isn’t as though . . .” I pursed my lips together, trying to give voice to my thoughts. “Halstead and I talked just this morning of life before his accident.” I spoke quickly, before I lost my nerve to voice my thoughts aloud. “I’m not naive enough to believe I am anything like the women he was once accustomed to.”

My stomach cramped, for I was quite sure the young ladies he once pursued were all like Lady Margaret. Refined. Ladylike. With perfect pedigrees that went all the way back to Henry the Conqueror.

Ellen gave me a hard stare. “Quite right—you’re not like any of them, and thank goodness. Stupid, ninny-headed fools, the lot of them, save Lady Margaret. But Juliet, Halstead wants nothing to do with her. She hasn’t the backbone he needs.” She squeezed my arm. “You do.”

Robert’s face flooded my mind, and my shoulders slumped under the weight of heavy guilt. “It isn’t that simple. My life is . . . complex.”

“Because of Mr. Nicholson,” she said knowingly. Her gaze was gentle. “Do you love him, Juliet?”

“Yes.” I shook my head. “No.” I willed myself to breathe out and took in a gulp of fresh air. “He’s always been like a brother, but now he wants to marry me. I’d be a fool not to try to see him as something more.”

Ellen’s nose scrunched into disapproval. “You don’t strike me as someone who would be happy with such a settlement.”

I swallowed. “There are things that matter more than my happiness.”

“Mr. Nicholson’s?” She scoffed. “And what of my brother’s?”

I couldn’t expect her to understand my situation with Robert, but still her tone made me testy. “Your brother is a wild card, at best. I’ll not stake my future on such uncertainty. Heavens, he’s vowed not to marry. And I’ve vowed not to . . .”

“Not to what, Juliet?”

“Not to enter into a marriage of social disparity. My parents made that mistake, and it’s resulted in nothing but unhappiness for Harry and me.” I exhaled, for deep down, this was my greatest fear. Despite what Halstead and I felt, despite everyone who wished to push and pull me this way and that, this was the heart of the matter.

She rubbed at her forehead and let out a wisp of air. “Forgive me for speaking so forwardly—I care for you and speak only the truth. But you’d be a fool to think you can find happiness simply by tiptoeing around, attempting to avoid the mistakes of others.” She pulled my left hand into hers. “I’ve never seen Halstead look at anyone the way he looks at you. He may be as hardheaded as a mule, but I’d swear he’s in love with you.”

I wanted to take her words and examine them like precious jewels, but they posed only danger to my already weakened resolve. “I doubt that very much. And I promised Robert I would take some time to consider, to think over his offer.”

“Mr. Nicolson has had claim on your time for years. You leave for Lymington Park in two days. Why not at least consider Halstead until then?”

Could I? A thread of hope wove its way through me.

I set my shoulders back. “I’ll think on it, I promise, though I can’t bear the thought of facing everyone tonight. Will you make my excuses? Tell everyone I’ve a headache. Only you must make it believable, else Aunt Agnes will punish me.”

She nodded. “I have been known to have a flare for theatrics. You can be sure no one will doubt the severity of your headache.”

A weak smile rose to my lips, for it was not truly my head but my heart that ached.

Chapter Twenty-Three

I opened the front door, praying it wouldn’t creak and wake the whole house. As near as I could tell, most of the servants were still abed, and I had no desire to rouse anyone. Thankfully, the door’s hinges were well oiled and the large oak door made not a sound as I slipped out.

Yesterday had been an exhausting whirlwind of emotions, and I found myself eager to return to Roecliffe Chapel, hoping to feel the peace I’d experience there before. This early-morning hour seemed the perfect time, as I wished to avoid company. The eastern sky was full of clouds, making it difficult to discern whether the sun had yet cleared the horizon. But even in the time I’d been at the castle the days had grown shorter.

I hurried along the path that led to the chapel, my only company a small hare that stopped to stare at me for a moment before scurrying behind a tree. The air had a bitter chill to it this morning. It seemed the Saint Martin’s summer had left us for good. A puff of air formulated from my breath. The morning smelled of smoke and damp wood, with a hint of salt water blown in on a breeze from the coastline.

My steps slowed as I approached the heavy wooden door that served as the chapel’s entrance. Halstead had once implied the rector wasn’t particularly friendly, so I pushed open the door with caution.

Today the chapel was much dimmer than when we’d attended services, the weak sunlight still veiled behind the lingering clouds. Most of the light came from the candelabras ensconced along the walls, and the draftiness made them flicker in a less than welcoming manner. I took quiet steps up to the back row of pews and took a seat, arching my neck back so I could gaze up at the ceiling.

The crisscrossed arches I’d admired before seemed to come alive in the candlelight. I could imagine the flickering light of lanterns casting similar shadows over the snug-fitting planks of a ship. A breath of air escaped me, a hazy image of my father surfacing in my mind.

The faintest whiff of salt reached my nose. All at once I was carried back to a moment that had been tucked away in the deepest corners of my memory. I stood on the docks, a girl of five or six, pulling on my mother’s skirt as we waited for Father to disembark from his ship. It was a misty day, with low-hanging clouds. Father seemed to appear out of nowhere, and in a heartbeat I was in his arms, my face buried in his shirt. He smelled of wind, salt, and sunshine, and I wrapped my arms around him, wishing he would never let go. But he pulled back. “Don’t ye want to see what I’ve brought ye?” His voice had a comforting Scottish lilt.

“What is it?” I demanded.

His face was grave. “What do ye want, Juliet girl?” Before I could answer he grinned and tossed me high into the air.

I squealed in delight as I flew up, and then I fell back into his arms, giggling.

“What do ye want, Juliet girl?” he asked, throwing me up again.

He did it again and again, and I was shrieking and laughing too hard to reply. “Harry, she’ll be sick,” my mother said, though she wore a smile on her face.

Finally, he set me down, and my legs felt wobbly after being tossed about. He knelt down before me and pulled something from his pocket. Before I could see what it was, he quickly put his hands behind his back. A moment later he held them both in front of me, fists closed. “I’ve a surprise for ye, Juliet girl, but ye have to guess which hand.”

I wrinkled my nose, examining each hand as carefully as I could, worried I would choose wrong. “Just choose, lassie.”

I tapped on one hand, and he drew back his fingers, revealing an intricately carved animal I wasn’t familiar with.

“It’s a mountain goat, all the way from the Continent, for my Juliet girl.” He pressed it into my hand, his fingers curling around mine, rough from months at sea but warm and comforting.

I leaned my head down on the pew in front of me, tears leaking down my cheeks. What do ye want, Juliet girl? How could I know what I wanted without him here to guide me? I wanted him here with me now. Perhaps I’d still be a mess of confusion even if I had my father, but at least I’d have the strength of his hand holding mine as I tried to find my way. I wasn’t sure I wanted what my mother and father had, but Ellen was right—I couldn’t expect to find happiness by avoiding their mistakes.

Sniffing back any further emotion, I drew my head back up, trying to tease out my thoughts and feelings. Even amidst the fog of confusion, my heart yearned for Halstead. Every moment spent with him lit me up inside. But how could I dare hope for something between the two of us? Loving Halstead was nothing but uncertain. Robert was safety. Surety. And perhaps—

“Excuse me, miss.”

I jumped a little at the sound of a voice.

The rector approached, his face kind in the candlelight. “I don’t wish to disturb you, but this is the time when someone comes in to clean.”

My skirts rustled as I stood. “Oh, I am sorry.”

“If you’ve some special need, I can have them come back later.”

I shook my head. “Oh no, I am finished here.”

He bowed and gave a smile of apology as I brushed by him.

I pushed the door open into the morning light. The sky was a blaze of gold, the sun lifting itself above the clouds. Last night, I remembered, the sky had been streaked with crimson. Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. I repeated the well-known saying to myself without a second thought, hurrying along the path.

By the time I returned to the castle, there was a flurry of activity taking place. Furniture was being moved from room to room, and rugs were rolled back. I had a suspicion tonight’s ball would be the very picture of extravagance.

I paused outside the breakfast room and momentarily considered going in but quickly decided against it. My stomach was already filled with nerves; there’d be no room for something to eat.

Lady Margaret and Ellen walked out as I turned to go.

“Miss Graham, we hoped we might find you.” Lady Margaret greeted me with a warm smile.

Ellen nodded her agreement. “Ah yes, we’re trying to decide what to wear this evening, and you must join us. Come upstairs; we’ll start with Lady Margaret.”

Lady Margaret led us up to her room, and I couldn’t help but notice that she had been given a much larger view, and on the warm side of the castle. She opened her wardrobe, where hung a multitude of dresses, all of them in different shades.

She removed three—a pale green, an ivory, and a lavender one with pearl beading—and laid them on her bed. “I am trying to decide between these three, but I can’t seem to make up my mind.”

Ellen looked them over, tapping her lip in consideration. But I knew instantly which one I would choose for her. “The lavender one,” I said quietly. “It will make your hair look a little darker and bring out its natural shine.”

Ellen picked up the lavender dress and held it up to Lady Margaret. “She is right about your hair. You must wear the lavender.”

Lady Margaret smiled, and a light blush stained her cheeks. “Now that you say so, I believe it is the one I wanted all along.” She laid the dress out on the bed. “Well, if that is settled, who is next? Lady Ellen?”

I had to laugh at the time it took us to cross three different corridors to Ellen’s room. “It’s no wonder you stay so slim,” I teased, “in a castle of this size.” Ellen and I exchanged a look, and I knew she was thinking it wouldn’t be her home for much longer.

When we arrived at her room, she said, “I look better in whites and creams, but I am open to other suggestions.” We debated over her dresses for a few minutes before settling on a cream satin gown lined with gold rosettes.

Next it was my turn, but I felt some hesitance as we walked down the passageway. The scant few dresses I’d brought were hardly grand enough for tonight’s ball. Ellen and Lady Margaret moved down the corridor, but I lagged behind.

Aunt Agnes stood at the top of the staircase, angled so I could see her profile, and I paused as she handed a letter to one of the footmen. “See that this is posted immediately,” she instructed. He bowed his acquiescence and made his way down the stairs. She turned a bit and caught me staring. The color on her cheeks heightened, almost as if she were discomfited, but I couldn’t imagine what about. I gave her a slight nod of acknowledgment, then hurried on my way before she could detain me.

Ellen and Lady Margaret waited for me at the door to my room. I turned the handle and cracked it open only to see a thin, paper-sized parcel tied with twine that had been slipped under the door. Curiosity nearly got the better of me, but I had no desire to examine it under anyone else’s scrutiny. I quickly scooted it behind the door with my foot as I stood aside for them to enter.

In no time at all we were sorting through my wardrobe with its limited offerings. I ran my bottom lip between my teeth. “I think I’ll just wear the green one I wore the other night. I don’t really have another that’s suited for such an event.”

Lady Margaret pulled it down. “No doubt it’s a good color for you. And it must be quite difficult finding gowns since your hair color is so . . .”

“Red?” I supplied.

She blushed. “Well, yes. It’s very beautiful, but—”

Ellen interrupted her. “What she means is that it’s not in any way neutral. But I quite envy you. You’ll draw attention wherever you go.” She took the dress from Lady Margaret and held it up to me. “No, you can’t wear this again. But I may have something . . . it is a dress Mother bought for me in London last year. But when I put it on, Mother said it made me look as though I were ill.” She laughed. “Needless to say I haven’t worn it. But it may be just the thing with your coloring. You stay here; I’ll be right back.”

I returned my green dress to the closet. For a moment, as Ellen exited the room, my eyes flicked to the spot behind my door, where the mysterious parcel lay.

“Do you think Lady Ellen and your cousin will be making an announcement tonight?” Lady Margaret asked.

“It seems a good possibility.” I had no wish to give away Ellen’s secret if she hadn’t told Lady Margaret herself.

She bit her lip. “Mother and Father will be dreadfully disappointed when there’s no announcement for me.”

The ends of my fingertips began to tingle. I couldn’t speak, afraid I’d give my own feelings away.

Lady Margaret, however, needed no encouragement from me to continue. “My parents have held on to this impractical hope of a union between the duke and me for far too long. He has no wish to marry, and it’s time they accepted it, as I have.” Her face flickered with some elusive emotion.

“Are you disappointed?” I wondered if she had a stake in the situation or merely felt herself to be a pawn as I sometimes did.

“A bit, perhaps, but not in the way you might think. I believed for so long I’d be a duchess. But I’ve no desire to marry the duke.” She frowned. “He’s grown so cold the last few years, nothing like the carefree man I remember from before.”

“With an accident like his that’s no great surprise.” She was wrong. Halstead was a good many things, but I could never bring myself to think of him as cold. A dangerous tremor of hope began in my belly.

“Here it is,” Ellen sang from the doorway.

The gown was magnificent. The fabric was a deep-blue satin, covered with a layer of matching chiffon with gold stitching, so thin it gave the dress an almost ethereal look.

“And with her hair,” Lady Margaret breathed, “it will be perfect.”

Ellen nodded, as if the matter were decided. “We’re close to the same size, but the bottom hem might need to be taken up a bit. I’ll send up my abigail to make any last-minute alterations.”

I thanked them both, and a few minutes later Lady Margaret and Ellen left, still chattering about the preparations going on downstairs. The minute the door closed, I hurried over and picked up the package I had scooted away from prying eyes. The twine took but a moment to untie, and I pulled back the brown wrapping to reveal some sheet music titled, “The Soldier’s Adieu.”

I hugged it to my chest. It was the song I’d played a few nights before—the one that had brought back such vivid memories of my father. A small note fluttered to the floor, and I reached down and picked it up.

Juliet,

The lilting melody of this song has long been a favorite of mine. I took the liberty of procuring the sheet music and hope I am not wrong in supposing the song may hold some special meaning for you.

—H

My breath hitched. The simple and unexpected gesture was more than I deserved and not one I would soon forget. Halstead seemed to see me, to know me in a way no one else did. The knowledge sent a thrill through my core, pressed itself upon my heart. I ached to thank him. I glanced back at the dark-blue dress laid out on the bed, and a wave of flutters went through me at the thought of seeing him at the ball. A smile pushed up the corners of my mouth, anticipation mounting at the thought of what tonight might bring.

A small corner of my heart twinged as I remembered Robert would be there as well. And in that moment I knew. The pieces fell into place. Halstead had my heart. And Robert, much as I loved him, would never be anything more to me than a dear friend.

Perhaps the time had come to let him know.

I’d spent a good portion of the day with Ellen’s abigail as she reworked the hem and took in the bustline a few centimeters, but that evening when Betsy slipped the dress over my head, the material soft as a feather against my skin, I knew the result had been worth it. Never in my life had I seen, let alone worn, such a fine gown.

Betsy’s brows rose as she took in the sight of me, but her face immediately darkened. “I’m not sure how your aunt will feel about you borrowing a gown,” she warned.

“By the time she sees me, it will be too late.” I was feeling rather careless this evening.

Betsy twisted up my hair in a loose chignon, leaving plenty of my unruly curls cascading over my shoulder. I pulled on a pair of gloves, my hand finally healed enough that the pain was hardly noticeable. When at last she was finished, I stood before the mirror, surprised at how much the blue altered me. For a moment it was almost as though I were looking at my mother. My heart squeezed a little, missing her.

“Come, miss, it’s time to go down.”

Lady Margaret emerged from the opposite corridor, and I joined her at the top of the stairs. She surveyed me from head to toe. “You look magnificent. Mr. Nicholson won’t be able to keep his eyes off you.” She gave me a knowing smile. “Perhaps there will be two announcements tonight after all.”

I was in too good a mood to correct her. Once downstairs I let her lead the way. I’d been given a tour of the ballroom on the afternoon of our arrival, but I couldn’t remember its precise location. I remembered it as a gloomy room; all the drapes had been drawn, and large dark rugs had covered the floor.

We entered the ballroom together, and even she, the daughter of a marquess, was taken aback at the sight before us. With the dark rugs gone, the floor was a light-colored marble, the walls a robin’s-egg blue, and four large chandeliers were lit with hundreds of candles, which shone in the freshly polished gold trimmings that adorned the room. With the drapes of each window pulled back, the flames reflected off their panes, multiplying the light. Enchanting didn’t begin to describe it.

But the sight only depressed me, made me feel out of my depth. I was the daughter of a sailor, and no matter how fancy my borrowed ball gown, I would never belong in a setting like this—in Halstead’s world. The duchess was right; her words pounded against my heart with the force of an anvil, threatening to break the fragile organ.

Lord Aberdeen came forward. “Lady Margaret, the duchess has requested you join her in the receiving line. Lady Ellen is there already, and I know they hope the duke will join them.”

Lady Margaret was welcome there, of course. She was the kind of woman suited to be a duchess. I laid a hand on my breastbone, grateful the receiving line was not in our line of sight. If Halstead stood there, my heart would do more than break. It would shatter.

Lady Margaret smiled under Lord Aberdeen’s attention. “You’ll excuse me, won’t you?” she asked me. “I do not wish to keep the duchess waiting.”

“Of course,” I said, my voice thin.

Lord Aberdeen turned to me. “Might I escort you in? The first guests are just arriving.”

I forced my attention toward him, determined not to envy Lady Margaret the approval she was so freely granted. A few dances, supper, and then Hugh and Ellen’s announcement. I could make it that long.

“Might I claim your first set?” Lord Aberdeen asked. “That is, if it hasn’t already been spoken for?”

“It has not, as a matter of fact. And I would be pleased to dance with you.” Anything to distract me from thoughts of Halstead.

Lord Aberdeen led me over to a small group and introduced me, but I retained none of their names. More and more guests filtered in, and the ballroom grew bright with an array of different-colored gowns. Lord Aberdeen was pulled into a conversation, but I hung back. A few minutes later Robert appeared at my side. He looked over every inch of me, his mouth hanging open a bit. “I have never seen you in a gown like that,” he whispered.

My smile was fragile. No matter how things stood between Halstead and me, I owed Robert the truth. And he was not going to make it easy. “Thank you; it belongs to Lady Ellen.”

“I’ll be sure to thank her,” he jested. “The first dance will be starting any minute. May I have your first set?”

I gave him an apologetic shrug, forcing my gaze away from the receiving line. Better not to look for Halstead. Better for my heart. “It has already been spoken for by Lord Aberdeen.”

Robert frowned. “I cannot believe I did not think to claim it yesterday. The second, then.”

“Very well.” Guilt weighed on me as we spoke, now that I knew for certain what my answer would be.

“Can I get you a drink in the meantime?”

The room’s temperature had risen steadily with the arrival of more guests, and the thought of something to wet my tongue was refreshing. “Yes, please.”

While he went off in search of a drink, the music started and Lord Aberdeen appeared. I’d danced at a few private balls, at much smaller gatherings than this, and never in a room so fine. But for a few moments, despite my heavy heart, dancing felt almost magical. Until Lord Aberdeen stepped on my left foot during our second dance. I tried not to limp, but my steps were not as smooth after that, and I wondered if I might find a seat near the wall.

As the second song drew to a close, I curtsied to Lord Aberdeen. Robert appeared at my side, offering me a drink. I took it gratefully, taking care not to slurp it down. “Shall we?” Robert asked after I’d taken a few sips.

He gave our glasses to a passing footman and took my hand in his with a slight pressure against my palm, as if to claim me. “Careful,” I warned. “My hand still isn’t fully healed.”

Robert loosened his grip at once. “Forgive me for being so thoughtless.” His green eyes met mine, and tonight they possessed a certain anxiousness. Or perhaps it was just my own anxiety causing me to imagine it.

We joined the line for the next dance, and Robert made such an excellent partner that a part of me almost wanted to reconsider my decision. He knew every step, and I knew for certain he would never step on my toes. We both stepped forward and back as the dance required, and though his movements weren’t fluid, Robert made every step at precisely the right time. Guilt hung over me every moment we were together, begging me to reconsider. Perhaps he was not the most elegant dancer, and perhaps my heart didn’t leap with every touch of our hands, but I could be happy with the ever-steady Robert, couldn’t I?

No.

And lying to him and lying to myself . . . it wouldn’t be fair to either of us.

A new dance began, and I mindlessly followed the others into formation. As we drew close, Robert whispered into my ear, “Juliet, I must tell you. My offer for a commission has been accepted, and I am to join the army as a captain in January. Have you been thinking on what we discussed?”

I pulled back, startled by the news, which made my decision easier. I would not be like my mother, left behind by a husband who came home only on occasion. I drew a fortifying breath as we stepped back from one another while another couple came forward. We sashayed down the line before the opportunity to speak again presented itself.

“I have given a good deal of thought . . . to what you asked.” But something in me cringed at the thought of telling him here, now. Perhaps I was a coward, but I couldn’t do it. “But perhaps we could talk later. When we aren’t in a crowded ballroom?”

Robert bowed as the dance came to a close. “I am willing to wait as long as you need, but I cannot pretend, on nights like these, I don’t feel a good deal of impatience. I hold you in the highest esteem, Juliet, and I await your answer with anticipation.”

I grew breathless, but not from his declaration. There, cutting across the ballroom, directly toward me, came Halstead. The crowd parted as he made his appearance, and even Robert took a step back.

Halstead stopped a few feet away from me, and everyone stared. I thought I’d grown used to his handsome face, but seeing him dressed so tonight, I struggled to remember how to breathe. He wore a black embroidered jacket, his white cravat perfectly pressed, a silk waistcoat of midnight blue bringing out the olive tones of his skin. His mouth was lifted in an almost smile directed straight at me.

I curtsied. “Your Grace.”

He bowed. “Miss Graham.”

A moment of indecision rested in the air before he held out his hand. “Might I request your company for the duration of the next set?”

My mouth was so dry I had to touch my tongue to the roof of my mouth before I could speak. “Yes, Your Grace.” I turned back for a moment. “Excuse me, Robert.”

The stiff set of Robert’s jaw attested to his displeasure.

I placed my hand in Halstead’s. His touch was all that was gentle, and I knew he hadn’t forgotten my slowly healing burn. The room slowly flowed back together as the next dance began. He guided me back toward the ballroom’s entry. The receiving line had petered out, and a small circle of chairs sat empty. He motioned for me to take a seat.

I sat and drew a hand down my middle, smoothing my dress. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” I accused. “You wanted to make a scene.”

“You jump to a great many conclusions about my motivations, Juliet.” He leaned in, his expression severe. “Please never doubt that when I seek you out, I do so only for the pleasure of your company.”

I might have thought him flirting were his eyes not so serious. How could a woman respond to such words? Thank goodness I was sitting down.

“I am sorry I cannot ask you to dance.” He set his walking stick against the chair and adjusted one of his cuff links.

His compliment, his candor, removed my inhibition. If he could speak so freely, surely I could as well. I waited until I’d captured his gaze before I leaned forward. “Dancing has never held much charm for me. I much prefer your company.”

“In another life, you might have had both.” He shook his head.

My stomach dipped again. “In another life, I am quite sure you wouldn’t have looked my way twice.”

His mouth twitched. “I did tell you I was a fool.”

My limbs had been filled with tension the entire evening, and I could no longer hold it all in. I laughed aloud. Halstead chuckled as well. Several women who were standing nearby turned to stare.

My smile faded. “This is one of the disadvantages of your company—a duke will never go unnoticed.”

“One of? Are there others?” His voice held a trace of amusement.

“You are as brash as you please, and no one tells you to show more respect for propriety.”

“Of course they don’t.” He laughed. “A duke sets the rules of propriety. How is that a disadvantage?”

A nearby footman held out a tray of drinks, and I took one, nodding my thanks. “Because then it falls to me to keep you humble.”

“Oh, come, you enjoy it. Go on; what other disadvantages are there?”

I smirked back at him as I fingered the stem of my wine glass. “Now that I’ve been seen in your company, I will have quite a lineup of unsolicited admirers asking me to dance. My feet will surely ache by the end of the night.”

“Is that all?”

I pulled my mouth to one side as I tried to think of another clever disadvantage. In truth, I could think of far more advantages than disadvantages. One of them being how at ease I felt in his company, how much I felt like . . . me.

Halstead’s eyes danced. “Your list is not so daunting. I’d feared my company was much more burdensome than it proves to be . . . although, I am not sure I take kindly to the notion of you having a slew of dance partners. Perhaps you could disappoint them all and meet me up in the observatory. During the supper hour.”

I looked up in surprise. “The observatory?” Wary of garnering more unwanted attention, I lowered my voice. “Do you mean it?”

He set a hand on his knee. “The observatory is up six flights of stairs, Juliet. I don’t make the offer lightly.”

My heart lifted at his words. I hardly felt myself capable of conscious thought. “Yes. Yes, please.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Time passed at an interminable rate as I waited for the supper hour. My prediction had been accurate: after the time I’d spent with Halstead, there was no shortage of men wanting to dance with me. My current partner was a friendly young man whose name I had difficulty recalling. Mr. Phelps, perhaps?

He bowed as the dance closed. “Miss Graham, thank you for the pleasure of your company.”

“The pleasure was all mine.” I curtsied, hoping he wouldn’t notice I’d omitted his name.

“Juliet, there you are.” Robert came up from behind me and extended an arm. “Supper is set to begin in a few minutes. May I escort you in?”

My heart was already racing up the stairs, but it wouldn’t do to explain my rendezvous to Robert. “May I join you a little later? I’d just like a moment of quiet before the noise of supper.” Despite the prickle of guilt I felt, I had no intention of telling Robert the exact truth. Perhaps he cared for me, but that did not mean he was entitled to know every detail of my whereabouts.

The downturn of his mouth made me rush to alleviate his concerns. “I won’t be gone long.”

“May I have the first dance after supper?”

I nodded. “Of course.”

At that Robert’s frown was swept away by a grin, and he let me go. He turned toward the tables as I weaved my way through the crowd, all the while keeping an eye open for Aunt Agnes. I couldn’t allow her to catch me sneaking off.

Thankfully, I slipped into the cavernous entryway without difficulty. Halstead had instructed me to take the stairs up the east tower, so I made my way down the corridor and found the door he’d described.

With a final backward glance I tugged it open and slipped inside. The stairwell was quite drafty and lit with interspersed lanterns, and I held up my skirts to ensure I wouldn’t trip up the steep steps. By the time I reached the third level, I had to stop for a moment to catch my breath. My legs burned, and I couldn’t help but think of the effort Halstead must have exerted to mount these stairs. Could he possibly care for me so much?

I smiled. The promise of the observatory and a few stolen moments with Halstead enticed me upward, and I did not let myself stop again until I’d reached the top. The door creaked open under my touch. I’d expected to see a candle or a lantern, but the room was pitch-black.

“Halstead?” I whispered into the darkness.

“I’m here, Juliet.”

My eyes adjusted, and now I could see him standing at the large open window.

“I know it’s dark, but any light interferes with the stars’ visibility.” He patted the large cylindrical object next to him. “I’ll let you look through the telescope in a minute, but first, just come to the window.”

I crossed the room in a handful of steps and rested my hand on the stone that encased the window. My shoulder brushed against Halstead’s chest, and I battled to keep my breathing even. The view, even without the telescope, was breathtaking.

From this high up the view of the ocean was even more impressive than the view from the fourth floor—completely unobstructed—its surface like a mirror of black glass. The horizon was a deep purple, fading into a bluish black that drew my gaze up to the heavens. The ballroom had been charming, elegant; this was mesmerizing. Stars littered the evening sky, their brightness putting the chandeliers downstairs to shame.

“I feel so small up here,” I said quietly.

“I’d forgotten.” Halstead stood close to me, his voice low and warm in my ear. His breath wafted a curl against my neck. “Sometimes it is nice to be reminded how insignificant we are.”

Gazing upward, I knew exactly what he meant. But I merely nodded, unable to find my voice. No wonder my father loved the stars. There’d always been a bit of reverence in his voice whenever he’d spoken of them. To see this, night after night . . . No wonder he loved the sea.

I let the moment settle over me like the warmth of a blanket. For the first time in almost two weeks, my mind and my heart weren’t battling. I ignored the uncertainty of the future and what lay in store. I breathed out in a steady rhythm, at peace.

Gratitude for the man at my side welled up, spilling out in words. “Thank you, Halstead. For the music”—I gestured to the magnificence spread out above us—“for this.”

Though I didn’t turn, I could feel his gaze on me. “I wished only to please you.”

“I—I am. Pleased.” I was so much more, but I could not voice it. A minute of silence stretched between us before I spoke again. “My father used to tell me all sorts of stories about stars, which is why I love them so much. But my favorite was the one he told about my mother. He used to point to the Northern Star and tell me it was called the Sarah Star. ‘It’s the one star ye can always see, Juliet girl. And wherever I am on the sea, the Sarah Star is always there to guide me,’ he said.”

For the first time, I understood my parents’ love. What it meant to find someone who could anchor them in a world as vast as the night sky. Even if it came at a cost.

Halstead brushed away a tear from my cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Your father was a lucky man.”

I nodded. “He was.”

“Would you like to look through the telescope?”

“Please.”

He placed a hand on my elbow, his warmth seeping through my long glove. He guided me back toward the telescope and took a moment to adjust its height. “There; I think I have it. You may need to take off your gloves in order to adjust the focus.”

With a few quick tugs, I removed my gloves and laid them on the chair to the left of the telescope. I bent my knees and tried to position myself in a way in which my balance would remain steady as I put my eye to the lens.

Halstead’s nearness set my skin to tingling, as if each of my nerves was infinitely aware of his proximity. “Now, close your other eye,” he instructed.

I obeyed, and the most spectacular view was spread before me. The stars were no longer distant specks but bright beacons. It seemed that if I reached out, they would be close enough to touch. “Ohh,” I breathed.

Halstead let me take in the wonder of it for a few moments before he spoke. “Do you remember the Titan Atlas, from Greek mythology?”

I gave the slightest nod, unwilling to lose even a second of the vision I enjoyed.

Halstead walked back to the window. “The Greeks saw the heavens as one great dome. They imagined the stars were attached to the dome and that it spun upon Atlas’s shoulders, which caused the stars to rise and set.”

As I gazed at the stars, I imagined the dome slowly spinning, held up under the strength of Atlas. But the weight of it. “How does he bear it, do you think?”

I hadn’t even realized I’d spoken aloud until Halstead made a sound of consideration. When he spoke, his words were strained. “It is simple. He has no other choice.”

Straightening my back, I loosened my hold on the telescope and joined Halstead at the window. “But we are not bound as he is,” I said softly. In the distance the dark lines of the sea touched the bottom of the sky. Seeing where the two met, the unruly, tempestuous sea and the brilliance of the heavens, I could almost see a future I’d not thought possible.

The ballroom seemed a distant memory. Here, title and wealth and a thousand other things faded away, unimportant. Insignificant. “We may choose what we want.” I reached out, guided by instinct. My touch tentative, I traced the side of his face, my fingers gliding to his jaw.

Halstead turned a fraction of an inch, enough that I could feel his breath on my hand. “And what do you want, Juliet?”

Now that the question was turned on me, uncertainty again churned through my mind. I blinked slowly. One thing I was certain of. “To give Harry what he’s never had—a place where he belongs.”

Halstead reached up and laid his hand over mine on his cheek, cloaking it in warmth. “And what is it you want for yourself?”

In all my twenty years no one had ever asked me such a thing. Robert had voiced his affection, offering for me, promising to care for me and give me security. But what did I want?

“Juliet?” Halstead’s voice, low and velvety, brought me back to the present, and Robert’s promise grew hazy and distant.

“I am afraid of what I want,” I whispered.

He took my good hand, palm up, and raised it to his lips.

My heart rate, so slow and steady a moment before, skittered faster, as if it could decide for me. I closed my eyes, enjoying the feel of his lips against my skin, the stroke of his thumb on my wrist.

He threaded his fingers through mine. “I spent almost two years believing my life was over. I closed myself off from the world and barricaded myself against all feeling. My future was as black as a night without stars, and I couldn’t bear to look forward.” He inhaled sharply. “And then my world changed.”

I could hardly breathe. “It did?”

He nodded. “When an unladylike sailor’s daughter invaded my library and broke one of my grandmother’s precious heirlooms.”

“Halstead,” I protested.

He set a finger on my lips. “I am not finished. Then she trespassed into a music room, where she sang like a barmaid and spoke to me—nay, spat words at me like I was a man and not a deformed duke.” He swallowed, his voice thick with emotion. “Every minute spent with you since has awakened something in me, brought me back a little more to who I was before.” He paused. “No, that’s not true. I am not the man I was before my accident. With you, for the first time, I think I might be something more.”

My heart beat like rapid cannon fire, and warmth filled my middle, spreading outward, all the way down to my toes.

“I never, either before or after my accident, would have imagined I could feel so much.” His dark eyes reflected starlight—and something else I couldn’t name. Halstead’s hand brushed my shoulder, fingering one of my loose curls. His thumb traced the line of my collarbone, sliding up my neck until he held my chin. “You’ve brought light into my life again. To live without you would be agony—I beg of you not to make me try. Juliet, say you love me, and I’ll break every one of the rash vows I made not to marry.”

Everything within me wanted to say yes. The only thing that held me back was Robert. I owed him an answer. The truth.

Halstead’s lips skimmed my jaw, the corner of my mouth. The heat of his breath against my skin lit a fire in my middle, and I ached to draw him closer, to press my lips to his and forget everything else.

“Miss Graham? Miss Graham, are you up here?” A man’s voice carried up the stairs into the small observatory.

I pulled back at once and went to the door, my hands shaking. Never had I been so grateful for the darkness. I motioned for Halstead to stay back. “I’m here,” I said, my voice hoarse. Thoughts, feelings, and hopes all collided within me, and I struggled for purchase in the tumult.

A red-faced footman appeared, his face shining under the lantern in the stairway. He breathed heavily. “You’re wanted downstairs by Lady Everdale.” My gut twisted. “She said to come at once.”

My absence had been noted. “Can you tell her I’ll be down shortly?”

“She said it’s a matter of the greatest urgency.”

I let loose a breath, disappointment sweeping away the warmth that had filled me just a moment before. I had no choice but to go. “Yes, of course I’ll come.” My heart thudded heavily. There was so much that needed to be said between Halstead and me. But if we were caught alone together . . . I couldn’t bear for Robert to learn of my answer that way.

I stole a glance back at Halstead and laid a hand over my heart, trying to express that we would have to wait. He nodded, the barest smile lifting the corners of his mouth. My heart tumbled over itself at the sight.

In a brief moment of prudence, I turned and snatched up my gloves before I hurried to follow the footman, who had already begun his descent.

The journey down the stairs seemed to take even longer than the journey up. I could barely think clearly, given what had just happened, yet my mind scored through possibilities of what Aunt Agnes might want. Perhaps she was only anxious for me to be present as Hugh announced his betrothal to Ellen. Halstead’s words echoed through me, and my heart threatened to burst as I relived our few stolen moments together. When would we have the chance to speak again?

“Where is my aunt?” I asked as we approached the second floor.

“She said to meet her in the small drawing room off the entryway.”

I nodded, matching my step to the footman’s. When at last we exited the stairwell, I slid past him and quickened my pace. A few guests wandered the corridors, but I paid them no mind on my way to the drawing room.

The door rested slightly ajar, and I pulled it open and marched through. Making Aunt Agnes wait would only worsen her mood.

All the chairs were empty. Had she lost her patience and given up waiting for me?

“Where have you been?”

I jumped a little. She’d been standing behind the door, as if she’d wished to alarm me. Her face was flushed with anger, leaving no trace of the self-possessed mien I was accustomed to.

“Let me rephrase,” she said quickly, before I could even attempt an answer. “Were you with the duke just now?”

“I—”

“Never mind answering; there’s guilt written all over your face. I should have known.” She shook her head and waved her arms about. In all our years together, I’d never seen her so upset. “This is my fault; I should have put a stop to it sooner. Your flirtation with him ends now.”

She’d set me on edge, and a small bark of a laugh escaped me. I cleared my throat, in no mood to brook a tongue-thrashing. I was tired of her endless parade of expectations I could never quite live up to. “Yes, how disconcerting it must be to have someone find me interesting. I know you won’t believe it, but I had no intention of anything happening between us.”

Her eyes narrowed into wary slits, almost as if she could see the emotions Halstead had ignited within me. “Yes, but that’s changed, hasn’t it? Which makes it all the more imperative for you to know how things stand.”

I gulped down some air, bracing myself for whatever she might say.

“I know Robert has made his intentions clear, so let me be as well, since you seem inclined to squander the one offer you would be lucky to get. I took you in all those years ago, and my dear son befriended you. You, who had not a friend in the world. From that moment on you did very little to maintain proper boundaries.”

Everything within me wanted to protest, but she gave me no opportunity.

“You gave Robert every indication you loved him, and now that he returns your love, you spurn him. Ha! More likely you have gotten above yourself and think you are now too good for him. Allow me to tell you that until you turn twenty-one, I still have full power over you and over Harry’s future.”

My hands clenched into fists, a swell of defensiveness rising up inside me at her mention of my brother. “Perhaps it is my turn to do the reminding for once. I turn twenty-one in six short weeks. At that point my inheritance will be at my disposal. As I know what a burden we’ve been to you these past years, I shall gladly relieve you of responsibility. Harry and I will make other arrangements for the future.”

An almost wicked look crept over my aunt’s face. Her manner calmed. “Ah, Juliet, if only it were that simple. Whatever you may think, I did not take in my sister and her children out of charity, and I don’t intend to be so poorly rewarded. Not when Hugh’s engagement with Lady Ellen hangs in the balance.”

I clenched my teeth. Was this about my inheritance?

“No, you will marry Robert. I took a necessary precaution this morning. I’d hoped you would not push me so far, but I can see the wisdom in my actions now.”

Precaution? Whatever did she mean?

“This morning I sent off a missive to the headmaster of Harrow, with explicit instructions for him to have Harry escorted to the docks and signed on as a cabinboy aboard a merchant ship two days hence.”

The note I’d watched her hand off to one of the footmen this morning. I inhaled sharply, yet the air brought no relief. My lungs had ceased to function.

“The only thing that will stop him is a note of deterrence—from me. I can only hope this will help you see Robert’s offer in a new light.”

“You are trying to force me to accept your son’s hand?” I sputtered. Her words shocked me, for despite all of my worst fears about Aunt Agnes, I would never have thought her capable of something like this.

A glint of calculation entered her eyes; she knew she had my full attention. “I see we finally understand each other. Despite your father’s status, you have a mother from a respectable background and you have a sizable dowry, which every second son needs. Don’t pretend you would be unhappy with Robert. The two of you have been inseparable for the past nine years.”

True as that was, it did not mean I wanted to marry him.

But Harry. I could feel within my bones that Aunt Agnes meant every one of the words she’d just spoken, and I feared for him. My gut wrenched as that horrible night came back to me, the memory of holding Harry in my arms as the storm raged, promising myself I would protect him, whatever the cost. And I would.

My future with Halstead began to fade away. Despair plunged through me.

Aunt Agnes’s mouth pulled into a hard and unyielding line, and the firelight accentuated her wrinkles. “For once you have no impertinent response, nor a thousand questions. I expect Hugh and Lady Ellen to make an announcement of their betrothal tonight, and while it would not be proper for you to overshadow their declaration, we can make your engagement to Robert public right after they are married. A second son does not marry before a first, but you must go to Robert now and accept his proposal.”

I grasped desperately, searching for any way to fight against what Aunt Agnes had thrown at me. “And what will Robert think of your threats? He wants my love, not my unwilling hand in marriage.”

She raised her brows. “Robert wants you, and I expect you to go to him willingly, without breathing a word of this to him or to anyone else. If you defy me, you have no one but yourself to blame when your brother boards that ship.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

I stood there for several moments after Aunt Agnes made her exit. Denial, shock, and confusion all surged through me. Aunt Agnes must be much more desperate for money than even I’d guessed. My hands trembled against my skirts, and I wanted nothing more than to run after her and rage against the unfairness of it all. But her threat had its intended effect. It silenced me.

Even as my heart cracked in two, I was resolute. Harry’s future rested in my hands. I turned the knob of the drawing room door and made my way into the corridor.

A deep, dark hole filled me, widening with every step I took toward the ballroom. My choices, my wants, all but disappeared as it grew. My eye twitched, but I blinked away the irritation. I was cornered, trapped. Nothing but a small ship tossed about on the waves of a much larger sea.

For the briefest moment I considered going to Halstead. Tears threatened as I thought of the advantage it would be to have a duke offer his help, his protection. But I’d known Aunt Agnes far too long to underestimate her. She’d played her cards perfectly, made it impossible for me to win. She’d pitted my future against Harry’s and left me with no choice.

Through the mist of weight that settled upon me, one thing was certain: with Mother and Father gone, all I had left was Harry. And I wouldn’t lose another person I loved to the sea.

The castle walls blurred around me, but instinct guided me back to the ballroom. A hazy plan formed in my mind, even through the crucible of pain that encompassed my heart. I would go directly to Robert and accept his proposal and then make my excuses and go up to my room and pack. I had not the strength to face Halstead—to feel the keen loss of everything I wanted as I looked into his eyes. Perhaps it was selfish of me, but I couldn’t bear it.

My second entrance into the ballroom could not have been more different than my first. The room was overly bright, the chandeliers gaudy, too grand for a room of otherwise simple tastes. The walls looked more gray than blue, and the sweltering smell of too many guests in too small a space made me grateful I’d skipped dinner.

But perhaps it was the silence that struck me more than anything. The music was noticeably absent, as was the chatter of the crowd. Everyone was gathered near the front of the ballroom. A voice rang out over the guests, but my mind couldn’t seem to make out the words. Suddenly the room swelled with applause.

Hugh and Ellen’s announcement.

Before I’d had adequate time to prepare myself, Robert appeared at my side. “Did you hear? They just made it official.”

I nodded.

“He looks happy, doesn’t he? Happier than he expected when we first arrived, I daresay.”

I studied Robert for a moment. How I wished things could be different between us. He certainly deserved a woman who was ecstatic at the prospect of marrying him. And perhaps I could be. In the future. A lump formed in my throat, but I had no time and certainly no patience for such things tonight. I gulped it back, along with all other emotion.

I laid a hand on his arm. “Robert, I have something to tell you.”

Robert stopped clapping and turned to face me. “Yes, Juliet?” The force of his discerning green eyes made me falter.

The orchestra began to play again, and people ambled through the ballroom, seeking out partners for the next dance. For a moment I considered asking if we could find a place that was more private, but the danger of losing control of my emotions forbade me.

“You remember that when you asked me to marry you, I told you I needed time to consider?”

“Of course, of course. Please, don’t prolong whatever it is you’re about to say.”

My stomach roiled, and I tasted bile at the back of my throat. But I would do this. For Harry. “Yes. My answer is yes.”

“Yes?” he repeated. “Your answer is yes?”

I nodded, hardly trusting my voice.

“Juliet, do you mean it?” I nodded once more, grinding my teeth together with such force my jaw ached. Finally, he released me from the awful heaviness of his gaze. “I can hardly believe it.” Robert drew my arm into his and laughed aloud.

He guided me through the ballroom, but I saw nothing. My breath came in small, ragged bursts as I tried to maintain a facade of normalcy. “Hugh, Lady Ellen!” Robert waved his arm, and suddenly they were standing before us.

“I wanted to congratulate the two of you on your betrothal.” Elation sounded in his voice, and his face nearly split with a grin.

“Thank you, Brother,” Hugh said.

Ellen’s gaze fastened on me, but I took the safe route and simply looked through her. I began to retreat inside myself.

Robert patted my hand. “And we have happy news of our own, though we will wait to announce it. Juliet has just agreed to marry me!”

“She has?” Ellen’s voice was laced with confusion, but I tuned it out.

Their conversation faded to a dull lapping in my ears as Halstead stepped from behind Lady Ellen.

Our gazes collided. Vicious, unadulterated anger stormed through his eyes, and his mouth was sculpted in wrath. Like a bolt of lightning hitting a tree, the hurt I saw in him split me in two. The air was full of venom, and I feared that if I inhaled, the poison of the moment would seep through me and undo my resolve. I couldn’t bear how I was hurting him, even if it was to save Harry.

And then he was gone, the only evidence he’d been there at all the receding rap of his cane on the ballroom floor. I could barely keep my feet. I swayed, my arm tightening on Robert’s as I prayed he would hold me up.

Ellen stepped forward. “Juliet, are you well?”

I leaned in to Robert, surprised he hadn’t yet noticed my distress. “It is only the heat of the room. Perhaps Robert could escort me out.”

“Of course.” He patted my hand. “I’m sorry; I was only caught up in the excitement of the moment.”

He led me away to a small alcove, where chairs were intermittently spaced. The music was not so loud, and the air was fresher. The noise consisted mainly of matrons whispering gossip behind their fans.

“Juliet, you are white as a sheet. Do you suppose you are ill?”

Robert’s furrowed brow only made my stomach clench with guilt, for how like him to look after my every need.

“Some wine might help,” I suggested.

Before I could speak another word, Robert was up on his feet, in search of a drink for me. He returned with a glass a moment later.

I sipped slowly, procrastinating the moment when I must speak again. At last I set down my wine on a nearby table. “Perhaps I should excuse myself. I find I am quite tired, and we leave early tomorrow.”

Robert nodded. “Yes, we can’t have you languishing in the carriage tomorrow.”

“I am sorry I spoiled the evening.” I stared at him for a moment, hurting for him. His mother’s manipulation had made casualties of us both.

“Juliet,” Robert said, shaking his head. “You did anything but. If only I could express how happy you’ve made me. Tomorrow we will be back at Lymington Park, and our time here will all be a distant memory. Soon our life together will begin at last.”

And indeed, that is what I told myself. That the minute I stepped foot in Lymington Park, I would leave behind my memories of Halstead and the whirl of emotions he’d set ablaze within me. From that moment on I would be Robert’s and Robert’s alone.

If only I could convince my fickle heart.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Lymington Park, one month later

“Betsy, she doesn’t need above three or four dresses. We shall return from London the day after the wedding.” Aunt Agnes was giving instructions about every minute detail for our journey.

Just the mention of what the next few days would bring was enough to set me on edge. I closed my eyes, trying to bar the image of Halstead from forming in my mind, but it was no use. An ache formed in my belly.

Betsy nodded, returning several dresses to my wardrobe. I rubbed the sensitive skin of my palm. Though the pain was gone and the burn had healed, the new skin was a bright pink, a constant reminder of the night I’d rescued my mountain goat from the fire. I drew my hand into a fist; I had promised myself I would leave all memories of my time at Shaldorn behind me.

“Has the mail come already?” I asked Aunt Agnes, hoping for a letter from Harry. I hadn’t heard from him since our return to Lymington Park. Worry for him weighed on me constantly.

“There’s no letter from Harry, if that’s what you’re wondering. Perhaps he has nothing to say.” The tone of her voice gave me pause. Could it be she was withholding his letters from me? But what could I do, even if she were?

“We eat in an hour, Juliet,” she said. “We must be early to bed since we’re off at daybreak.”

I nodded, the movement wooden. Sometimes it was hard for me to believe Aunt Agnes could carry on as if our time together, my agreement to marry Robert, weren’t a farce instigated by her threats.

Without bothering to explain myself, I slipped out of the room as she and Betsy continued talking over my things. Making decisions in my stead. It hardly seemed worth the effort to try to make such small decisions when I had been robbed of the one that really mattered.

I rubbed my hands up and down my sleeves as I made my way down the corridor. Winter had settled in for good since our return home, with several bouts of early snowfall. The windy draft seemed to seep through each crack and crevice of Lymington Park, and the corridors were particularly bad. The manor was in quite a state of disrepair, and even with a fire burning in every room, I could never seem to get warm. No doubt Aunt Agnes was already planning out the improvements she would make with Ellen’s dowry. And mine.

“Juliet?” I looked up to find Hugh just a few steps in front of me. “Ellen tells me you haven’t responded to her letters.” He held out a piece of correspondence. “Or, rather, she specifically says you ‘speak of nothing of import and answer none of my questions.’”

Guilt touched the back of my throat. “We’ve been away but a few weeks; what is there to tell?”

“I may be a trickster and a tease, Juliet, but give me more credit than that. I am hardly an idiot.”

Oh, but how much easier it would be if he were. My lungs tightened.

Hugh stepped closer, his voice a low whisper. “You are doing Robert no favors, you know, if you don’t return his affection.”

I made the mistake of meeting his eyes, and the accusation I saw there nearly unraveled me. For a moment I teetered on the edge of losing hold of myself, before a wave of calm washed over me, the tide of it pushing me within myself to a place of safety. From there I could return Hugh’s pulsing stare and feel nothing.

“There are a great many pushes and pulls in any relationship. I don’t expect you to understand mine.” I pictured Harry’s face.

Hugh’s gaze was unwavering, unyielding, but it did not move me. Finally, he blew out a sigh. “Whatever happens, I hope you will still be friends with Ellen. She cares for you more than you know.”

I gave a firm nod. “Of course.” Perhaps one day she would forgive me my choice: hurting her brother to protect mine.

He gave me one last searching glance before he turned and walked away.

Protecting Harry was the right thing. But the cost. I pressed a hand against my abdomen and released a tiny wisp of air.

Oh, the cost.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

London, one day later

As grand as the large church was, in the middle of November it was only just better than standing outside in the winter air. I wasn’t sure why I’d expected otherwise. I supposed I’d always imagined a wedding to be a warm event. Robert stepped closer, almost as if he sensed my chill.

I stamped my feet while we waited for the last few wedding guests to arrive. Hugh stood near the front, his gaze flitting about. He looked almost nervous. The large stone ceiling seemed to extend skyward for miles, which likely explained why warming the place was such an impossible task. I couldn’t help but think this was the last church I’d choose to marry in if given the choice. Images of crisscrossing wooden arches and warm stained-glass light filled my mind, but I quickly pushed them away.

Robert leaned down and whispered in my ear. “I know your birthday is still a few weeks away, but I thought since we are engaged, it would be appropriate for me to give you a small gift.”

I looked up in surprise.

He reached inside his jacket and produced a tiny bag. He uncinched the top, and a simple pearl necklace dropped into his waiting hand. He gave me a meaningful look as he held out the necklace. “A token of what is to come. Here, let me help you put it on.”

My mouth went dry. Robert gently angled my neck, and I could only swallow down the lump that had lodged itself in my throat. The pearls were cold, and gooseflesh rose on my neck and arms, even with the warmth of Robert’s lingering hands.

He gave me a look of approval. “I hope you are pleased.”

I forced a smile. “Thank you.” The cold of the stone floor began to seep up through my dress, and I stamped my feet again. Surely the wedding would start at any moment.

As if on cue, music began to play. The sound of footsteps echoed through the church, and the rector, who stood near the front, smiled and motioned the incoming guests forward.

Then the room quieted, save for the sound of a walking stick pounding against the stone. Ellen’s arm was tucked in Halstead’s as he escorted her to the front of the church. Their progress was slow, and I sucked in a breath as they passed, Ellen’s beaming face in stark contrast to her brother’s stone-chiseled features. He kept his gaze perfectly directed toward the front of the church.

My breath grew jagged, and as though my hand had a memory of its own, the spot on my palm where Halstead had kissed me began to tingle. I closed my fist, as if doing so might erase the memory from my skin.

Ellen joined Hugh at the altar, and Halstead made his way to the pew across the aisle from where Robert and I stood with Aunt Agnes. Having sworn I wouldn’t show any undue attention to Halstead, I forced my focus up to where the rector stood in front of Hugh and Ellen. My heart thundered through my chest and a wave of lightheadedness passed over me. It seemed the rest of me had no intention of obeying orders. Thankfully, it was at that moment that the rector motioned for everyone to sit.

As Hugh and Ellen stepped forward, Robert slipped his hand around mine.

“. . . we are gathered together in the sight of God and in the face of this congregation . . .” The rector’s words echoed up to the ceiling.

Why, why could my heart not leave things be and forget Halstead? Robert’s hand held mine, yet still my mind wandered.

“I require and charge you both as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment . . .”

The secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed. My pulse thrummed through me impossibly fast. How could I marry Robert when I loved Halstead? The whole thing would be a sham, a mockery. The rector’s words echoed up to the ceiling, hitting the stone walls with accusatory force. For the first time since I’d given in to Aunt Agnes’s demands, I struggled to justify my actions.

Aunt Agnes had seized control of my life and decisions, and at the time I’d believed I had no choice but to let her. But if I stood in a church and tried to make these promises, it would be my words, my vows. My choice.

This coming Sunday the banns between Robert and me were scheduled to be read for the first time. Yet how could I, in a few short weeks, make these same vows to Robert when I did not love him? The cold air pressed down on me, and my fingers felt like shards of ice. I couldn’t break Robert’s heart now, after I’d made him believe I loved him. And yet . . . one way or another Robert’s heart would pay for what his mother had done, for what I’d agreed to.

The rector droned on and on, but my head buzzed, a mess of confusion.

Robert flexed his hand, extricating it from my own. “You are holding me with a viselike grip, Juliet,” he whispered. “My fingers are numb.”

I shook my head. “I am sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

He gave me an odd look, but I returned my gaze to where Hugh and Ellen stood. Their expressions were solemn, but happiness radiated from them—a happiness I couldn’t imagine if I stood next to Robert and made vows I couldn’t keep.

“So long as you both shall live.”

The words sounded like a toll of warning. A lifetime. How could giving up my own future, my own happiness be the right thing? I knew with certainty it wasn’t what my parents—who had chosen love above all else—would have wanted for me. But still, I couldn’t let Harry fall prey to Aunt Agnes’s cruelty. There had to be a way a protect to Harry . . . and myself. Truth clamped down on my heart, and I knew what I had to do, painful though it might be.

Before I knew it, Robert was motioning me out of the pew. “Come; let’s congratulate them. We don’t want to miss out on the happy moment.” Aunt Agnes led the way, and the two of us followed. My gaze was fastened to the floor as I followed behind.

A small crowd greeted the couple as they emerged from the chapel, but my own joy for them was eclipsed by the realization I’d had inside the chapel. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—marry Robert. Though it might be the easier path now, it was unfair to both of us, and we would ultimately both pay the price.

Still, I said nothing, for as determined as I was to right this terrible wrong, my mind raked over what to do about Harry. I had no doubt Aunt Agnes would make good on her promise to retaliate, using him and his future against me. But I was determined not to bend to her will, and I’d stop at nothing to protect him.

I could head straight to Harrow and sneak him away. I’d find a way to protect Harry for the few weeks until my birthday, when his guardianship came to me.

Surely there must be a way to keep both of us safe from Aunt Agnes’s designs. I pressed my lips together, resolute.

Thankfully, the momentum of the wedding party distracted Robert from my silence. As we climbed into the carriage and headed for the banquet to honor the newly married couple, a debilitating sadness overtook me. I studied Robert: his kind eyes, the smile lines that creased around his mouth, the small bump on his earlobe—each of his features so dear, so familiar.

I turned to look through the window, though I saw nothing. Ending my engagement to Robert was tantamount to ending our friendship, and melancholy worked its way through me, hollowing out my insides. It was all I could do not to cry.

Deeper down, filling the carved-out parts of me, was the aching realization that freeing myself from Robert would change nothing between Halstead and me. The man had pride, and he’d all but cast it aside when he’d rescinded his vow not to marry and asked for my hand. Perhaps, though . . . if he could see into my heart . . . I banished the thought, the impossibility of it. I had ruined my chances with him. The tightness in my middle was so severe I almost doubled over.

All too soon Robert woke me from my reverie. “Juliet, we have arrived.” He handed me down from the carriage, and we followed the others up the stairs into Halstead’s London townhome, though it was so expansive it could hardly be called such.

The butler ushered us in and led us down a corridor. Along our way we passed a long dining hall, where a lavish U-shaped table had been laid out. We continued on and were guided to a large formal drawing room to wait as the rest of the guests arrived. Though weddings were usually small affairs, the house of Halstead was large and powerful, which made for a long list of people who wanted to wish the wedded couple well.

“Robert.” I touched the sleeve of his jacket. “I need to speak with you.”

He glanced down at me. “Yes?”

“In private,” I whispered, for I found my throat closing slowly, making it impossible to speak at a normal level.

Robert’s expression became wary. “They will surely call us in as soon as Hugh and Lady Ellen arrive. Can it not wait until after?”

I shook my head. My mouth tasted of ash.

Robert gave a soft sigh. “Very well.” He led me back the way we had come, out into the corridor. After a few moments we found an empty salon. The room gave us a small amount of privacy, even with the door open.

Tears threatened the moment I tried to speak.

Robert quickly removed a handkerchief from his pocket. “Juliet, you mustn’t make a scene right before the banquet.”

His disapproval gave me the push of courage I needed.

I fumbled with the necklace he’d given me less than an hour before. “I am sorry, Robert, but I cannot marry you.”

A parade of emotions crossed his face: confusion, frustration, worry. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. I have been dishonest with you.” I took a breath. “And myself. I hope you know I tried to love you in the way you hoped; I really did. But the sisterly affection I feel for you does not belong in a marriage.”

Robert was silent, and I went on with determination. “I will never forget your kindness toward me. When I came to live at Lymington Park, I was nothing but a shadow, and had it not been for your care and concern, so I might have remained.” Memories, so many memories washed over me—sad and happy, heavy and light. “You took care of me, looked after me. And you’ve done so ever since. But much as I appreciate all you’ve done for me, I do not love you. And I am convinced I could not make you happy.” I set the necklace in his hands.

Robert shook his head. “No, you do not mean it.”

I bit my lip and nodded. “But I do. Much as I hate to hurt you, I do.”

He shook his head again, the dumbfounded look on his face growing. “No. There must be something I might say or do to change your mind. Please.”

“I am sorry.” I laid a hand on his arm, wishing to take away the pain in his expression.

He shook himself free of my touch and crossed to the door.

“Robert,” I called after him.

He turned back, his hand resting on the doorknob. “You wish to have nothing to do with me, so I am merely honoring your wishes.” His face was lined with tension.

I followed him as he stalked out.

“What’s this?” Aunt Agnes appeared out of nowhere.

Robert’s nostrils flared. “Juliet says she will not marry me.”

“What?” Her head whipped toward me.

“I am ending my engagement with Robert,” I said simply. A sense of calm overtook me. “It was wrong for me to have agreed to marry him when—”

He didn’t wait for me to finish before he walked away.

Aunt Agnes’s mouth twisted in anger. “But you, you . . .” She began to sputter, and I could sense her frustration in not being able to speak openly. But she had no desire to expose her own coercion with Robert still in earshot. “You told him yes.”

“And now I have remedied my error.”

She lifted a brow in warning, her gaze flitting desperately between Robert’s disappearing form and me. “Are you quite sure?”

“Quite.” Pressure built within my chest. I summoned the memory of how easily Halstead had dismissed Aunt Agnes, and I took in a breath, gathering my courage. I fixed the whole of my attention on her, wanting to be certain she heard my every word. “I am well aware of what you have threatened to do, but it doesn’t matter. I will find a way to protect Harry, no matter the cost.

“My birthday is still two weeks away, but I will not wait until I have my inheritance to free myself of your control. I will no longer cower as you mete out endless punishments to manipulate and force me into submission.” I gave her a pained smile. “I regret I had not the courage to do this sooner, but I will console myself with the knowledge that I came to my senses before I let you choose the course of my life.”

I panted, growing heady. For the first time in speaking to my aunt, instead of the usual fear, I felt a strange sense of power to speak those words at last and mean them.

“And if you dare lay a finger on Harry . . .”

The expression on Aunt Agnes’s face changed so swiftly it was almost as if a curtain had fallen. Gone was the look of desperation, and it was replaced by something sinister. She reached into her reticule. “Oh, there’s no need. You’ve had your say. I believe we are finished. But since you are determined to sever your ties with us, perhaps it is time I give you this.”

She withdrew a small note with a broken seal. The seal looked familiar, but I hadn’t time to consider where I’d seen it before she thrust the paper into my hands. It took my mind a moment to focus on the poorly written scrawl.

Dear Lady Everdale,

I regret to inform you of the worst possible news. Just this morning we discovered your nephew, Mr. Harrison Graham, missing from the dormitory. After conducting a thorough search of the buildings and grounds, a letter from him was discovered (enclosed) which informed us of his intention of signing on with a merchant ship captain. While we will do everything in our power to aid you in your efforts of recovery, we thought it best to lay the matter in your hands so you can proceed as you think best.

Yours, Etc.

Thomas A. Carson

Headmaster

Blinking away tears, I pulled back the letter to find the note Harry had left.

Juliet,

I hope you will not be angry when you discover me missing, but I couldn’t bear to stay here another day. I received word from Aunt Agnes that I wouldn’t be coming home for Christmas, and it was too much. I don’t fit in at Harrow, and I’ve never considered myself as much of a book learner. Mostly I cannot imagine spending the next years of my life being so miserable. Father was a sailor, and the sea has always called to me. I am destined for it, and I plan to become a cabinboy. Maybe one day I’ll get to be a captain like Father. I promise to take care of myself and hope you will not be too angry with me. I’ll love you always.

Harry

A drumbeat of dread pulsed through me. Harry, gone. And it was my own fault for not telling him of my plans to bring him home. I ground my teeth together, my vision blurring as I tried to think of what to do. A thick fog wrapped around my mind, and I cursed the feeling of helplessness that overtook me.

My hands clenched around the letter, crumpling the pages. “When did this come?”

The only sign she’d heard me was a cold smile curling her lips.

“When did this come?” My voice grew in volume with my desperation.

“Yesterday morning.”

I turned on Aunt Agnes. “And you have done nothing? Why did you not show me until now?” My voice rose to a shout, but I did not care to lower it, even as the guests began to emerge from the drawing room, heading toward the dining room.

She kept her voice low. “We can deal with this matter later.”

Her calm tone only served to spark my ire. “So Harry is merely a matter to be dealt with? Is that all we’ve been to you?”

Aunt Agnes cast a frantic look about. “Juliet, calm yourself. I warn you; do not make a scene.”

And suddenly Hugh was standing next to me, but I had not even the presence of mind to acknowledge him. All I could think of was Harry. Harry.

“Mother, what is going on? What is this about Harry?”

“Nothing to concern yourself with, Hugh. We will speak of it later. We will not make a scene in front of the duke’s family. I have no desire for them to hear of the embarrassment my sister’s children continue to heap on me.”

For a brief moment I considered appealing to Hugh for help. But I couldn’t ruin his and Ellen’s wedding day. Besides, Harry was my responsibility, and no one—not Hugh or Robert, and certainly not their mother, cared for him the way I did. I’d held my birthday out as a sort of beacon, a time when Harry would be delivered into my safekeeping. And legally, perhaps that was true. But it was that belief that had given Aunt Agnes power over me.

And I was sick with the thought that I had failed him.

My face set in stone, I fixed Aunt Agnes with a glare. “I know you have never cared for me. It seems I am a living reminder of everything you believe my mother did wrong. But if anyone should have loved Harry and me these past nine years, it was you. Seeing as you have no intention of living up to your responsibilities, you must excuse me.” I gave Hugh the briefest glance. “I am sorry for ruining your day.”

Without waiting for Aunt Agnes’s reply, I walked down the corridor in the direction of the front door of the townhome.

Aunt Agnes’s sneering words echoed through the corridor. “Oh, and what will you do, Juliet? Go and grovel before the duke?”

She’d spoken louder than she intended. At her words, the guests around us fell silent. The crowd drew back to let me by, and I came face-to-face with Halstead.

He’d heard every word.

His mouth pressed into a firm line.

My eyes grew wide, the pain of my loss so fierce I felt as though my heart had been shredded. Emotion barreled through me with such force I could hardly keep my feet. I didn’t bother turning back, only tried to keep my voice from trembling as I answered. “No, I have no right to ask for his help. I will find Harry myself.” My knees wobbled for only a moment as I brushed by him.

I closed the distance to the door, my steps resolute. Once I’d been given my things, I drew my cloak about me and stepped outside. Hot breaths of frustration poured out of me, creating small clouds that puffed into the winter air. For a moment my shoulders hunched as the weight of my responsibility and the utter hopelessness of the situation bore down on me.

But I had no time for despair. I thought of my father, of his long, determined strides, and I moved toward the street, where I hailed one of the waiting hacks.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I’d been staring at the wood paneling in the solicitor’s office for more than two hours. The fire had died down since my arrival, but I gave it no heed. Nothing could reach the cold that rested in my middle.

“Mr. Grimshaw will see you now, Miss Graham.” The balding clerk bid me follow him. My stomach churned.

I trailed him woodenly into a rather small office. Its decor was minimal but well attended, everything orderly and set in its place. Much like the man who stood at the desk to greet me.

“Won’t you take a seat, Miss Graham?” Mr. Grimshaw’s gray hair was flawlessly combed back, his glasses perfectly balanced on his nose. Just the sort of person one would want to be in charge of their monetary affairs.

I seated myself in a maroon chair, wondering if its previous occupants had felt as unsettled as I did.

Mr. Grimshaw examined me for a brief moment before retaking his seat. “I do apologize for the wait—I know you wished to see me on a matter of some urgency. I have pulled out all of the paperwork.” He motioned to a few stacks of paper, all aligned with precision.

If only my life could be arranged so easily.

He cleared his throat, clasping his hands on the desk in front of him. “Why don’t we get right to it.”

My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Grimshaw. I appreciate you doing so on such short notice.” I swallowed a sigh, trying to tamp down any obvious signs of anxiousness. “As you know, Harry and I have been in my aunt’s keeping ever since my mother’s passing, and Aunt Agnes has received a monthly stipend to see to our care.” Even knowing how desperate my plight was, I could feel nothing but relief to be free of her.

“Yes.” Mr. Grimshaw gave a curt nod. His glasses stayed perfectly in place.

“Well, you see, I’ve had a bit of a falling out with my aunt. My brother has run away . . .” I clamped down on my admission, on the words that would send me into a bout of tears, if I let them. Better to state my need baldly. “And though I am still two weeks away from my twenty-first birthday, I hoped there might be some way I could be given an allowance, just to hold me over until the official date when I come into my inheritance. A small amount, really. Just enough for somewhere to stay.”

My words hung in the air, along with my faint and only hope.

Mr. Grimshaw’s face revealed nothing, but he unclasped his hands and straightened the already meticulous papers that lay on the desk in front of him. The ensuing silence was excruciating.

“Mr. Grimshaw?”

He shifted in his seat, the first sign that he might be a little uncomfortable. He scanned the paperwork before him. “Miss Graham, this is the part of my job I take no pleasure in. Much as I might wish to grant you an allowance, I have not the power. Your father and I hammered out the details of these documents together, ensuring the wording was ironclad. And I’m afraid they make it quite impossible for me to provide you access to your money until you are twenty-one or married.”

Something twisted in my gut. “But the documents were drawn up for mine and Harry’s protection, to guarantee our wellbeing. I do not understand how they can deny me what I so desperately need.”

“Miss Graham.” His words were not stern, but his expression was grim. “I am afraid my hands are tied, even in a situation such as this. The wording of the documents doesn’t allow for contingencies, dire though your situation might be. In fact, your aunt wrote me a few weeks ago asking me the same thing, and I had to give her the same answer. I wish I had a better answer for you. But on the very morning of your birthday, I can release the funds you require.”

The faint hope within me guttered as quickly as a flame starved of air. My head swam, and even though I sat, the chair seemed to shift beneath me. “I see,” was all I could manage to choke out.

I didn’t allow myself to linger over the unfairness of the situation. Mr. Grimshaw clearly regretted the matter but could do nothing for me. I would have to do something . . . go to someone else, though I couldn’t think whom just yet.

I rose from my chair, holding on to the back of it to keep me steady. My toes were numb, and the feeling slowly rose up to my ankles, my knees, until I could hardly feel my legs. But I’d wasted precious time here, hours during which I might have been searching for Harry.

“I am sorry to hear about your brother.” He frowned. “Have you any idea where he has gone?”

I bobbed my head. “He mentioned only that he wanted to go to sea. I will begin my search at the docks immediately.”

“I have contacts in shipping. I will send out some inquiries, see if I can discover anything.”

“Thank you for your help.” My voice was flat.

“Perhaps you might repair things with your aunt. I am sure she would not wish you to feel so desperate.”

A laugh bubbled up in me, though I felt the weight of tears behind it. The frozen feeling in my middle would never thaw.

Somehow I was at the door, the muffled sound of London traffic—drivers yelling, carriage wheels turning, the clip-clop of hooves hitting cobblestone—sounding in my ears. I pulled the door open, and the sound amplified, the brisk gust of wind that battered me clearing my head.

A hand on my shoulder made me turn. Mr. Grimshaw stood just behind me, his glasses a bit askew, as if he’d run after me.

“Miss Graham, wait. Perhaps there is something I can do. I remember your father very distinctly and how concerned he was for your wellbeing. I cannot in good conscience let you walk out of here in so desperate a plight. I have a sister, Mrs. Morton, who lives not far from here. She’s a widow—lives in a modest little home. I feel certain she would be willing to take you in for a time.” He caught his breath and then hurried on. “And I would like to offer you a small advance, from my own pocket.”

The tightly coiled tension that had been eating through my stomach eased a bit.

“Are you sure?”

He gave me a real smile then. “Your inheritance is certain. I see no reason why you could not borrow against it.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I put one foot in front of the other in a relentless push against the bone-chilling wind that had come out of nowhere over my past two days of searching. It was late afternoon, and the sun had long since retreated behind the dense gray clouds that threatened rain. Or snow, heaven forbid. The next dockyard was less than half a mile away, but with my fingers already numb and my feet past feeling, it seemed impossibly far. But I couldn’t give up for the day. Not yet.

The odor of the hot tar used to coat ship hulls mixed with the salty ocean air, burning through my nostrils and unlocking a host of memories. I combed through those remembrances for the thousandth time, hoping to uncover some clue as to where Harry might have gone. But I hadn’t been down to the dockyards in London in years, and all I could remember from when I was a girl was the mass of huge wooden masts, the call of boisterous sailors, and the effort it took not to trip over my feet as I took it all in.

I’d spent the last day and a half making my way up and down the docks, checking with every dock manager, hoping against hope that I might find Harry before he had a chance to find a captain who would take him and the ship could sail out.

A particularly heavy gust of wind made my skirt and cloak billow behind me, and I turned, trying to shield myself from the worst of it. Thank goodness Betsy had packed my heaviest cloak before we’d left for London; I couldn’t imagine facing this weather in anything less.

To my right a small group of unsavory-looking men sat on some old crates. A few were whittling, and one was smoking, but a large man with uneven teeth jeered at me, his words slurred from too much drink. “It’s not e’ery day we get the likes o’ you walkin’ down here.”

I kept my chin high and walked by.

“Too good for us, are ya?”

Though I’d encountered plenty of what my father would call riffraff over the last two days, my pulse still sped, and I quickened my step. A few others laughed at something the man said, but I was too far away to hear.

As I approached the next dock, I took stock of the man who stood as sentinel, hoping he would be more hospitable than the prior dockmaster had been. The man was wrapped from head to foot—with thick boots and a wool hat that protected his ears—far better prepared for the weather than I was. I pulled down my scarf so I could be heard over the wind. “Excuse me, sir,” I said, coming to a stop in front of the farthest quay.

My heart sank when I got a glimpse of his face. He had a heavy dark beard, and his brows hung down over his eyes in a way that made me think he disapproved of my very presence, even though I had yet to even state my purpose. A gruff “Yes?” was all he offered.

“I need your help. I am looking for my brother, Harry Graham. He’s run away, and I have reason to believe he’s looking for a position with a ship, perhaps one due to sail out soon. I was hoping you might be able to help me or direct me to someone who would know . . .”

The man looked to the east, where a small dark hut sat on the landing. It looked as though the stiff wind might blow it over. “If your brother signed on with any of the ships on this quay, the clerk would know, but I’m afraid he’s gone home for the day and has locked up.”

“Please, sir. He’s eleven and has hair as red as mine.” I drew back my cloak to show him, despite the assault of the wind. The gust whipped at the water, and a small spray of seawater hit my face. “Have you seen him?”

The man gave a terse shake of his head. “Nay, but he might have been by when another man was on shift. If you come back tomorrow morning—”

“But I must find him before his ship departs. Tomorrow could be too late!” My voice shook with desperation. I’d already spent the last day and a half searching the entire east and north dockyards.

His voice rumbled from underneath his wrappings. “No ships will be leaving in weather like this, I can promise you that.”

I glanced up the pier, my options thinning with each minute. A sinking despair filled me. What was I to do, alone and without help? The task seemed utterly impossible.

The man’s brows lifted, his mouth curved in pity, and he looked almost kind. “You might try dock three right over that way. I know several of the ships were looking for crewmen, though I don’t know if they were specifically in need of a cabinboy. But miss, you shouldn’t be out in this weather. This is no place for a woman.”

I nodded heavily. If only he knew how many times I’d heard those same words over the last two days. “Thank you for the help, sir.” I turned away, pinching my eyes shut.

The sting of cold water again hit my face, and I turned away, but the assault didn’t stop. This time it wasn’t seawater, but rain. And with these kinds of temperatures, snow couldn’t be far behind. I pulled my cloak tighter over my head, but it was useless; I was soaked within a matter of seconds. The roar of wind and the loud splash of water hitting wood created a cacophony of noise.

I worked my way toward dock three. The whine of the wind obliter-ated all other sound. There were five ships docked there, each of them tremulously rocking in the waves. The dock itself was abandoned. Earlier the docks had been full of men, carts pulling cargo here and there, ropemakers, unemployed sailors. Now it was empty, save for the thrashing water that edged up over the dock.

But surely there was someone aboard the ship whom I could talk to. I walked up the gangway of the first ship, a smaller vessel. “Hello?” I shouted. I reached the deck and peered out of my cloak. Not a soul in sight. The rain turned to sleet, slicing across my uncovered skin like a thousand pricks from an embroidery needle. Just one more, I told myself. One more ship, and then I would turn back.

Once I reached the dock again, I pressed forward, my steps slow but steady. I gritted my teeth to keep them from chattering. The next ship was much larger and, from the look of it, quite new. Perhaps it was a new vessel in need of an entire crew. Hope was a strange thing. Even after two days on the docks, my search fruitless, I hoped this ship might be the one.

One lone sailor lashed down the last of the ropes.

“Excuse me, sir!” I shouted.

He did not look up.

I yelled again.

He glanced around before catching sight of me. He took large sure strides over to where I stood, halfway up the gangway. “Miss?” he shouted.

“I’m looking for a lad of eleven. Harry Graham. Red hair.” The cold made me brief.

He shook his head. “We’ve not taken on anyone new.”

I nodded as silent tears began to mix with the sleet on my cheeks. “Thank you.” My words were lost in the wind. I turned back, my shoulders slumping. The only time I could ever remember feeling so defeated was when we’d first gone to Lymington Park. Mother had begun to recede, and I’d begun to bow under the weight of her disappearance. I promised myself then I’d take care of Harry, no matter what. And I’d failed.

I staggered down the gangway and had to let go of my cloak in order to keep hold of the railing in the squall. The wind lashed against me, the cold so intense it burned every bit of my exposed skin. Once at the bottom I pulled my cloak tight around me again. The material was sopping wet, heavy as chains.

Three last ships were docked down the quay. A wave splashed across the dock, obliterating my path. I turned to make my way back to Mrs. Morton’s home, my heart as cold as the icy seawater. My fingers ached, frozen in place where they cinched my cloak tight around my neck. It was difficult to see, even when I raised my head against the wind. It had grown almost dark all at once, and now, all alone, a sense of foreboding filled me. But the area had emptied in the last few minutes, with not a soul in sight. No one was so foolish to be caught out in such a storm.

Each step took the greatest effort, but I made steady progress, heading toward the warehouses that were situated just off the dockyard. I could hardly see through the curtain of sleet, but I dared not take my eyes off my boots, for fear of a misstep.

“And there she is. Yer not lookin’ so fine now, are ya, lass?”

Fear snaked up my spine. The man with crooked teeth stood just in front of me, his legs set wide.

“Excuse me, sir.” I infused my voice with every ounce of false confidence I possessed, though my entire being shook. And not from the cold. “My cousin is waiting for me right over there; you must excuse me.” I prayed he would not see through my lie, but he didn’t even glance in the direction I pointed.

“I’m quite certain ye’ve no such cousin; elsewise, he wouldn’t let you down here by yerself. And I’m not the type to let you go on alone.” He stepped forward and grabbed my arm.

My lungs seized, no air going in or out.

“No fancy words now, eh?” He wrenched my arm forward.

My limbs were frozen, not by the cold air but by his touch. Terror crept over me, only heightening my paralysis. He dragged me forward, and I was helpless to resist. A passing thought came that I should yell for help. But even my voice had vanished with the fear that had capsized all of my earlier determination.

The man leered down at me. “I’ll be sure to teach ya a thing er two.”

Ringing sounded in my ears, drowning out the screaming of the storm. That jolted me from my stupor. If I didn’t act now, no one would hear me above the storm. I gave myself only five breaths to think, to plan.

The man was strong, his grip unyielding. My only hope was to catch him off guard. To pray his reactions would be slowed by the drink that flowed through him. My numb fingers shook as I unfastened the hook of my cloak. Fear pounded through my skull at the thought of what I was about to do. And what might happen if I failed.

Harry was depending on me. And I would not allow this man to come between me and finding him.

I’d been limp in his grasp for so long that the sudden twist of my elbow wrenched me free of him in one swift move. He bellowed in surprise and grabbed for my cloak, but expecting that, I’d already unfastened the hook and held it tightly, bracing myself against his strength so that when I let go, he staggered backward and fell to the ground with a thud.

And then I ran. Unfettered by my cloak, my boots pounded against the cobblestones. Darkness made it almost impossible to see more than a few steps in front of me, and I could only hope that would work to my advantage.

A mound of scrap wood was piled high against one of the warehouses, and I dove behind it, my limbs quivering with fear. Even with the steady dissonance of the storm, I halted my breathing, afraid the tiniest sound would give me away. I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, trying to make myself invisible.

I waited for a minute. And another. No sound came except for the whistle of the wind, the waves pounding the quay. I allowed a single breath to slide from my lungs. Still nothing.

I counted to ten, to fifty, to one hundred. The sleet battered me, but I was hardly aware. Slowly I loosened my hold on the clutching fear that had wound so tightly about me, uncertain it would ever let me go. My shoulders began to shake; my entire body began to tremble. I did not cry—I was shuddering too badly.

For the briefest moment I allowed myself to think of Halstead, of how badly I ached for him. Of the memory of his hand on the small of my back while the doctor had treated me. How I longed for his comforting touch now.

Above the storm came a sound, different from the whine of the wind—lonely and pitiful. A kitten rubbed against my ankle, mewing. The sound caught hold of me. I scooped the creature into my arms, giving it shelter against my chest. The kitten was nothing but matted wet fur, but to feel something alive against me, a small body with the tiniest of heartbeats, eased some of the tension from my chest.

I sighed and held the kitten for some minutes. When the cold grew greater than my fear, I got up, still clutching the kitten to my breast, and resumed the miserable and freezing walk back to Mrs. Morton’s home.

Chapter Thirty

It took a great deal of effort to force my eyes open, but the insistent light demanded it. When I finally succeeded, I squinted for a moment at the unfamiliar walls, the ceiling. A moment later my memory of the night before emerged from the foggy haze of my mind. That bone-chilling walk in the storm. Mrs. Morton undressing me, her maid rubbing me dry. The two of them laying me on a fainting couch near the fire. How I couldn’t stop shaking, even with the warmth of the flames and layers of blankets over me.

I stared at my hands. The trembling, though slight, still hadn’t abated.

Harry. He was still out there. The tightness in my chest hadn’t eased since I’d received word of his disappearance a few days before. But the hollow ache that pulsed just beneath that tightness? That had been there for far longer. I allowed myself only a heartbeat to think of Halstead before I banished his face from my memory.

It was for the best that things had ended the way they had between us. No, I didn’t belong with Robert, but I didn’t belong with Halstead either. I was not born to be a duchess, and I would never fit into his world. How ironic that Aunt Agnes had been right. Much as I despised her manipulation, she’d saved me from making a terrible mistake. Though my heart ached at Halstead’s absence, my head had come to terms with the truth. Once I found Harry, we could start over, just the two of us.

My feet were unusually warm. I slowly eased myself up, only to find the small kitten I’d brought home the night before curled up on my feet. His fur was now fluffed and dry, but it didn’t hide how thin he was.

“You gave me quite a fright, you know.” Mrs. Morton’s gentle voice directed my attention to the doorframe, where she stood, her hands resting on her stout hips. But only concern showed in the lines of her face.

“Thank you.” My throat grew thick with gratitude for this stranger who had taken me in on only a word from her brother.

“I miss having someone to worry over, so I suppose I can thank you for that.” She clucked her tongue and approached me. Her gaze was intent, determined to see I’d not suffered lasting damage from last night’s events. Though, I hadn’t told her everything.

“I should be out looking for Harry.” My voice rasped against a night of disuse.

“Certainly not. You will not go anywhere until you’ve had a full breakfast. And I have a mind to not let you go out on your own again.”

I wasn’t fooled by the soft wrinkles that lined her face. The woman had a will of iron, and she would expect me to eat a heaping plate of food before she let me out the door. I reached out and rubbed a hand down the kitten’s back. He cracked open an eye and arched into my touch.

“Oh, and my brother sent over a note.”

“He did?” I couldn’t imagine what Mr. Grimshaw might say since there was nothing for the two of us to discuss until my birthday.

“I’ll have Annie bring it in with your breakfast.” Mrs. Morton gave me a sharp look. “And you will eat. Understood?”

I nodded meekly. I couldn’t disobey her when she’d given me such care.

While she went to see about my breakfast tray, I remained under the heavy blankets, petting the exhausted kitten as he began to purr. After last night I was not anxious to return to the docks again today. But the beat of my heart ticked like a clock, marking each second, each minute that passed. It weighed on me, for every hour that went by, my chances of finding Harry lessened.

“Miss Graham?” Annie pushed the door in with her back, a heaping tray balanced in her hands.

I adjusted my position as she set the tray on the table beside me. She pointed to the missive with my name on it. “From Mr. Grimshaw,” she said.

Even as my stomach grumbled, I reached for the note first, my curiosity unwilling to wait. I broke the seal and unfolded the paper.

Miss Graham,

I will get straight to the point. I mentioned I have some contacts in shipping and would make some inquiries on your behalf. Early this morning I received word that a boy fitting your brother’s description has been seen on the western quay, near dock four. Check with Captain Andrew Wilkins, of the Nemesis. I pray this information is accurate and that you may be reunited with him as soon as possible.

Yours, Etc.

Mr. Albert Grimshaw

I brushed my fingers over the words, hardly daring to believe. But the wheels of my mind began to turn, and realization settled over me of what those words might mean. Harry.

I nearly upset the tray as I peeled back the layers of blankets and scrambled off the fainting couch. The kitten yelped in protest.

I patted his head to apologize for my sudden movement.

“Miss?” Annie looked at me with concern.

“I must dress at once.”

“But your breakfast. Mrs. Morton said—”

“Could you pack me something, please?” I interrupted. “To take? I must get down to the quay immediately.” I undid the tie at the end of my hair, shaking out my braid.

She hesitated for a moment, perhaps at the wildness in my voice. At last she nodded.

Within moments I was dressed, my hair swept back in a simple knot. As I passed through the front entry, Mrs. Morton lodged herself in front of the door.

“You haven’t eaten,” she accused.

Annie appeared at my side and pressed a small hamper into my hands.

I drew in a breath, my anxiousness to be gone hastening my words. “I shall eat on the way, but I must go. I must see if there is any validity to the information your brother procured.”

Her disapproving expression softened before she pointed a stern finger at me. “Miss Graham, if you are not back before evening falls, I shall be forced to withdraw your welcome in my home. I cannot bear the thought of you running about the docks in the dark, unattended.” She frowned. “The worry is too much. My heart cannot take it.”

I nodded. “I understand. With any luck, this morning’s investigation will bring an end to both our worries.”

She patted my cheek. “Do take care. I know you say you’re well acquainted with the area, but be wise. I’ll look after your kitten.”

“Thank you.” My words were heartfelt.

And with that, I was out the door, searching the street for a hired hack to take me as near to dock four on the western quay as it could get.

Chapter Thirty-One

The snow had not amounted to much, but last night’s sleet and the ensuing cold created a sheet of ice along the docks. The wind had abated at least. Overhead, the sky was full of clouds, allowing only scant rays of sun to peek through.

My stride was determined, my steps as steady as they could hope to be upon the ice as I made my way down the western quay. I approached the dockmaster impatiently, anxious to be on my way as soon as possible. Anyone who got in my way would bear with the fury of my wrath.

“I have business with Captain Andrew Wilkins,” I said in a no-nonsense tone once I’d reached the dockmaster’s post.

Luckily, the man seemed more interested in keeping his scarf about his neck than in arguing with me. He only tilted his head in the direction of the large ship behind him. Large gold letters revealed its name: Nemesis. I sucked in a breath and hurried forward.

Upon alighting from the gangway onto the deck, I saw the ship was a flurry of activity as sailors hurried this way and that, engaged in a variety of tasks. I surveyed the deck, hoping to find someone who might be able to help me.

“Excuse me, miss. Can I help ye?”

I turned to find a young man with close-cut brown hair, perhaps only a year or two older than I was. His expression was friendly, tinged with curiosity.

“Yes, yes, you can. I am looking for Captain Andrew Wilkins. I wish to speak to him about someone he might have signed on as a crewmember.” I tilted my chin up just a bit.

“He is right over here, if you’ll just follow me.” He led me to the starboard side of the ship.

“Captain Wilkins, there’s a Miss . . .” He turned to me.

“Graham,” I said with as much confidence as I could muster. “Miss Graham.”

The captain stood with his back toward us, staring out at the sea. He was tall and had dark hair, and from behind, he almost looked like . . .

The captain turned, and his face was nothing like Halstead’s. His skin was tan and wind-chapped, and his nose looked like it had been broken at least once. He inclined his head in a slight bow. “Miss Graham. How can I be of service?”

“You must be a busy man, sir, so I will get straight to the point. I was informed you may have taken on my brother, Harry Graham, as a cabinboy.”

He looked at me carefully, a thin smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “A Harry Graham, you say? About this tall?” He held up a hand to his chest. “Red hair like yours?”

The flood of relief almost made my knees buckle.

“Juliet!”

The sound of Harry’s voice had me turning instantly, opening my arms just in time to catch him as he barreled toward me. But the force of his weight’s impact made my already-trembling knees give way. We fell to the deck, a tangled heap of brother and sister.

“Harry, how could you?” My voice held no anger, only deep relief. “I’ve been sick with worry.” I held his head against my shoulder, my fingers deep in the red tangles of his windblown hair. I held him to me, the tightness in my chest gone all at once.

He pulled back, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. “I am sorry you worried. I shouldn’t have run away. I only did it when I couldn’t stand that school another minute.” His mouth was set in a grim line, as if I might try to send him back.

“It doesn’t matter now that I’ve found you.” I shook my head. “And you don’t have to go back.” I tried to pull him in for another embrace, but he ducked under my arm.

“Everyone’s watching, Juliet,” he whispered. He got to his feet and then helped me up. A few months at school, and he’d practically grown up already.

The captain cleared his throat. “You’ll have to excuse me for cutting short your reunion. If we delay for much longer, we’ll lose the tide.”

The tightness in my chest returned immediately, and I took an involuntary step closer to Harry. The slight swells that made the ship rock beneath my feet threatened to make me seasick. If Harry had already signed on, would I be able to convince this man to let Harry come home with me? I knew nothing of how these things worked. I’d expended all of my time and worry on finding him, not considering what I would do in a situation such as this.

“No.” The word pushed itself free. “No, he cannot go with you.” My hands still hadn’t stopped their slight trembling.

“But I want to go to sea!” Harry said. His eyes shone bright with hope, with desire. It was the same look my father had had whenever he’d spoken of the sea.

“I believe Darrow wanted to show you the figurehead.” The captain inclined his head to where one of the sailors worked on the rigging. “You go ahead while I speak with your sister.”

And just like that, Harry was gone, his mop of red hair whipping in the wind.

I took a moment to read the captain’s face, to try to determine what the best approach might be. The man’s face was tanned and leathery, attesting to months and years under the sun and sky. In that way, he reminded me of my father.

I began tentatively. “I don’t know what the typical way of doing things is aboard your ship, sir. But Harry was a student at Harrow up until a few days ago. He ran away, leaving only a note behind, and I have been looking for him ever since. You see, our father was a ship captain, sir. And I believe he hoped . . .” I ran out of words, lost as to how to explain. “Harry is my only family now, sir. I beg of you to release him to me.”

“Come with me, Miss Graham.” He removed his hat and tucked it under his arm. I had no choice but to follow, even as my insides roiled. He led me belowdecks. The sun’s watery light grew dim, the cramped space only lit by a few lanterns that swayed as the ship rocked.

“Of course I will release your brother into your care. I was made aware of his . . . situation just this morning.”

A tiny sigh escaped me. Mr. Grimshaw.

The captain stopped just outside his cabin. He turned to face me, one hand on the doorknob. “I’ve got one of my men out scouring for another cabinboy right now, as a matter of fact. But the truth is, if not for the visitor I had this morning, we would have set sail already, with your brother on board. The man seemed quite anxious for your brother’s welfare, and he willingly paid a hefty sum for me to delay my departure so you might have time to come and collect Harry.”

I sucked in a breath. Another debt.

“His one condition was that he be allowed a few minutes to speak with you before I released Harry to you.”

I angled my head in confusion, but the captain only prodded the door open. “He’s been waiting for you in here.”

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the light filtering through the wall of windows that brightened the space. My gaze swept the room, coming to rest on a dimly lit figure with broad shoulders, one hand resting on the windowsill on the far wall. Even without the walking stick, I would have known him anywhere.

Halstead.

With a few short steps I crossed the room, my heart pounding. I clasped my hands behind my back to hide their trembling.

He turned, his gaze meeting mine, far too close for me to keep my composure. “Juliet.” He shook his head, one brow raised. “Why did you not come to me for help?”

I stood immobile. Emotion choked me, rendered me unable to get out a single word. The air between us grew thick. “I had no right, no claim on you. Not after I’d agreed to marry Robert.”

“Do you love him?”

I could do nothing but shake my head.

“Then, why?”

There was a multitude of questions in that simple query, and I was prepared to answer none of them. But he deserved to know. “My aunt,” I managed before emotion got the best of me. “She threatened to send Harry to sea unless I married Robert. I could see no other way to protect him—”

“I should have known.” Halstead reached out a hand, his fingers just inches from my face. “You left before I had a chance to stop you.” He swallowed, the cords in his throat taut. “But you’d wounded what little pride I had left, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to go after you.”

I sagged against the captain’s desk. “Then, why are you here?” My voice broke.

“Because I’d have been a fool not to go after the best thing that has ever happened to me.” He inched closer, resting on his cane.

For a moment I basked in his words, in what they might mean. But the briny smell of the sea sat sharply in my nose, and the sound of boots slapping the planks above made my past impossible to forget. We were from two different worlds. The truth dug into me, giving way to my doubts. I’d already come to terms with the reality of the situation, and this conversation would only prolong the pain. “Please, Halstead. Don’t.”

He made a low noise of disapproval. “Don’t what? Demand the truth? The matter is simple, Juliet. Do you love me?”

A lump rose in my throat, threatening to cut off my air supply. I nodded.

“Then, marry me.” His voice was rough with emotion.

“I cannot.” I forced strength into my words and tried to step away, but my back was against the desk. “I can’t begin to express my gratitude for what you’ve done for me. For Harry. I certainly didn’t deserve it after . . .” My knees locked, unease coiling down in the pit of my stomach. “But don’t you see? Here. Right here. This is where I come from. My father was a sailor. And you”—I waved a hand toward him—“you are a duke. How can you possibly expect . . . ? I cannot walk into a London ballroom on your arm.”

Aunt Agnes’s words resounded in my head, years of complaints about the embarrassment of our low connection. The very situation we were in only proved her point. And for a duke . . . I shook my head. “We can have no place together.” Hot tears burned my eyes, and I gulped back a sob.

The intensity of his stare shook me, but I could not deviate. I pressed a hand against the pain forming in my abdomen, trying to keep it at bay.

He heaved out a breath of frustration. “So that is it, then? Your father and mother were free to pursue their happiness, but you are not free to pursue yours?” Halstead took a step closer, and I shut my eyes, fearful I had not the power to withstand his proximity.

“If you think it doesn’t cost me, you are wrong.” The hand against my belly clenched into a fist around the fabric, wrinkling my dress.

“Then, set aside whatever ill-conceived notions you have about what a future with me would be like.” The back of his knuckles brushed against my collarbone. “We could be happy, Juliet, if only you’d let us.” His deep voice slid over me like liquid amber.

My determination grew weak under such an assault, and I opened my eyes. “And what of your mother? Your grandmother?”

“And what of your aunt? And every gossipmonger in London? Is everyone to have a say in our future? Our happiness?”

I had no words. His own had pushed through my defenses, everything I’d ever told myself about why we could never be together. “One of the disadvantages of arguing with a duke is how unwilling he is to take no for an answer.” I shook my head, letting out a short laugh. “But Halstead, I could not bear for people to whisper about you and me, to judge you harshly for loving me.”

Silence pulsed for a heartbeat.

One side of his mouth tipped up in amusement. “One of the advantages of marrying a duke is that you no longer have to care what people think.”

For as much as I felt, I couldn’t help but laugh, though tears filled my eyes.

“They will judge me harshly no matter what,” he said finally, his voice thick. “And what of me? Fiend seize it, Juliet, I love you. I wish to marry you. Must I get down on my bad knee to show you? Heaven knows I will.”

Such words. Such passion and earnestness. I fought within myself to remember logic despite the rising heat in my middle. He stepped forward, and at once his mouth was on mine, his kiss firm and demanding. Before I could stop myself, I was on my tiptoes, kissing him back, my hand on his chest. Slow heat coursed through my limbs, and still I battled. He urged me closer, one hand on my back, the hint of stubble on his chin rasping against my skin. And in that moment I felt the force of his love.

Halstead loved me.

The thought was as dizzying as my lack of air. I pulled back, gasping, though his arms still held me close. Memories of the past and insecurities about the future faded away. I reached behind Halstead’s neck and drew him toward me. “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

His gaze fastened on me, searching me with unguarded intensity. “You are sure?”

I nodded, and a swift warmth coursed through me. I leaned against his chest, breathing in the smell of balsam and pipe smoke. The smell of home. My heart filled with so much happiness in that moment that my chest ached. “I love you,” I whispered, enjoying the feel of his chin resting atop my head.

“And I you.” His arms tightened around me. We stood there for several moments before he spoke again. “But I fear I must warn you of one of the disadvantages of marrying a duke.”

“Oh?” I pulled back, trying for a look of concern, but a smile broke free. Try as I might, I couldn’t seem to stop.

Halstead’s face became severe. “It seems a duke is always surrounded by overbearing female relatives who think they know what is best for him.”

I nodded my head. “Yes, your mother might have some very choice words for me once she knows we are engaged. She warned me to stay away from you, you know.”

“Yes, so I heard. But she’ll come around.”

“And what about your grandmother?”

“I know she comes across as a bit opinionated, but underneath she has a heart of gold.”

“Does she?”

He must have heard the doubt in my voice. “Perhaps you’ll forgive her overbearing manner when I tell you what she said when you walked out right before the banquet.”

I angled my head, waiting.

“A moment after you’d gone, she appeared at my side. She gave me a highbrowed look and said, ‘Halstead, I’ve always thought you were a fool. But if you don’t go after her, I’ll know for certain.’”

I laughed, a full laugh, and laid a hand on his chest. “I like her better already.”

“Good.” He nodded. “Perhaps I won’t banish her to another of my estates.”

I sighed happily. “Do you want to know another disadvantage of spending time in the company of a duke?”

“By all means, enlighten me.”

“I’ve grown more bold in your presence. You know the effect you have on my tongue. I hope you will not regret marrying me when it runs amok.”

He shook his head. “Never. Your sharp tongue is what first caught my attention.” He brushed my bottom lip with his thumb, setting my insides ablaze.

Every inch of me yearned for him. I leaned forward and pulled him closer, the love and desire I saw in his eyes enough to undo me. My lips brushed his, anxious and coaxing, as passionate fervor raced through me. The answering strength of his mouth was all I had hoped for. He crushed me to him, and I knew he had no intention of letting me go.

Epilogue

Two months later

My eyes fluttered open for a moment before I saw the clock resting on the mantel. I squinted to make out the time—half past ten. We could easily stay abed for another half an hour. I let out a deep breath and pulled the covers a little higher. Halstead’s hand rested across my middle, the weight of it warm and welcome.

I turned my head just enough to take in his sleeping form, forehead smooth and untroubled, dark eyelashes forming half crescents against his cheeks. Without thinking, I reached out and brushed my hand along his jawline.

“Haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘Let a sleeping duke lie?’” Halstead’s voice was rough from sleep. He pulled me closer.

I rested my chin on his shoulder, a smile cresting my face. “I see you are just as irritable this morning as you were last night.”

He grunted. “More, even, for then I had a whole night’s rest to look forward to.”

I craned my neck a little, reaching up to kiss his cheek. But his mouth met mine, pulling me into a deep, hungry kiss. He brought his hand to my neck and caressed the patch of skin just below my ear. He kissed me again, his lips tender but insistent. I finally pulled back and gave a breathless laugh. “You have a very difficult life indeed, Your Grace.”

“Perhaps it is not so very bad,” he conceded. “Are you sure we cannot cancel all our appointments for the day?”

A slight knock at the door sounded, and a maid carried in a breakfast tray. I sat up at once. “I think not. You promised to take me and Harry to see the hot-air balloons.” Harry hadn’t lost his interest in going to sea, but we were doing our best to distract him. “And then you are committed to that vote in parliament.”

“Juliet, you are quite a taskmaster.”

I turned back and gave him a cheeky grin. “It is one of the disadvantages of being married to a duchess, I’m afraid.” Halstead reached for me, but I twisted away and reached for a scone from the tray that had been set on the table near the bed. “And don’t forget, Hugh and Ellen are coming for dinner.”

He sighed. “Have you no mercy?”

“Yes, I do, which is precisely why Robert and Aunt Agnes aren’t coming. Robert leaves to accept his commission next week, and I knew they were engaged tonight at a farewell dinner with the Rowleys.”

Though Robert had attended our wedding, there was still some awkwardness, and I was grateful the army would put some distance between us. Hopefully time would heal his heart and the discomfiture on both sides.

Halstead crawled up behind me and laid a kiss on the nape of my neck. The maid ducked out, pretending she hadn’t seen. “You are merciful indeed,” he said in a low voice. “And much as I might pretend otherwise, I consider myself a very lucky man to have you for a wife.”

I smiled. His warmth at my back, the soft tones of his words, filled my heart. “Good, because I don’t intend to let you go. I find there are many advantages to being married to a duke.”

And to prove it, I turned and pulled him in for another kiss.

Author’s Notes

As I was doing some research for this story, I came across Arundel Castle, in Norfolk, England. While I took a great deal of latitude in the castle’s makeup to better serve my story, the beautiful architecture of the castle influenced many of the descriptions and scenes in the book. Near Arundel Castle, Fitzalan Chapel inspired Roecliffe Chapel. Fitzalan Chapel was, in fact, damaged when Arundel Castle was under siege by the Parliamentarians during the 1600s.

The lyrics on pages 20 and 21 are from “Drown It in the Bowl,” in The British Melodist, or National Song Book, Norwich: J. Stacy, 1822, 412–413.

The lyrics on pages 136 and 137 are from David Semple, The Poems and Songs of Robert Tannahill, Paisley: Alexander Gardner, Publisher to Her Majesty the Queen, 1900, 188.

Book Club Questions

1. Juliet and Halstead come from very different backgrounds. How do their distinctive circumstances and upbringings shape each of them? What role has your background played in your develop-ment?

2. What is Juliet’s relationship like with her aunt? How does it change over the course of the story? What leads Juliet to sever the relationship? Is it ever appropriate to end family relationships?

3. At the beginning of the book Juliet feels trapped and believes her freedom is tied to the coming of her twenty-first birthday. How does she eventually come to discover that, despite her aunt’s manipulation, she is ultimately in control of her own life? What are some lies we believe about how we are cornered by circumstances or other people’s choices?

4. After his accident Halstead allows his pain to make him callous and uncaring. Is it possible to be in pain and suffer and still show love and kindness?

5. How does Juliet break the barrier between Halstead and the rest of the world?

6. Why is it important to Juliet to marry within her social sphere? Where does that motivation come from? Do we still have class divisions and allow them to influence our decisions? Why is it often more comfortable to associate with people within your sphere?

7. When threatened by her aunt, Juliet gives up the promise of a life with Halstead in order to protect her brother. Has there ever been a time when you have sacrificed your own happiness and desires for someone you love?

8. Juliet has the choice between a steady and secure future with Robert or a more passionate and tumultuous marriage with Halstead. She feels limited by her relationship with Robert and craves the freedom provided by her connection with Halstead. In other novels the heroine chooses a steadier option. What are the pros and cons of each?

9. Juliet feels like she is more herself with Halstead than she is with Robert. How do the people we spend time with influence who we ultimately become?

10. Ellen tells Juliet she can’t expect to find happiness by tiptoeing around, trying to avoid the mistakes of others. Why do we often let fear influence our decisions? How do we make choices with excitement for the future rather than with dread or worry?

11. In chapter twelve Halstead and Juliet argue about the different faces people show in Society. Do you think you’re not being your true self when you allow people to see only certain sides of you, for example, through social media? What establishes trust between people and allows them to show all of themselves freely?

About the Author

At a young age Heidi perfected the art of hiding out so she could read instead of do chores. One husband and four children later, not much has changed. She has an abiding love for Peanut Butter M&Ms, all things autumn, and any book that can make her forget she is supposed to be keeping her children alive.

She currently lives in a charming old town just north of Boston, in southern New Hampshire.

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Other Covenant Books By Heidi Kimball

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A Guarded Heart