Month: January 2023

Prologue

Antony

          It always happens that whenever one is searching for something, that something will inevitably make itself impossible to find.

          “Antony, if we do not give up this search soon — I fear that I shall have a layer of dust as a permanent second skin!” Lewis huffed impatiently. The man heaved a dramatic sigh and fell heavily on a chair covered in a thick white cloth — to which an even thicker plume of dust wafted into the air and spurred the man into a fit of sneezes.

          There was no telling exactly how long it had been since anyone had been into the attic like this. It was a place filled with bad memories for Antony. His dearest friend, Lewis, had agreed to come up here with him but Antony had a fairly good idea it had been under the guise that he would have found some sort of secret, hidden treasure searching among the discarded items. However, if Lewis were looking for a pot of gold, then this was the very last place that he ought to look.

          Everything around here was covered in dust.

          If he had his choice, Antony would have just had the lot of it burned the moment that he had inherited the castle from his father.

          They had been up here for the better part of the day and Antony was not certain how to explain to Lewis that they could be searching for something that did not exist. They could have been sent on a wild goose chase and the only for sure way to know…was to search everything to see if this mystery painting even existed.

Either way, he was grateful for the man’s assistance.

          Antony watched Lewis over his shoulder from the corner of his eye. Unlike his friend, he had a wealth of patience when the situation required it, and this was a very worthy cause indeed.

          “You have no obligation to continue on this search with me, friend, and I thank you for your service,” Antony muttered as he headed further into the wide expanse of the castle’s attic. The rain fell heavily on the roof and the wind whipped angrily outside of the few paned windows, making their already gloomy task even more uncomfortable.

          “Just where is it that I am supposed to go in this storm? Hm? I clearly have no choice but to assist you in your search,” Lewis said. “Perhaps you are banishing me from your sight simply because I am not producing swift results, is that it? You damn me to suffer poor weather and a resulting cold. Most unkind of you,” he teased.

          They both knew that he was not leaving, just as they knew he would continue to verbally begrudge the task that he had volunteered to assist with.

          “Of course not — then you would be even more miserable company than you are at present,” Antony smirked to himself, imagining the look of mock horror and affront on his friend’s face. He likely had his hand clutched to his chest as he struggled to think of anything witty enough to retort.

          “When was the last time that anyone was up here, do you think?” Lewis asked as he gazed around the space. Discarded pieces of furniture, a strange amount of bird cages of various materials, and other odds and ends lined the walls and rafter of the attic. There was no telling which generation of occupants had placed the items here or what value might lay hidden away in some of the trunks. 

          “Not since I was a little boy, to be sure,” Antony mused as he pushed aside a small dresser, no doubt meant for a child, and started to search in the darker alcove behind it. “My father caught me playing hide and seek in here with one of the servant’s children once. I had thought the young boy my friend, but my father had him whipped for daring to speak to those above his station and fired the entire family. Coming up here after that seemed sinister…everything is frightening to a small young boy, and this space and all of its possible treasures lost all appeal to me.”

          Lewis swallowed tightly against the knot in his throat. “I shall never understand how you speak so plainly about all of the horrors that your father committed as if they held no more weight than a discussion about the weather.”

          Antony paused only for a moment to offer Lewis a half-smirk. “I suppose that it would be strange to a man such as yourself who grew up surrounded by love and softness, but I armored myself against that man at a young age. I do not mean to make you uncomfortable.”

          Lewis’ gaze dropped to the space between his knees where his hands dangled as he rubbed at the skin on his thumbs. “You do not make me uncomfortable, it just reminds me of all of the things never to do when the day comes that I shall have children of my own.”

          Antony’s smirk widened as he resumed his search. “Yes, that is a fair point well made.”

          “Do you think that it is true? What the letter said? Were it any other man…any other father, I might have doubted the mere thought of someone–”

          “Sending away a child because it did not suit their wishes?” Antony finished. When he had received the letter, he had thought the very same thing. He had wondered if it were, in fact, possible that he could have a sibling out there in the world…one that shared his face and general likeness, and somehow he could have a family, unlike anything he had ever been exposed to before. How could a parent separate siblings? To discard one of their children like stale biscuits to fend for themselves?

          Antony’s hand lifted to brush against the gilded emerald and gold mask that he wore over half of his face. A mask that he had been told never to remove. He had been warned time and time again that the good and decent people of the public should never be forced to look upon a face as hideous as his own.

          A father such as that?

          Yes, he could imagine that it was possible.

          His hand dropped and he tried his best to banish that lingering voice of his father’s in the back of his mind that followed him like a plague.

          “Here, I have found another grouping,” Antony called and waved his friend over. They had been searching the attic for the better part of the day as it was, and Antony had no intention of stopping until he had burned every candle and oil lamp in the entire castle to the bottom of their wick. He would persist until he found that which he searched for.

          Lewis dragged his feet against the wooden floor as he moved to stand at Antony’s side.

          “I am terrified that I have already found what we are searching for, but did not know it because we are grasping at straws as it is,” Lewis said softly.

          Antony paid him no mind. He pulled the bundle of canvases out into the center of the room and undid the twine holding the pieces together. He discarded the covering and started to slide the paintings away from one another so that he could better study them.

          “I shall know it when I find it,” Antony said with more confidence and surety than he actually felt. He pushed aside a portrait of the castle and a detailed landscape of the castle’s gardens. Three paintings of flowers in various arrangements and styles, but nothing that seemed to fit what the letter had described.

          Lewis moved to search for another bunch of paintings. “You have no idea who it was that could have sent the letter?”

          That was even more baffling. Antony bit down on the inside of his cheek as he chose not to answer.

          “I mean, why now? Why wait so many years? I could understand one wanting to wait until the man had passed so that there was no fear of potentially revealing something that could bring the letter writer to harm…but why come forward at all, and so long after your father’s death? I have to presume that this…anonymous sender has something to gain by telling you this? The sender wished to send you on a hunt in your attics…and for what? There is an ulterior motive here, my dear friend, and I just think we need to have a discussion about what the ramifications of this potential discovery might lead to,” Lewis continued.

          He had a fair and valid point…but one that Antony could not afford to worry about.

          “If we find a painting that gives any credibility to the anonymous source, I shall ponder those questions then. There is still a fair chance that this alleged painting was one of the very, very many paintings that father had burned when he…redecorated,” Antony added with a shudder that he could not repress.

          Images of that day flooded his mind as if he were five years old again, clutched tightly in the arms of his governess as she bit down on her finger to keep from weeping. At the time he had not understood what it was that he was watching. Paintings of all shapes and sizes pitched out of the window and into the courtyard. Busts and statues that had been imported from countries all over the world carried out by servants to be smashed into bits before being added to the pyre. He had asked his governess why she was so sad, or he had wanted to. He could remember the reflection of the fire in her eyes as she fought back tears. At the time he had been so afraid that he would be pitched into the fire with all of the rest of the objects that his father had suddenly decided to no longer desire.

          Sometimes, he wondered if that had been why his governess had held him so tightly and why she had whisked him away well before his father had come back indoors. Antony had been able to smell the stench of burned oil and varnish for weeks. Father had left the pile of debris as a black soot and ash stain on the grounds for months after…and banned all of the servants from going near it.

          In the days of his young adulthood, before father had passed — he had longed to learn why he had destroyed so many valuable and beautiful things. Antony had tried to coax the answer out of his father in roundabout ways, even going so far as to provoke his wrath or needle at the man’s temper, but to no avail. Secretly, Antony believed that it was because they reminded him of the mother whom he had never gotten the chance to meet.

          Seeing so many paintings here hidden away in the attic had been a shock to Antony. He had to presume that his father did not know. More likely considering so many of the portraits were of father himself.

          “Perhaps I should have burned some paintings of my own,” Antony muttered mostly to himself.

          Lewis glanced in his direction sympathetically but did not comment. He tended to avoid remarking on things that highlighted the stark differences between their upbringings. Antony was his oldest and dearest friend, and he loathed to see him uncomfortable for any reason. Lewis was of the opinion that Antony had endured more than his share of misfortunes in his life, and so had chosen many years past to endeavor to bring happiness to the surly Duke as often as possible.

          “A twin sister…” Lewis mused, bringing the subject back to the letter that had arrived that morning. “You certain that there were no distinguishing marks on the wax seal or the paper in any way?”

          Antony shook his head and moved to the other side of the room. “No, that is what I have already told you. There was no mark, the letter was not signed and the pageboy had no information about the sender even when offered money. I believe the handwriting to be masculine in style, but apart from that…I have to jump to the same conclusions as you have.”

          There held more than a small amount of irritation and frustration in his voice as he undid the knot of the next painting bundle. When he pulled the protective cloth off of them, he was rendered speechless. There, as a focal part of the painting was his father, seated in all of his glory with his trademark stern, disapproving expression. He was featured in his old military uniform and all of his insignia, badges, and metals were painted onto his chest. Yet, most shocking was not simply the two children in his arms, but that they appeared to be at least a year old.

          He could recognize himself for the mask that was painted onto his young face. His deformity was abhorrent and had been hidden away nearly since birth for how repulsive it made his visage to all that looked upon him…but seated on father’s other knee was an identical appearing child of the same age. She wore a white gown and had a delicate bow of pink lace tied around her head like a band.

          Her eyes were painted the same shade of bright cerulean as his own.

          The heavy rain hitting the roof of the castle seemed to mimic the racing of his own heart as he tried to fully comprehend what he was seeing. Even Lewis was mute as he came to stand by Antony’s side and absorb the information in front of him.

          He had a twin sister.

          The letter had told the truth about that, at the very least. There was no denying it when the proof was right in front of him. Never mind all of the implications that were tied to there being proof in exactly the location that the letter claimed there to be….

          He had a sister.

          He had a family…a true family that was out there somewhere, waiting for him…who might not even know that he existed or the truth of her identity.

          Antony’s chest felt tight as he lifted the painting up into the limited light.

          “I am going to find her, Lewis, I am going to bring my sister home….no matter what it takes.”

Chapter One

Isabel – Six Months Later

“I said I was sorry,” Isabel’s voice was soft, her throat rubbed raw with tears. She could not bring herself to look her Aunt in the eyes. She knew what she would see if she did. She could feel the animosity radiating off of her.

“So you have said,” the woman snipped.

“I did not…” Isabel attempted, but her words died off into nothingness.

“I am aware of what you said — but I simply cannot see how you could have allowed yourself to be put into such a compromising position in the first place! Your poor father is wracked with nerves…the threat of scandal would ruin your family!”

Isabel blinked back tears. It was all that she could do to nod along, knowing that she had no choice but to take the blame for a situation that was not and never would be her fault.

Every time that she closed her eyes, she could feel his unwelcome hands upon her. She could still feel the ghost of his too-hot breath and the way it reeked of soured wine as he loomed ever closer to her…forcing his lips upon her face as she tried everything in her power to push him away from herself.

Repeating that story would not help her now…the truth was not what mattered to the woman in the carriage across from her. All that mattered to her Aunt was the fact that now she would have to be inconvenienced by taking Isabel to ward until they could smooth things over.

Never before had a carriage ride been quite so uncomfortable. For once it had very little to do with the overly close proximity to the older woman sharing the carriage with her, and instead, it had more to do with the tension that continued to brew between the passengers since Isabel had been picked up.

Her Aunt, Gertrude, had a remarkable ability to never once break eye contact or allow her focus to waver while she was in the middle of disapproving of something. Least of all when the object of her firm disapproval was the person she was nearest to.

“I do hope that you have had the decency to have written letters expressing your deepest appreciation to your family for allowing you to come and stay with me,” Gertrude interjected suddenly. She battered her way through the silence without grace or eloquence, for she was of the opinion that with only her niece and son in the carriage to hear her, tact was not strictly required.

To her side, Francis smirked knowingly. His eyes roved over Isabel’s person in a way that made her skin feel as if it were to crawl right off of her. She could feel his gaze like ice hovering just over her skin until a roiling started an uproar in her stomach.

“Yes, Aunt, I have done as you requested,” Isabel said demurely as she returned her focus to the window of the carriage and the beautiful scenes of the countryside that they rode past. The carriage jostled along with no mind to the discomfort of its current occupants, though this was not the reason that Isabel kept fighting the urge to cry. It was not as if her opinion had been asked over where she might reside or the home in which she was to spend the summer months. It was not even her fault what had happened — so it was hardly fair that she be forced away from her home, her parents, and the only friend that she had ever known…all because of the actions of a man.

She knew better than to say as much. She knew that it would do her no good.

Gertrude had wormed her way into her father’s ears, speaking of solutions and placations for society until such a time that the possible scandal blew over. She claimed that once the next shocking thing happened to the ton, Isabel would no longer be under such direct scrutiny. Furthermore, it would be the only way for her to have any sort of marriage prospects in the future. As she had no desire to be forced to marry a man who obviously thought so little of her that ruining her reputation and assaulting her did not bother him in the slightest.

The urge to cry welled up in her chest once more, and she bit down on her bottom lip. Isabel lifted her gloved hand to rest on the side of the carriage so that she might cover the lower half of her face and disguise her dimpling chin so that her aunt would not comment on that as well. She already thought that Isabel blubbered too much.

“What are you doing?!” Gertrude gasped, her eyes widened as her face paled. “Put your arm down at once!”

Isabel complied without looking at her. She dropped her arm from the side of the carriage and turned her gaze down to her lap where she balled up fistfuls of her gown tightly. “Yes, Aunt.”

“Good heavens, what are you thinking? Sometimes I wonder if there is a thought that goes through your pretty head at all!” Gertrude pulled her fan and wafted air toward her face. “What if another passing carriage were to see you sitting in such an undignified position? What would they think of your horrible posture?”

Isabel did not know, nor did she much care. They had not seen so much as a person on horseback since they had left London hours ago.

“Honestly, girl, you have got to remember your manners! This is the time to be on your very best behavior! Not all young ladies would be given this golden second chance! Act accordingly!” Gertrude’s fan wafted more quickly, filling the carriage with the scent of her overly pungent rose oil perfume.

Francis patted his mother’s arm in a comforting gesture. “There, there, mother. You must also remind yourself that not all young ladies would allow themselves to be placed into a situation in which they need saving like this.”

His beady eyes cut to Isabel with a smarmy grin.

“You should not worry yourself over her, mother, certainly not if she is going to be ungrateful,” Francis said, knowing full well that she would be forced to answer.

Isabel’s eyes shot up and she shook her head. She spoke too quickly when she answered. Everything had happened so quickly that she had not recovered from the ball, let alone been able to process the fact that she had been ripped from her family and was heading to live with her Aunt and cousin in the country…for however long it took.

“No! Of course I am grateful! I will…I shall do everything in my power to prove to you just how grateful I am! I swear it.”

Francis leaned back into his seat and shared a knowing glance with his mother, seemingly satisfied. “We shall see.”

Gertrude’s fan snapped shut loudly enough to startle Isabel.

“Well, I suppose that I cannot wholly blame you. It is hardly your fault that your parents did not educate you on the ways to properly conduct oneself at a ball. One should know better than to take any action that might allow a man to be tempted in such a way. A young woman such as yourself should have been coached better. Your mother should have educated you better.” Gertrude waited to see if Isabel would contradict her before continuing. “Honestly, there might not even be any hope of saving your already ruined reputation.”

“The gentleman in question might come looking for her after all, thinking that he has laid a sort of claim to her,” Francis agreed.

Isabel’s blood ran cold at the notion. She could not think of anything worse than having to endure another second of that man’s horrible company nor his roaming hands if she had any say in the matter. She wished so dearly to be out of the carriage, she wanted to be away from all prying eyes so that she might cry in peace.

She had always been a good girl. She always listened to her parents and did as she was told. She was not the brightest or the most gifted student, she supposed, but she had always been enthusiastic in her pursuit of the few accomplishments that were offered to her. She had only ever wished to make them happy.

Yet, she had never seen her father shout at anything even half as loudly as he had shouted at her that evening. He had been so disappointed…and as much as Isabel wished to believe that was the only reason for his ire, she hoped that there was some part of him that cared for her enough to want her happiness…

The road that the carriage carried them down shifted from the tightly packed dirt path to something softer. The trees became sparse and finally parted to reveal the image of Aunt Gertrude’s country home in the distance. The property was massive and its beauty was proportionate to its size.

Yet, the only thought that Isabel had come to mind was how easy it was going to be to find many cozy places to hide away in a property that large. With any luck, she could remain hidden away and out of their sight until such a time as her father permitted her to return home….at least, that was what she wished for.

“I suppose I shall have to be on my guard then as well, hm, cousin?” Francis added after a long silence, His tone lifted the words as if he were joking, but it felt more like a threat.

“I beg your pardon?” Isabel whispered in shock.

Francis leaned forward as the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the back steps where the servants of the house were all awaiting them in a line, ready for orders. But he did not answer until his Aunt had been escorted from the carriage.

“Well, with such a temptress residing inside of my family’s home — I certainly do not wish to be tempted into an action that I cannot control.” He winked and exited the carriage, not bothering to so much as offer her his hand on the way out.

The unspoken threat lingered in the air and for a moment, Isabel wondered what might happen should she simply just refuse to ever leave the carriage again. What if she imagined herself affixed to the seat so that she could hide here and wither away.

Somehow that future was even more bleak.

She inhaled deeply through her nose and reached for the footman’s hand to guide her out of the carriage. She watched in resigned silence as her paltry trunk was unloaded and carried into the house. She trailed behind the rest of the house’s residents but before she could cross the threshold, Aunt Gertrude spun suddenly. The fan clutched in her hands shot forward to block Isabel from entering the property. She narrowed her dark eyes at Isabel in warning.

“I suppose that it goes without saying that this is not some act of charity that we are performing here. This is, of course, an act of familial kindness. You will be expected to earn your keep and to repay said kindness with hard, diligent work. I do not want to hear a single word of complaint or a single gristle out of you, do I make myself clear?”

Isabel could hardly imagine it. From one horror to another — but there was nothing that she could do.

“I will do my best to ensure that I am not a burden to your household, aunt,” Isabel said softly.

Gertrude’s lips pursed in clear disapproval. “We shall see about that. You could make something of yourself if you use this opportunity to grow to your advantage. Hard work builds character and ensures that you have a clean and healthy mind. Idle hands are the devil’s playthings after all, and you clearly do not need to be idle, given what you have caused…the shame that you have brought to your family.”

Gertrude’s tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth.

Isabel wondered if the woman had ever done an honest day’s labor in her life. She very much doubted it.

“I promise I will do better, aunt, I just wish to put all of this unpleasantness behind me…”

It was like she said nothing at all. Gertrude huffed and walked into the house, snapping her fingers behind her for Isabel to follow. She moved in silence until they came to a stop in front of the housekeeper who looked none too thrilled to have a young debutante thrust into her care without much warning. Isabel wished for nothing more than to head up to her rooms and sleep off the carriage ride, but it seemed an impossible goal now.

“Pleasure to meet you, my lady, I am Mrs. Celine – the housekeeper here of course. Mind you keep close to me when we are walking, the hallways have a tendency to confuse those that are not yet familiar with them. I have confidence that a bright young thing such as yourself will learn her way in no time.” The housekeeper flashed her only a split second’s worth of pity before heading down into the heart of the house.

The split second of kindness, even just the social politeness of Mrs. Celine was enough to make Isabel want to weep. She bit down on her bottom lip and nodded.

When faced with an impossible circumstance, the heroines in the books that Isabel so dearly loved would always adapt, improvise, and then overcome whatever hardship that was placed in front of them. This was the first time that Isabel’s fantasy of living the fairy tale book of her dreams was threatened.

Before she could stop herself — she reached forward and grabbed the back of Mrs. Celine’s skirt. The words tumbled forth before she could stop them. Her eyes screwed shut as she insisted because she needed somebody to know — somebody —  that this was not her fault…she had not done anything to spur this into action!

“I didn’t do it. It was not my fault…”

Mrs. Celine turned slowly and took Isabel’s hand within both of her own. She patted the back of her hand softly and shook her head.

“It never is our fault dear child….not ever.”

 Something in her deep brown eyes was impossibly tender. Some of the tension eased from Isabel’s shoulders as the elder woman shook her head. She could see that Mrs. Celine believed her. Really believed her. The dam holding her emotions locked firmly inside of her chest started to crack. Perhaps she might have at least one friendly face in this house at the very least. For the first time since the horrible ordeal, she felt seen.

Chapter Two

          “Mistress, you must come quickly! Quickly!” Mrs. Celine muttered hastily as she waved her hand at Isabel. It was clear that whatever she had to say, it absolutely could not wait even a single moment longer. Isabel glanced down at the soapy water that she was up to her elbows in. She certainly was not in any position to stop, but she did anyway. Aunt Gertrude would have her guts for garters if she knew that she was shirking her chores for any reason…let alone what terrible sorts of consequences she might inflict on her servant for being the one who distracted her.

          Earn her keep indeed.

          Aunt Gertrude had made it apparent the very next morning that Isabel was to work in her home. She would have to earn her meals if she wished to eat and serve them if she wished to be provided for. She was treated no better than any of the servants, with the exception that she was not being compensated in any way.

          She tried not to complain.

          She tried not to show how heartbroken she felt to be treated in such a fashion by her own family…but it did hurt. It burned something low and icy within her that she could not name. The shame of it all was only made greater each time that Gertrude insisted on being waited on by Isabel personally to do even the most menial, degrading of tasks.

          Isabel moved quickly as she hastily dried her hands on the apron that she wore.

          “What is it?”

          “Shh!” Celine insisted and reached for Isabel’s arm. She held onto her tightly and pulled her through the narrow servant’s passageway in the direction of the dining room. It had only been a couple of weeks but already she was starting to feel more at home in these small passages than she did in any space of this massive house where her aunt might lay eyes on her.

          Curiosity turned in her gut as she followed silently. She had not yet mastered Celine’s artful way of walking to ensure that she did not make a single sound. Even her dress did not swish or crinkle in the same way that Celine’s did.

          “The suspense is going to consume me!” Isabel giggled, only to cut herself short by the stern look of warning Celine threw over her shoulder.

          Whatever it was, it was serious.

          Celine stopped them just short of entering the dining room and placed a finger to her lips. Isabel nodded and leaned toward the dining room where her aunt and her cousin Francis were enjoying their morning tea.

          “–and what am I to do with her once I am wed, hm? Have you considered that this shall not add to my happiness in any way, but rather will detract from it?” Francis drawled. Boredom clung to every syllable that he breathed. Isabel had come to wonder if perhaps he had ever enjoyed a moment of joy in his entire existence. She could not fathom how any person could be such a miserable pig all of the time.

          “Once the paperwork has been signed and officiated in the eyes of the lord, child, I shall not care what you do with her. I shall leave that to your imagination.” Gertrude carefully swiped her teaspoon over the brim of her glass before taking the smallest sip of her tea possible.

          Isabel’s brow furrowed in confusion. Who could they be speaking about?

          “I suppose I could keep her on in the same capacity that she serves now…only with the added benefit of having her beauty at my disposal….it is such a fortunate thing that she is beautiful, I suppose. It is a wonder that the old sap who nearly scandalized her has not come looking for her…over two weeks and not so much as a letter.” Francis turned his spoon over in his hand, fiddling with it idly as he spoke.

          “Yes, well…there has not been a single letter from her father either. I fear that if we do not have word from him soon, we might be burdened with the whelp indefinitely,” Gertrude said bitterly.

          Isabel’s stomach dropped as she realized that they meant her.

          “Would that not work out in our favor, perhaps?” Francis asked.

          “What do you mean?” his mother answered.

          “Well, if there is no word from her father, then we hardly need his permission for her hand in marriage, would we? You could claim to have taken her to ward via a verbal agreement, and that one of the conditions was that she marry me. She could not object, it would be a legally binding contract and I shall lie and say that I was witness to the whole thing in its conception!”

          Silence fell as Gertrude considered her son’s offer. She considered it for too long. Isabel’s stomach clenched and she had to clamp her hand over the lower half of her face as she waited.

          “That does not give you access to her riches unless her father agrees to a dowry.”

          Francis slumped back in his chair, defeated for a moment.

          The air in the hallway seemed to get thinner.

          “Perhaps one small little fib will beget another?” Francis offered conspiratorially.

          Gertrude waved her hand for her son to finish speaking.

          “Perhaps we can tell him that the rumors were true and she propositioned me. We can claim that she seduced me and begged for me to take her to wife. We can shift the near scandal to our advantage and further supplant the notion that it was, in fact, my dear cousin’s idea in the first place…then Uncle will have no choice but to surrender and pay as large of a dowry as we shall ask.”

          Gertrude nodded and made a small hum of approval. “Now you are thinking like a son of mine. We will have you wed to her before the fortnight is finished…you shall have her produce an heir and then do what you will with her.”

          Isabel staggered backward as she felt that she might faint. She could not believe what she was hearing. The back of her shoulders collided heavily with the wall in an audible thunk.

          Francis was on his feet in a moment. “Who goes there? Come out at once!”

          His footsteps thundered quickly toward the hall where they stood. Celine grabbed hold of Isabel’s dress and nearly dragged her down the hallway at a full run.

          “Who dares spy on me?!” Francis bellowed after them but would not dare step foot into the hallway for it was not grand enough to house him in his opinion. His hand collided with the wall and echoed through the narrow space to the small alcove where Celine had Isabel blocked with her body.

          “They…they…” Isabel started. It was hard to gather enough air into her lungs to speak properly. Her hands pressed into her ribs to try to comfort herself as her mind struggled to catch up to the depravity that she had just witnessed her aunt and cousin plan.

          “I am so sorry mistress, but you needed to know…I could not allow them to say such things about you. I feared that you might not believe me if I simply told you about them…oh, I am so sorry,” Celine said in a whisper before she pulled Isabel into her arms and hugged her fiercely.

          It was strange how close you could become to another person when you had similar spirits. Unlike the family that employed her, Celine was a warm and kind woman who had taken to Isabel like the daughter that she had lost so long ago. Perhaps that was what had started their bond, but it had quickly grown into something stronger in the short span of a few weeks.

          A woman with a daughter who passed well before her time and a young woman who had never known the love of a true mother.

          “How am I supposed to stay here when they…I cannot…there is simply no way that I could ever marry somebody like him!” Isabel countered. Each moment that she was forced to endure Francis’ company was worse than the last. “I cannot be forced to bear his children and live my life locked away in some tower….or worse….but my father, if I return back to London, he might not believe me either…”

          Her knees threatened to buckle. She needed to move or else she might allow the darkness of the hallway to swallow her whole. She pushed from Celine’s arms and staggered as if she were drunk all of the way down the hall until she could reach the kitchens. She braced herself with an arm against the wall as she struggled to regain normalcy in her breathing.

          Her bright blue eyes lifted to the warm, sympathetic eyes of her friend. “What am I to do?”

          Celine bit down on her bottom lip.

          “What is it? Please, please help me…I shall do anything!” Isabel pleaded.

          “Well…there is one way…but I am not sure that it would work. You might try to run from here but there is no guarantee that you shall make it there alive…it could only be rumor.”

          “Anything is better than that fate…please…I go to sleep every night in terror of finding him near me…I am constantly looking over my shoulder, fearing what might happen…they are plotting my demise…please,” Isabel insisted. Anything had to be better than constantly swimming in boiling water. She felt as if she were teetering on the brink of drowning or roasting alive and she could tolerate neither.

          “I have heard rumors of a castle…deep in the woods to the west side of the property. A castle that has long since been abandoned…I am not a woman who puts much stock into the superstitious ramblings of the common folk, but if the legends are true it is still very much intact, guarded by protective spirits…it could give you safe shelter until such a time as we can come up with another plan. Of course I will help you.”

          “I do not know anything about surviving on my own.”

          “I shall leave food for you at the edge of the forest after curfew every evening. If you find the castle, all you should need to do is come and fetch it. In three weeks time, I will meet you there under the cover of darkness and we will start your life over in a new town.”

          “I cannot ask you to do that…” Isabel said as tears started to well in her eyes.

          “You are not asking me for a thing, child, I am offering. I only wish that I had been given the opportunity to do the same for my late daughter…had there been more people to help her, then perhaps she might still be with me today.”

          “Mrs. Celine!” Francis’ voice bellowed near the door of the kitchen, demanding her presence. “I should not have to come all of the way down here to speak with you!” he called, his presence looming ever closer.

          “You must go, now, before they realize it was you who overheard the conversation.” Celine quickly gathered bread and cheese into a cloth and knotted it together. “I shall sneak your things to you slowly, go, now!”

          “What will happen to you?!” Isabel protested. Her legs felt like lead. She did not wish to abandon her.

          “Nevermind that, child! Go now or I shall never forgive you!”

          She let herself linger for only a moment longer before she turned on her heels and ran as quickly as her slippered feet could carry her. She raced down the servant’s entrance and out onto the grounds. The morning dew still clung to the grass and dampened her stockings as she hiked up her skirts. She focused so singularly on the treeline that she tried to pretend that she could not hear the pained shout of terror that carried from the castle all the way to where she ran. She pretended that she was not aware of the pain in her legs or the burning in her chest as she blindly hurled herself through the trees. Branches and bramble tore at her arms and shredded her stockings. Thorny leaves cut at her face and tangled in her hair, pulling and nipping at her but she could not stop — she could not allow herself to stop. Not even for a single moment…not until the ground slipped out from underneath her.

          One moment, she felt too heavy on her feet, but the next moment she was weightless.

          She slipped into freefall for what felt like an eternity, before landing so abruptly on the ground that it knocked the breath clear out of her, and down she tumbled. Heels over feet until she fell again. She felt as if her brain had been knocked loose. Her eyes swam and her head spun and then she was pitched forward into the large, icy expanse of a lake.

          The weight of her dress carried her under. Her arms flung about as she tried to push herself back to the surface. She struggled and kicked but only managed to get more knotted up into her skirts.

          Well, she thought to herself as her body relaxed and started to surrender to its fate. Better this than to be trapped into a marriage with Francis…or worse.

Chapter One

We heard that the Masked Rogue of London is fond of women with red hair. How scandalous! — excerpt from The Londoner.

Lady Natalie Reeves raised her eyes to the graying skies, and her eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. “The weather is especially changeful this week. Do you not think so, Hannah?”

When she did not get a response, she turned to find her cousin hurrying toward a puppet player’s stall, her dark curls bouncing behind her. Shaking her head whilst marveling at Hannah’s excitability, she began to walk along the Serpentine. She could follow Hannah and watch the puppets amongst the growing crowd but she would much rather walk in solitude, for there was a lot that occupied her thoughts.

At nine-and-twenty, she was unmarried and had no prospects, life in London was growing more difficult by the day, and society events had become a tedious and costly affair. She had come to Hyde Park at an unfashionable hour for some fresh air—not that London was ever in an abundance of it—but the sight of blushing young ladies in the company of charming gentlemen tightened her throat.

Natalie turned her eyes away from the discomposing sight, but then she thought she heard someone call her name. Her steps slowed, and she listened, unsure.

“Lady Natalie,” the voice said again, prompting her to turn around to see Miss Alexandra Gilmore, a pretty and famous daughter of Viscount Wenthorne, walking toward her. “How splendid to see you here. I almost did not recognize you, for we are hardly afforded the privilege of seeing you out of doors lately.” Her blue gaze traveled over Natalie, and the corners of her mouth tilted upward in condescension.

Alexandra was the sort of lady that poets wrote about. She represented prime English beauty with golden ringlets framing a well-proportioned face, bright blue eyes, and pale flawless skin that had never seen a freckle. Her appearance was quite the opposite of Natalie’s. She acknowledged Alexandra with a nod.

“Seeing you walking all alone,” Alexandra continued, “one would think England had no men left. Perhaps you would like to join us.” She pointed behind her at a tall gentleman who had his back to them and was speaking to another man. Natalie knew Alexandra only made that offer to show her that she commanded the attention of a gentleman of consequence. He turned very slightly but his face was shielded by his hat.

He was powerfully built, however, and his imposing height quite distinguished him. “No, I am happy walking by myself,” Natalie murmured, her unease growing. She had never been able to properly defend herself whenever her spinsterhood was confronted.

Alexandra never missed the opportunity to remind her that she was a spinster, and that she would likely remain so for the rest of her life. As harsh as the words were, they were true.

“As a matter of fact, I am with my cousin,” Natalie added in a late defensive attempt.

“Lord Clifford?” Alexandra asked, raising one elegant eyebrow.

“No, Miss Hannah Reeves,” she replied, pointing to her cousin at the puppet player’s stall.

“Oh, I was hoping it would be Lord Clifford. He, too, is rarely seen outside. Is he well?” Alexandra inclined her head as she continued her abasing examination of Natalie.

She clenched her teeth as she replied, “Yes, he is very well.”

“Well, Lady Natalie, I think you ought to spend time with other people. Miss Reeves will be married soon, and…” Alexandra allowed her voice to trail off as a grin spread across her face, certain that Natalie had captured her meaning.

Hannah will marry, and you will be left alone. She swallowed miserably. It was only a matter of time before she lost even more confidence. And once her cousin, George—who became the Earl of Clifford after her father’s passing—married, she would have no one. Lord help her if the new Lady Clifford wouldn’t be generous enough to allow her to continue to stay with them.

Unable to continue standing there and listening to Alexandra’s insults, Natalie turned to continue walking, but Alexandra placed a hand on her shoulder, stopping her. It would be inappropriate to brush the hand off and walk away, for the park was beginning to fill as the fashionable hour approached, and manners must be minded no matter what.

“Allow me to offer you some advice, Lady Natalie.” Alexandra leaned close to her. “Seek a little adventure while you can. I am sure there is a gentleman out there who would want you. Who knows…” she allowed a delicate shrug, “The Masked Rogue might find you…fascinating.”

Natalie’s eyes widened at that insult. The Masked Rogue of London was a man with a dark reputation. Society had tried for six years to unmask him to no avail. He lived in hopeless depravity, gambling and making merry nearly every night, and word was that he had ruined many a young lady over the years. News was published daily about him, and the paper that carried the most about him was The Londoner.

So, this is my worth in society’s eyes. Something to be toyed with by the Masked Rogue. Gravely wounded, she decided to leave immediately. Pulling her shoulder away so Alexandra’s hand fell, she began to turn, but then her eyes caught something that froze both her blood and faculties, whilst making her heart pound fiercely against her small ribs.

The gentleman accompanying Alexandra had just turned, and Natalie recognized him as Jasper Fitzhugh, the Duke of Amsthorne, and the man who ruined her reputation nine years ago. Knowledge of what had happened was not made public, thankfully, but it had made way for the events that led to her spinsterhood to occur.

His presence halted Alexandra’s condemnation but Natalie wanted the ground to open so she could hide. “Ladies,” he murmured with a slight tilt of his head. Alexandra placed her hand possessively in the crook of his elbow and smiled at Natalie before turning her fluttering lashes up at him.

An enraged shiver ran down her back, because Jasper looked at her as though he had never seen her before. In fact, he smiled cordially at her, then looked down at Alexandra, waiting for her to introduce him. When she did not, he proceeded to introduce himself, which was not done.

“I am the Duke of Amsthorne,” he said with a small smile. He was even more handsome than she remembered, and although she had seen him in ballrooms and gardens, she had not been this close to him since the night he stole her future and doomed her.

Grinding her teeth, she curtsied politely, offering him her hand and murmuring, “Lady Natalie Reeves.” She watched his eyes, hoping to see recognition flare in their blue depths but nothing happened. Either he was pretending to have no recollection of that night, or he truly did not remember her.

Natalie was unsure which pained her more. Young and naive, she had acted upon the feelings that had grown in her heart. She allowed Jasper to lead her away from the ballroom to a private place where he charmed and tried to kiss her. Her body was filled with flutters, and she closed her eyes, ready to be kissed and begin a new life with him. Then his friend Oliver Bargrave appeared from behind a sofa, laughing as he revealed that it was all a joke.

Oliver had dared Jasper to lure an innocent girl out of the ballroom, and he accepted and carried out the plan. For them, it was all a moment of amusement, but Natalie’s nightmares had begun that night. That simple jest brought on incidents that consumed her family’s fortune and threw them into heavy debt.

Now, Jasper bowed over her hand, strangely oblivious to her misfortune. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, My Lady.” Alexandra glared at her, but Natalie found no satisfaction at the moment. She struggled to understand how he could not remember her. “And allow me to apologize for Miss Gilmore’s behavior.”

Natalie frowned. He had heard? It was possible because he had been standing within earshot. He looked down at Alexandra, his expression impassive.

“My aunt and I often talk about how it costs nothing to be polite. One might find it advantageous to show more respect to those who rank higher in society. Do you not think so, Miss Gilmore?” Alexandra’s hold of his arm slackened as her face colored, seemingly in anger and humiliation.

His expression remained inscrutable, and Natalie was tempted to appreciate him defending her. She also felt the urge to tell him that she did not require his help before storming off.

Jasper regarded her for a moment before he tilted his head again, starting over, “As I was saying, it was a pleasure making your acquaintance, Lady Natalie.” He began to steer Alexandra away. “Please excuse us.”

Instead of Natalie walking away after having the final word, she watched them leave, her gut turning with a hundred different emotions, of which she could only identify two. Anger and shame. It was in this state that Hannah found her. 

“Natalie, are you well?” she asked as she came to stand in front of her, holding a ballerina puppet. “You look pale.” Her green eyes were clouded with concern.

Natalie shook her head. Her face was supposed to be red with rage, not pale. She had not been able to speak for herself, and it was disgraceful. She tried to quickly compose herself, and her eyes found the ballerina her cousin held. “Where did you find that?”

Hannah smiled. “The puppet player asked us some questions. I answered correctly, earning this pretty ballerina.” Then she frowned. “Are you certain you are well, Natalie?”

Natalie managed a faint smile and a nod before taking her cousin’s arm. She could see that Hannah wanted to ask again but she refused to give her the chance, glad she had not been present to witness her humiliation.

They continued walking along the Serpentine and after a while, Hannah looked up. “Do you think it will rain soon?”

Following her eyes, Natalie saw the sky was completely overcast. “Yes, and we should go.” The impending storm gave Natalie an excuse to leave the park. They walked back to the waiting carriage, and about twenty minutes later, they arrived at Clifford House in Berkeley Square.

Natalie went up to her bedchamber while Hannah sought George, and as soon as she closed the door behind her, she leaned against it, fighting every painful memory she had worked for years to keep down.

It took one encounter with Jasper to unleash them, and they pressed against the back of her eyes, causing them to sting. She furiously blinked away the tears blurring her vision, rage tightening her chest, and moved to her writing desk by the window. Natalie sat and opened a drawer, removing a folded piece of parchment that had been there for more than two years.

The paper contained a list of everything she wanted to do in her lifetime but never had the opportunity. All of those things were daring and demanded courage that she did not possess. Her situation was not likely going to change, and perhaps it was time to step out from the shadows and live as she truly wanted to.

Unfolding the list, she began to read:

Kiss a rake

Kiss a proper gentleman

Swim in the Serpentine

Slip away with a gentleman during a ball

Wear a scandalous dress

Gamble in a gentlemen’s club

Smoke cheroot and drink until I lose my mind and balance

Fence

Ask a gentleman to dance

Be truly wanted. Loved.

Picking up a quill and dipping it in ink, Natalie added one more item to the list:

Ruin Jasper’s reputation. 

Chapter Two

Shameless men have come forward with the claims of being the Masked Rogue without proof. We are offering a reward for whoever can reveal his face to society —The Londoner.

Natalie wanted him to feel the pain she had lived with for nine years. Certainly, it would be much more difficult to ruin a man’s reputation, and he was known in society as a perfect duke.

Her task would be tough, but she was willing to do what it took. If he had truly forgotten what he had done to her, then she would gladly remind him.

A knock came at her door as she finished writing on her list. She quickly wiped her tears with the pad of her fingers and put the list away, rising. “Yes?”

“May I come in?” Hannah asked.

Smoothing her hands down her blue muslin dress, she called for her cousin to enter. Hannah immediately frowned when she walked in and looked at Natalie.

“Is something the matter, Natalie?” she asked. “You were very quiet on our ride back. Did something happen?”

Natalie shook her head. “I am well, Hannah. You must not worry about me.”

Hannah still looked skeptical despite that answer, but she said. “You should rest before dinner.”

“Yes, I will do that.”

Her cousin regarded her as though she wished to say more, but she nodded and left. Natalie allowed a deep sigh. A walk would calm her, but she was unwilling to leave the house at this time because her fears had been revived. She felt as though a crowd would be waiting in front of the house to launch hurtful words at her.

She picked up a basket with her sewing and weaving items and sat like a monk on her bed. Ladies did not trade, but Natalie did in secret to help her family. She made bonnets and dresses and sold them to her friend Mary Lynch, who was a modiste with a shop on Bond Street.

Ladies loved Mary’s shop, so naturally, they believed some of the bonnets and dresses she displayed were of her making, which was convenient for Natalie.

She had no siblings, her mother died an hour after her birth, and her father passed away five years ago. Hannah and George were all she had, and poor George inherited her father’s debts, which Jasper caused. What she did helped, and it also gave her a sense of purpose in the world.

***

“Shall I read now?” Hannah asked, raising the sheet she had just finished writing on as they waited in the drawing room for dinner to be announced.

“Yes,” George replied, while Natalie straightened in her seat. Hannah wrote anonymously for The Londoner, and her articles were solely about the Masked Rogue of London. The money she earned from that was her contribution to the family, and she always read the pieces she wrote to George and Natalie before submitting them for publication.

She was two-and-twenty and seeking a husband. Until she found one, she too felt obligated to help George in any way she could.

Clearing her throat, Hannah began, “Lord Mansfield had the misfortune of losing a wager last night against the Masked Rogue. Now the exact sum is unknown because the Baron would not reveal it, but it is large enough that he might part with a property…”

“From whom do you hear what to report?” George asked.

“Oh, I cannot tell you that, Brother,” Hannah laughed. They had been asking her that question for a while and she refused to tell. Hannah was still far from finding the rogue’s identity, but she had managed to become thoroughly informed about where he went and what he did.

Now, Natalie wondered how much fortune he had amassed over the years through his wagers—and he won nearly everyone he made. “Does he truly favor women with red hair?” she asked.

“Yes, he does. Nearly every woman in his company has red hair or is wearing a red wig.”

George turned to look at Natalie, consternation widening his green eyes. A blush crept up her cheeks. “I am not asking because I have red hair, George,” she mumbled. “I am merely as curious as the ton is about him.”

“Well…” he cleared his throat, “we do not know if he is a gentleman. He certainly has the comportment of one but any scoundrel could pretend to be a gentleman, especially one behind a mask.”

Natalie’s thoughts veered onto a path that made her blush even though she had never seen the Masked Rogue. Blinking, she shifted in her seat and composed herself. Should she try to find him with her cousin’s help? She was no longer concerned about her reputation, and she could add a wish to her list. Find the Masked Rogue.

She was not sure what she would do if she found him but a kiss would be a good start. Yes, I should do this.

“I have yet to find where he lives,” Hannah complained, folding the sheet and sealing it.

“Why do you want to know where he lives?” Natalie asked, leaning slightly forward, which drew George’s attention and he cleared his throat. He had always been very protective of both Natalie and his sister.

“Why, I would be closer to finding his face once I have his address.”

The butler appeared in the doorway and George stood, saying, “I wish you luck, Sister.”

He offered Natalie his arm, and they moved to the dining room for dinner. As they began to eat, she noticed a change in George’s demeanor. “Is something the matter?”

His hesitation told her that it was about money. She disliked such discussions, and she should have grown accustomed to them by now, but she took a sip of her wine to prepare herself before asking, “What do you wish to talk about, George?”

“We need to further reduce our expenses,” he replied, looking dolefully from Natalie to Hannah.

“Lady Barton invited us to her autumn ball,” Hannah said, “but we do not have to attend, and if we must, then we will not have new dresses made. We shall wear one of our old ones.”

They were rarely invited to balls—even during the social season—and they were excited when they received an invitation last week. They planned to have new dresses because most of the ones they had were out of fashion. Natalie could make them new dresses, but they had wanted a proper modiste to do it so they could truly feel like they were part of the ton. The illusion of privilege was sometimes a salve for their wounds.

“Yes, I agree with Hannah,” Natalie said. “I can alter our old dresses and no one will know.”

George sighed, suddenly looking older than his age of two-and-thirty. He contemplated their suggestion for a moment before shaking his head. “No. My sisters shall have new dresses. They might not be the same as what you are accustomed to but you will have something new, nevertheless. Besides, the price of a dress is not very significant.” He smiled to brighten the place, and although they returned the gesture, the air remained heavy with the burdens on the family.

Hannah made to object, but Natalie stopped her with a look. “What else can we do?” It was evident that George was already feeling as though he had failed them. The best they could do for him was to accept what he was giving them. She silently promised to work harder to replace what they would spend on the new dresses.

“We have to dismiss some of the household. A maid or two should make a difference,” he suggested, “or we could reduce their wages.”

Natalie gently placed a hand on his arm. “It is better to dismiss them. We can give them good references that will enable them to find better situations.”

“Yes, you are correct. I would be lost without you two.” He gave them an appreciative smile. “Thank you.”

“What is the purpose of family if not to look after one another.” She took his hand, then frowned when she noticed, for the first time, how lean his fingers had become. George’s health suffered greatly for how much he exerted himself in his attempts to repay their debts and provide for them. He hid it well from them, but it was at times like this that Natalie noticed.

Guilt clenched her hut as she recalled the cause of it all. Oliver Bargrave had pronounced Jasper’s prank a scandal, and he came to her father and collected money from him for his silence. Months later, Oliver forced her father to give him a large part of his coal mining business using the scandal as leverage. Too afraid to have his daughter’s reputation ruined, her father agreed, and fell into debt trying to revive his remaining fortune.

The scandal remained hidden but the price was too much. As a result of their lost fortune, gentlemen avoided Natalie because she had no dowry, and when she reached the age of five-and-twenty, she was deemed a spinster.

George still owned a portion of the business but it was a very small one. Not once had Natalie’s father or George ever blamed her for what had happened, nor had they shown their displeasure in any way. She was immensely grateful to them, but her gratitude did nothing to assuage her guilt.

After dinner, George went to his study, while Hannah moved to the library to read. Left alone, Natalie decided to retire early. Within the walls of her room, the day’s events rattled in her thoughts.

Jasper will surely pay for what he had done to her family, but before then, she had a task she could complete with him. Kiss a proper gentleman. He was a perfect man in society’s eyes, thus, he qualified.

She rose from her chair in front of the hearth and walked to her vanity, assessing her appearance. Her pale blue lace dress complimented her red hair and gave her hazel eyes a green hue. Yes, she will kiss a proper gentleman tonight before she lost the unexpected courage she had gained.

Removing a black cloak from a rack and throwing it over her shoulders, she picked up her gloves and reticule, and she slipped out of her bedchamber, moving as quietly as she could. Her heart beat faster, and her eyes darted in every direction. She had never snuck out of the house before, and if George found her, not only would he prevent her from leaving but he would worry.

He also would never understand her list, especially because he still hoped she would find a good gentleman and marry. She descended the stairs and hurried toward the rear of the house where the servants’ entrance was located. Natalie opened it as quietly as she could and stepped out, closing it behind her.

She took a deep breath and walked down the alley to the street where she hired a hack, giving the driver Jasper’s address, a few miles outside the city of Westminster.

 As she settled in the carriage and flutters threatened to make her run back to the safety of Clifford House, she swallowed and took another steadying breath.

Tonight, the course of my life changes. I will not quail, she vowed.

Chapter Three

We have it on good authority that the Masked Rogue is a very sad man. A demi-monde, whose name we shan’t reveal, claimed to have seen grief in his gaze during an encounter. Many others have pronounced the same, and we believe that there is some truth to this tale.

Jasper opened the middle drawer of his desk, but instead of picking up the ledger he intended to retrieve, his hand found a black mask. He removed it and stared at it for a while, thinking.

He was the fifth Duke of Amsthorne, and like the last two before him, he was going to die in months. This mask had given him the chance to live as he pleased before their family curse would come to claim him. It saved him from tainting his family’s pristine reputation.

Jasper sighed as he continued to stare at the mask, realizing that he was lying to himself at this very moment. He was a coward who hid behind the Masked Rogue instead of living truthfully. He feared death, and that ought to have encouraged honesty. Now all of London—nay, England—wanted him.

That and the darkness of his curse shadowed every step he took, occupied every space in his thoughts, and consumed his dreams at night. His father and grandfather died at five-and-thirty from mysterious illnesses, and he was sure the same would happen to him. Jasper shut his eyes and ground his teeth, his heart aching anew. Dwelling upon this issue never did him well, and it would not suddenly whim to serve him. He must continue on the path he was on. Live the rest of his days as he pleased so he would die knowing he controlled what he could.

Placing the mask back in the drawer, he retrieved the ledger and set it atop his desk before gaining his feet, walking to a table by a bookshelf, and picking up a brandy decanter. A knock came as he was pouring a finger of brandy into a glass.

“Come in,” he called, walking back to his desk with his liquor. His aunt, Lady Phoebe Dawson, walked into the room, her dark eyebrows contracting when she saw the glass between his fingers. She never liked it when he drank. She also did not believe the curse.

“Should I have some tea brought in for you?” she asked, coming to sit in the chair before his desk.

“You would do anything to take my brandy away, would you not?” Jasper intoned. Phoebe was the only mother he had ever known. She was his late mother’s sister, and at the time of her passing, she made Phoebe promise to look after Jasper. Or so he was told.

“Quite so,” she replied, placing what looked like invitations on his desk. “Lady Barton invited us to her autumn ball. I am hoping you would attend…” she raised one dark eyebrow, “with Miss Gilmore.”

Jasper’s eyes rolled. The only reason he was paying Miss Gilmore any attention was because of his image as a duke, and to please his aunt. She had chosen her for him to court, and he obliged because he did not have long to live, and her happiness was important to him.

“Must I?” he asked, the corner of his mouth curving upward in jest.

“Yes, Jasper. Miss Gilmore is a very good young lady. She has the qualities to become a duchess.”

No, she does not, he was tempted to argue. Miss Gilmore was an arrogant chit without an inkling about how harsh life could be. He had been disgusted with her treatment of Lady Natalie, who was higher in rank, and appeared to be older, too. He had never seen her behave thusly before, but then she thought he was too far away to hear what she said.

Poor Lady Natalie had ostensibly been too surprised to defend herself, and he was happy to step in as her champion. She was also a delight to look at.

The Londoner was right about his tastes in women. Red hair roused his passion, and many of the demimondaines he knew wore red wigs to please him. He never asked them to, but he had a jolly when they did.

Lady Natalie was natural, and he wondered what she was like, and if he could find her. No, the proper question was if she would be willing to have his company. He would rather spend his days pretending to court her instead of Miss Gilmore.

“Jasper?”

His aunt’s voice interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up. “Hmm?”

“I asked if you would attend.”

Jasper nodded. He did not want to argue, and the more the days passed, the more he yearned for peace. He could never have internal peace, but he could have some in his household.

“I also think it is time you make your intentions towards Alexandra known in society,” Phoebe continued. “You should consider marrying her.”

Jasper immediately raised a hand to stop her. “You know I cannot do that.”

His aunt blinked. “Is this because of that silly curse?” Before he could respond, she continued with, “You would be happier if you removed that notion from your mind. There is no curse in this family, and that is all I am saying about that this evening.”

Phoebe had not been present when his father died. She did not see what Jasper had, and what had ultimately convinced him that this was a curse. She would never understand how selfish and cruel he would be if he married; to leave a young widow, and perhaps a child who would never know him, would plague his afterlife for eternity.

“I shall give it some thought,” he murmured to placate her, and after studying his face for a moment, she believed him.

“I saw the butler coming to give you a letter but I took it from him.” She set down a missive atop the invitations. One glance at the crest on the seal, and Jasper grinned.

It was from his dearest friend, Oliver Bargrave, the Earl of Ecklehill. Oliver had been journeying about the world for the past two years, and his letters were as rare as they were appreciated.

When he picked up the letter, his aunt decided to leave. She walked to the door, but before she opened it, she turned and said over her shoulder, “Miss Gilmore and I will be shopping tomorrow afternoon. You may promenade with her if you wish.”

“Yes,” Jasper said, opening the letter. “Goodnight Aunt Phoebe.” He heard her chuckle as she left. Shaking his head slightly, he read:

Amsthorne,

I have excellent news, my friend! By the time you read this letter, I will be on a ship bound for England. I hope to return before the snow settles.

I shall keep this letter short because I have much to tell you when I return. I hope you are not planning to marry yet, for I wish to be reacquainted with society. Who better to help me with that?

Sincerely,

Lord Ecklehill

Jasper smiled as he folded the letter. Oliver would return in time for his thirty-fifth birthday, and he will have the chance to bid him a proper farewell. Another knock sounded at his door and when he answered, his butler, Wayne, walked in.

“There is a caller for you, Your Grace.”

“Who is it?”

“A lady, Your Grace, but she would not give her name.”

Jasper glanced at the small clock on his desk. It was past ten and raining. What would a lady be doing in his manor at this time? “Are you certain she did not call upon my aunt?”

“I am, Your Grace. She specifically asked for an audience with you. She is in the drawing room.”

Surprised and curious, Jasper stood to find out who this lady was and what she wanted from him.

Be on the lookout for the full release on the Thursday the 12th!