Prologue
1814
A shock of dark hair lashed across his face as the rain pounded at him, but he hardly noticed it as he raced down the muddied road in his family’s carriage. He had taken it stealthily, without anyone in his household knowing, needing an escape from the pitying and somber looks of his servants. He knew they pitied him, and he detested the feeling. But he couldn’t entirely fault them for it.
Joshua Kingman, the Duke of Elmcroft, was a broken man.
For half a year, he had been a ghost of himself, haunting the halls of his manor, drowning his sorrows in drink. The very thought of confronting daylight without the veil of inebriation was agonizing. It was too painful. On his worst days, he prayed he would not wake up the next morning, yet fortune hadn’t granted him the escape.
Lifting the bottle of bourbon he had brought along with him on his impromptu ride through the wooded path, he pressed it to his lips and took a deep swig. The landscape before him twisted and rippled like a stream, and the cliffside to his right seemed to swerve menacingly close. Yet, he was indifferent to it all. He wanted to feel wholly and utterly numb—and that required more of that liquid fire. He snapped the reins of his horses, tearing through another speed barrier. Maybe if they ran fast enough, he could escape the feeling of betrayal that ripped at his heart.
Memories flashed through his foggy mind. Memories of her… Francesca. His beautiful, treacherous Francesca. He had been prepared to give her everything. His name, his protection, his fortune, his heart—yet, to her, nothing was enough.
And the night he had caught her entwined in the arms of Lord Townsend, kissing him furiously, had plunged him into a living nightmare. A nightmare from which he couldn’t awaken, no matter how hard he tried. A relentless torment, day after day, with no end in sight.
Constantly… constantly gnawing at his soul.
Joshua was so lost in his somber reveries and the haunting image that clung to him, that he failed to notice the sharp bend in the road ahead until he was nearly upon it. With a startled cry, he yanked on the reins, desperately trying to maneuver the horses around the turn. But the road, slick with rain and mud, betrayed him.
The carriage’s wheels skidded and faltered, and the steeds let out twin shrieks of terror as the shaft connecting them to the carriage snapped, unable to withstand the violent lurch of the vehicle. Suddenly, the horses were tearing down the path, dragging away a remnant of the carriage shaft with their reins trailing heavily behind them, while Joshua found himself careening in the opposite direction toward the cliff’s edge.
In a frantic effort to escape, Joshua tried to push himself off the carriage box but lost his footing and fell back, his head violently striking the metal backing of the seat. Pain exploded in his temple, and stars burst in his vision. He slumped over, struggling to cling to consciousness as the carriage continued to slide through the mud. Joshua did not realize he was slowing until the carriage almost miraculously came to a halt. Had he been saved? Had some divine entity reached its hand down and spared him a painful demise?
Joshua blinked into the dark and tried to clear the fog from his mind, but he was overwhelmed with the pain in his skull and could not pull himself entirely from its stupor. He was well aware he needed to climb out of the carriage, but he struggled to pull his limbs into motion. Perhaps he could just rest here a little longer and recover before trying to move again…
Right at that very moment, the carriage shifted ominously. Joshua, with great effort, squinted to his left. It was then he realized with a sinking heart he was perched on the very edge of the cliff… and the carriage’s wheels were beginning to slide, agonizingly slowly succumbing to the fragile, muddy cliff edge.
He needed to move. Needed to get to safety, yet his body felt impossibly heavy, his limbs feeling leaden. The seductive call to just close his eyes and succumb, to end the relentless pain and grief, felt nearly irresistible. And so he did, leaning his head back and letting his body slump in his seat. Perhaps this was for the best. It would bring his pain to an end, at least. Perhaps he should simply accept the fate he had been praying over for months. It would be so easy just to let himself fall…
The cliffside gave way completely, and the carriage began to topple over the edge. Joshua resigned himself to his fate, but just as he was tipping with the carriage to tumble over, he felt a force grasp the front of his body. The next thing he knew, he was lying flat on slick but solid ground. His head continued to swim, and his vision blurred as he fought to keep his eyes open. Had he fallen? Was he dead?
He had assumed death would be a lot more painful than it was… yet the only pain he felt stemmed from where he had struck his head.
Just then, a vague figure appeared over him with blonde hair cascading in wet strands around its face. A sparkle flashed in his eye. An angel. It had to be an angel.
Joshua could not make out the features of his saving angel. Her face was blurred by the rain, shadows, and his wavering vision.
He fought to remain conscious. Yet, as she tenderly caressed his face and hair, her soothing voice began to drift him into a deep slumber.
“You are all right,” she murmured in the sweetest voice he had ever listened to. “A wilting flower can still reach the sun. There is still time to right whatever wrongs you are running from.”
How could she know that? She really must be an angel.
Joshua could not keep his eyes open any longer, though. He wanted to stay there in that moment with her and find out who she was, but he was quickly slipping out of consciousness, and there was nothing he could do to battle the exhaustion. Her gentle strokes on his cheek were the last sensation he felt as he drifted off into a sweet… black oblivion.
***
He woke with a start, letting out a shout as he sat up in a rush. A mistake he instantly regretted when his head began to throb. With a groan, he dropped his head into his hands and squeezed his eyes shut.
After several moments, the pain in his temple dulled enough that he could raise his head and open his eyes. Glancing around, Joshua was surprised to find himself in his bedchamber at Elmcroft. The curtains over the windows were pulled, and a fire was crackling in the hearth of the large stone fireplace across the room from him. It was warm and a touch stuffy, and yet he still felt a chill that made the hair on his arms stand on end.
He could not remember anything that had happened after the carriage had gone over the cliff. No… that was not true. He remembered her. He remembered the angel who had saved him. Now that he was nearly sober and in a tolerable amount of pain, he could think more rationally. She had obviously not been an angel but a flesh and blood woman. He could not recall precisely what she looked like… only that she had blonde hair that remained golden, even under the downpour of rain and the darkness of night.
He also remembered the words she had whispered in his ear.
“…a wilting flower can still reach the sun.”
What had she meant by that? Was he the wilting flower? Her cryptic words were nearly as intriguing to him as the woman herself. If he could figure out their meaning, perhaps he could figure out who she was.
As Joshua’s mind was racing with the possibilities of who his savior could have been, the door of his bedchamber creaked harshly, and his palms shot to his ears to dampen the pain. The butler, Mr. Warren, entered the room somberly.
When Warren spotted Joshua sitting up in his bed, the butler’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“Your Grace!” he exclaimed, hurrying across the room. “You are alive!”
Though well into his fifties, Mr. Warren maintained a degree of youth and vigor that would be enviable to men half his age. He had been working for the Kingman family for as long as Joshua could recall, a good, loyal man who took the care of the household and Elmcroft Duchy very seriously. His black-trim livery coat and white high-collared shirt were perfectly pressed, complementing his white tucked-back hair, and a representation of a man who took great pride in his appearance. But his exaggerations and matter-of-fact statements were a touch intolerable at times.
“Of course I’m alive,” Joshua grumbled, finally lowering his hands. The sharp tinge of alcohol on his nightstand reached his nostrils, and it was then he realized how desperately his body was craving a drink. “How long have I been unconscious, Warren?”
“Approximately… seven hours by my speculations, Your Grace,” Warren answered, bending over to inspect the bandage wrapped around Joshua’s head. “You gave us quite a fright, I must confess.”
“How did I get back here?”
“Lord Townsend was passing by in his carriage and found you lying on the side of the road,” Warren explained. “He and his driver picked you up and brought you home.”
Townsend. Blast my pride.
But it was not the time to be scoffing at his blessings.
“And the woman?” Joshua asked.
Warren stopped inspecting Joshua’s bandage and gazed down at him with a frown.
“Woman? What woman, Your Grace?”
Joshua frowned. “The woman who pulled me from the carriage before it fell over the cliff. She’s the reason I’m still alive.”
Furrowing his brow, Warren shook his head. “I apologize, Your Grace. A woman was not mentioned. When Lord Townsend came upon you, you were entirely alone.”
Joshua did not understand. He was convinced the woman had been real.
“You are certain?” he pressed. “There was no one else with me?”
“Absolutely not. Though, if I may speak out of turn, you did suffer a serious injury to your head, Your Grace. Perhaps you imagined someone who was not there. Nonetheless, if it eases your concerns, I can send a note to Lord Townsend to confirm—”
“No, that won’t be necessary,” he interrupted with a wave of the hand.
Joshua was positive there had been a woman, but despite his certainty, he was well aware that his head wound and intoxication might make his claim a little dubious to anyone who was not present.
And as a Duke, he did not want to give anyone a reason to think him addle-minded, nor fuel any speculations about his mental state. Convinced yet cautious, he decided not to pursue the matter with Warren any further.
His rescuer had disappeared before anyone could discover her with him for some reason. He could only imagine why that was. Had Lord Townsend’s carriage startled her? Surely she would not have left Joshua alone for long if she had gone through so much trouble to rescue him in the first place.
Curious. It was all so curious.
“Ah, lay back, Your Grace,” Warren coaxed, pulling Joshua from his musings. “You must rest. Sir Barrows should be returning on the hour to check on you, and forgive my frankness but he will have my head if I am the reason your recovery is delayed.”
Releasing a long breath, Joshua obeyed and sank back into his pillows. Staring up at the canvas above his bed, he let his mind wander back to his mysterious blonde angel. Who in the world could she possibly be?
In that moment, Joshua resolved to find her. He owed her his life, and it was a debt that Joshua would make sure to pay… no matter how many years it may take.
Chapter One
5 Years Later
If Jane Austen penned my life, Mr. Darcy would undoubtedly be galloping around the corner to sweep me off my feet at any moment. Alas, I must be content with merely reading about the romances of others while I pursue a more practical path. For the sake of Papa.
A gentle breeze brushed her cheeks, bearing the slight fresh dew of the morning, but she hardly noticed. Lady Francesca Nightingale, daughter of the Baron of Oakvale, was entirely engrossed in her book as she made her way along the walking path she ventured down every morning.
Oh, how she doted on her morning walks. The countryside was so still and quiet as the day had not quite started, yet lively and vibrant with the day’s expectations, and she could imagine she was the only person in the whole world. It was during these tranquil moments that she indulged in her reading. Truthfully, any spare moment found her absorbed in her books. She would grow lost in her stories, her imagination running wild as she fantasized about the faraway lands and exciting adventures described. There was very little chance she could ever see the exotic lands she read about for herself, so she devoured every tome she could find to learn more about the wider world.
Yet, beneath it all, Francesca found solace in her station in life. In many ways, she was very blessed. Her father adored her and gave her everything he could despite his low status among the peerage and lack of wealth. When she was a girl, her father had more means by which to provide a comfortable life for the both of them, but greed and treachery had stolen that blessing. Thankfully, they were able to remain in their quaint little manor nestled in the countryside, though the means to keep it as it once was had faded. Francesca chose not to dwell on the past losses but instead focused her energy on supporting her father, striving together to lift themselves from the brink of poverty they now faced.
And all her determination had finally paid off, for she was close to achieving that dream now that she would shortly be engaged.
There was much for her to look forward to… she just needed to keep her head held high and continue down the path she had diligently carved out for herself.
At the murmur of voices approaching, Francesca froze. Her morning strolls were ordinarily solitary affairs and she liked to keep them that way, but owing to the lovely sun-kissed skies, the route she had taken today was slightly longer than her usual, flanked by a simple gate opening to expansive fields on one side and a low stone wall on the other, leaving little room to make an escape. She cast a quick, desperate glance around the bare expanse. As she weighed her limited options, a couple crested over a nearby knoll.
Francesca’s body tensed as her eyes fell upon the unmistakably resplendent attire of the Duke of Elmcroft, and her body stiffened with immediate tension. A young lady was accompanying him, her chaperone not far behind. It took Francesca a moment, but then she recalled the lady’s name was Susan Moore, daughter of the Earl of Gladstone. Francesca had encountered her a time or two at different social gatherings, but the two had never been officially introduced.
The Duke, however, was another matter entirely. She had known him since her childhood, and it was not an acquaintance she relished. He was haughty and arrogant and looked down on her because of her significantly lower station. When she had been a naïve child, she had thought herself in love with him, mistaking his indifference for mystery. But he had never treated her kindly, nor spared a kind word for her, and she had never understood why it was. What had she possibly done to earn his cold disdain?
As fate would have it, the Duke’s eyes caught hers as she stood frozen on the path, prompting him to halt abruptly too. His scowl was one of annoyance, which she met with a defiant glare of her own.
Lady Susan appeared oblivious to the animosity thickening the air between Francesca and the Duke. She seemed surprised to see Francesca, but then pasted on a sugary sweet smile that did not seem quite as pleasant as she might have thought.
“Ah, Lady Francesca,” Lady Susan declared. “What a pleasant surprise!”
Francesca was momentarily taken aback, not expecting Lady Susan to recognize her.
“Good morning, Lady Susan.” Her attention flicked back to the Duke for a brief moment as she offered a brisk, polite curtsy. “Your Grace.”
“Lady Francesca,” the Duke murmured. “Rather early to be wandering about, is it not? Alone at that?”
Francesca clenched her jaw. “I find the early morning most conducive to exercise. It is usually quiet and peaceful. And there is hardly any need for an escort when I am merely walking along my father’s property line.”
“It is indeed quite refreshing out,” Lady Susan quickly intervened. She gazed up tenderly at the Duke from beneath her long lashes. “Lord Elmcroft was generously showing me his lovely meadows here. I have long wished to see them.”
Francesca felt a wave of resentment. “Ah, yes… the Oakvale Meadows are indeed beautiful.”
Beautiful, lucrative, and once a source of her family’s pride. That was until, through some cunning maneuver, the Duke had found means to take it from them. Now, the meadows that bore her father’s title were no longer his property. It was an injustice that Francesca had grown bitter over.
It was one of the many reasons her feelings for the Duke had so drastically changed.
Still, why did such a vile man have to be so handsome? He was tall and lean, with broad shoulders and a muscular frame, tapering down to long, powerful legs. His dark hair reminded her of rich, warm chocolate, framing equally delicious eyes, and the sharp, stubbled contour of his jaw lent him a roguish charm. He seemed to always be clad in black or gray lavish attires, adorned by expensive fineries, which she thought was fitting, as it made him appear more of a villain… albeit a beautiful one.
Francesca forced such thoughts from her mind. She could not let herself forget that, despite his pleasing exterior, he was rotten to his very soul and not a man to be trusted, nor admired.
“Yes, a point of pride for the Duchy,” he declared, giving Francesca a pointed look. “An ancient holding briefly lost to us but recently transferred back.”
Francesca clutched her book so tightly that her knuckles whitened with the strain.
“One would think such a transfer would be unnecessary after so many centuries,” she countered, her civility thinly veiling the bitterness. “Yet, it appears it is difficult for some to overlook their ambitions at the expense of others.”
The Duke’s gaze sharpened. “And others might find it difficult to acknowledge when a wrong has been made right, by no fault of anyone involved. Though I suppose it is a complex matter, likely too intricate for a young lady to grasp. Such concerns are typically resolved amongst gentlemen after all.”
Oh, how she wished she could slap that smug look right off his face. She controlled her temper, however, reminding herself that she was a lady and would not conduct herself in an unseemly manner. No matter how much the Duke might deserve it.
No one else in the world riled her like he did. Every interaction between them seemed like a battle of wills and wits, and she tried to come out the victor as often as she could. He looked down on her as it was and she did not wish to give him any more fodder for his disdain.
Turning her attention to Lady Susan, Francesca beamed, “My lady, your charm is especially radiant today. The yellow of the gown is utterly becoming on you. I must have my father purchase one in kind for myself.”
Lady Susan responded with a girlish giggle and flutter of her lashes, waving a gloved hand gracefully.
“Oh, how kind of you to say, my dear,” she answered, her voice dripping with a condescension that didn’t quite hide behind her younger age. “Mama has been quite insistent on refreshing my wardrobe this season. She is quite set on seeing me settled soon.” Her eyes flickered back to the Duke, who seemed to make a point of ignoring her, before returning to Francesca. “Papa had hoped I would be wed last year, but I was adamant about waiting another season. I wouldn’t want to settle for just anyone, after all..” She slipped her arm around the Duke’s, making her claim of him clear.
A flicker of old emotions stirred in Francesca at the sight, the remnants of what she once felt for the Duke, but she dismissed them with ease. “I wish you the best of luck,” Francesca told her with an icy smile. “I am sure any gentleman would be fortunate to have you for his own.”
“Indeed,” Lady Susan agreed. “What of you, though, Lady Francesca? Have you not been courting Lord Liam Terrell?”
Once more, Francesca was stunned that Lady Susan knew such details about her life. The lady had apparently been paying much more attention to her than Francesca had ever paid in return.
“…Yes, it is true,” she answered with a nod. She did not offer any further information as she felt somewhat uneasy to be discussing the topic with the pair.
But then, Lady Susan gave her a look that could only be described as a mockery of sympathy. “You poor thing,” she sighed. “I do not know that my heart could handle a gentleman with such an… indulgent reputation.”
Francesca frowned, her nails almost puncturing the leather cover of her book now.
“I am afraid I do not quite understand what you mean,” she murmured.
Lady Susan shook her head. “You shouldn’t fret, my dear. I imagine your choices for a suitor are rather limited, so of course you turn a blind eye to Lord Terrell’s indiscretions. I’m certain anyone in your predicament would do the same.”
Francesca gaped at the younger woman’s words. Whatever unpleasantness she might encounter with the Duke paled in comparison to the vile venom Lady Susan was spitting at her now. What was worse was that she delivered it with a saccharine smile. At least when the Duke insulted Francesca, he did not try to hide his animosity behind a seemingly friendly mask.
“Lady Susan,” the Duke interjected sharply, gazing down at her with wide eyes. “Such remarks are unbecoming of a lady.”
Lady Susan gazed up at him with an expression of pure, innocent confusion.
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace,” she pouted. “Did I say something out of turn? I believed I was merely offering a compliment.”
Unable to endure another moment of the veiled insults, Francesca turned sharply, her exit as dignified as it was swift, and began her retreat down the path from where she came.
“Lady Francesca, wait!”
Francesca hesitated briefly, glancing over her shoulder to see the Duke hastening after her. She bit back tears and rolled her eyes in a feeble attempt at defiance. “Your Grace, I believe it is best I return home,” her voice cracked, betraying her effort to suppress a sob. “I have never sought your concern, nor do I desire your pity.”
“Lady Susan was out of line,” he began after finally reaching her. Lady Susan, still being within earshot, looked appalled by his words. “I apologize on her behalf for any offense she may have caused.”
Francesca stared up at Elmcroft, baffled that he was apologizing to her. Did he truly care that she was upset? No. Of course he did not. She would have thought he would enjoy seeing her humiliated, especially given his usual enjoyment of her discomfiture.
“Good day, Your Grace,” she murmured dismissively, unwilling to extend any gesture of forgiveness to the man who had made it his pastime to cause her offense. With that, she turned away, steadfastly ignoring his call after her.
Francesca did not look back once as she hurried home. When she was certain she was out of sight of the Duke and Lady Susan, she broke into a sprint, only slowing as she approached her family’s manor. It was a modest and well-kept house, standing in stark contrast to the grand estates that neighbored them. Despite their lack of staff, Francesca made certain that the home was clean and cared for. Still, there were some hedges that needed tending to, and vines were taking over the western wall. The roof also leaked, and on windy days, one could hear the air whistling past the aged window frames. Each was a reminder of the grandeur they once held—that was stolen from them by that vile man.
Still, Francesca thought the house was beautiful and took pride in caring for it.
When she reached the front door, she paused and took a moment to catch her breath before going inside. The house was quiet, but she had expected that. What little help her father could afford consisted of a cook, a single maid, and an elderly gardener. They all lived in the nearby village and only came to the house a few days a week. Today was not one of their work days, and so Francesca was alone, as her father was also away conducting business in Town.
So, it was quite a startling surprise when she heard noises coming from her father’s study as she passed by the door. Francesca stopped, her heart in her throat. Cautiously, she approached the door, nudging it open just enough to peer inside. A figure was standing behind her father’s large wooden desk, rifling through the papers resting on its top. It took her a moment to place the man.
“Oh! Mr. Campbell!” she burst out, throwing the door open and entering the room. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Father is away, but I am certain you know that.”
Mr. Robert Campbell, the family’s solicitor and her father’s confidant, met her gaze with a red face and a damp brow. His expression was grave and his eyes filled with a sorrow that sent Francesca’s stomach twisting as a shiver traveled up her spine.
“Mr. Campbell…?”
“Forgive me, my lady,” he blurted, his voice laden with distress. “I have been awaiting your arrival. I am terribly sorry, but I must inform you that there has been a tragedy. Your father, the Baron, has passed away.”
Chapter Two
“What?” Francesca’s voice was barely audible. “W-what are you saying? My father is dead? How? When? But he was just—”
Mr. Campbell gave her a sympathetic look and hurried forward to grab hold of her shoulders.
“A carriage accident on his return from Town,” he told her in a gentle tone, guiding her to her father’s favorite armchair in front of the desk. “He was on his way across the Smalling Hills when the driver lost control upon a ridge road. The carriage was overturned and your father was tossed… Forgive me, my lady. I should not be telling you the details.”
Francesca’s head began shaking in disbelief as tears streamed down her cheeks. She clutched Mr. Campbell’s hand as she released a heart-wrenching sob. The solicitor did not object, nor try to pull from her grip. He merely stood in silence, patting her gently on the back as she wept, feeling her heart shrivel and die.
“No, no, this can’t be happening,” she whimpered. “He cannot be dead! Please tell me this is just another of my terrible dreams. Please!”
“My lady, I wish I could tell you otherwise,” Mr. Campbell murmured. “Oh, I am truly sorry, my dear.”
His mere presence was a small comfort, as Mr. Campbell had always been like family to her. Yet, Francesca did not believe there was anything that could mend the deep sorrow tearing through her soul presently.
After allowing her a few more precious moments to mourn, Mr. Campbell gently spoke again, “My lady, I understand it may be difficult to focus on anything but your loss at present, but there is an urgent matter that must be addressed. It concerns your father’s final requests, and there is… a limited time to fulfill them.”
Francesca was tempted to ignore him, to continue drowning in her pity and tears, but she knew her father would expect her to rise to the challenges that lay before her. He would not have wanted her to succumb to despair, but to uphold his final wishes for the sake of the Nightingale name and her own.
Shaking her head, she took a few more moments to compose herself, just enough so that she could hold her head up and face the solicitor as the new woman of the family.
With a sniffle, she asked, “What… what were my father’s last wishes?”
Mr. Campbell inhaled deeply before revealing, “In his final moments, he had apparently instructed his driver that he wanted his death kept under wraps. Only I am aware of this, and the driver has vowed silence in return for not being reported for his part in the accident.”
Francesca furrowed her brow, confused. “I—I don’t understand. Why would he want his death kept secret?”
“Regrettably, your father was so focused on rescuing you both from financial difficulties, that he neglected to revise his will. As it stands, the estate is set to pass to your cousin, Lord Gerard, and you would not be able to access your inheritance until you were married. And because you’d be expected to enter mourning, Lord Terrell may not be willing to wait and could pursue another match. And with Lord Gerard’s unpredictability and his… forgive me for being blunt but predilection for gambling, there is no telling where it could leave the last of the Oakvale fortune before you can even access it. Your father was a wise man, even in his final breaths.”
Francesca stared at the solicitor in shock. “You mean to say… I could be left with nothing?”
He nodded. “Yes, but do not fear. I shall manage the situation where it concerns the Baron Oakvale. However, it is crucial for you to secure your marriage before the news of his death is made public.”
“I… I can try,” she murmured, her mind racing with the countless scenarios that could unravel and leave her worse off. How precisely was she supposed to accomplish such a task without her father’s presence, let alone guidance?
“There happens to be… one more caveat I have neglected to mention, unfortunately,” Mr. Campbell added in a low tone, interrupting her thoughts. “You can no longer remain here.”
“Excuse me?” Francesca exclaimed, rising quickly. “Why in heaven must I be forced to abandon my own home?”
The solicitor gave a somber shake of the head. “My lady, the remaining staff will be dismissed, and managing the manor alone isn’t feasible,” he replied stoically. “Furthermore, if news were to spread that the Baron has abandoned you to your devices at Oakvale Manor while dismissing the staff, it might lead to… unsavory suspicions.”
Though she didn’t particularly care for the inference, Francesca recognized the truth in his words. There were already countless rumors circulating around the Nightingale family, with her father’s continuous absences which many saw as neglect toward a daughter of a marriageable age. Worse, some had even attempted to take advantage of her father’s absence and the lack of staff by breaking into her home to steal whatever valuables they had left. Thankfully, the presence of the lone gardener had warded off future attempts, and so she had refrained from mentioning it to her father, who was already burdened with other responsibilities. She would no longer have the luxury with the staff being dismissed.
Reluctantly, she nodded. “Very well, I shall stay with my Aunt Priscilla—”
“Pardon me, but I must advise against that also,” Mr. Campbell hastily objected. “If you stay with your aunt, Lord Gerard may grow suspicious and discover the truth of your father. No, no, it is imperative you stay away from the Townsends and uphold normalcy in their presence. In the meantime, you must find somewhere else to stay, somewhere that you may court Lord Terrell as usual without overburdening the either of you or raising suspicions. If I may give my opinion, preferably somewhere between the Hawthorne Downs and Elmcroft.”
Francesca’s brows drew together in a frown, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Where then?” she demanded, frustration and hopelessness blurring her vision. “Where am I supposed to go?”
Mr. Campbell appeared apologetic but shook his head nonetheless. “I am afraid I do not have an answer to that.”
Of course… she had learned at a very young age to never expect any measure of leniency under such dire circumstances after what her father had to go through. She turned away from Mr. Campbell and tucked her hands in between her thighs as she pondered carefully over her options. She needed a solution. But who could she rely on? She had no other family besides her aunt and cousin. She had no real acquaintances she could call upon at this time—her fair-weather friends had deserted her after her father’s fortunes dwindled.
As she considered her limited choices, only one name constantly sprang to mind, and she wanted to groan with fury and frustration.
There was one person who might be able to help her. One person who would not try to take advantage of her vulnerable position… simply because he thought himself far too superior.
In her direst moment of desperation, it appeared the only person she could turn to, was the very man she detested most… the Duke of Elmcroft
“Heaven help me,” she muttered under her breath. “To save my home, I must relinquish my pride.”
“Pardon, my lady?” Mr. Campbell asked.
Facing him once more, Francesca let out a resigned sigh. “Nothing, Mr. Campbell. I assure you, I shall do my best to uphold my end of the bargain. Pray, just grant me a fortnight’s reprieve.”
***
Perhaps she will be in attendance at the Pemberton’s ball. She has to be out there, somewhere, and Lord knows she will not show up at my door.
Joshua sat before the escritoire in his study, sifting through a pile of invitations for various social events – balls, soirees, and gatherings of all kinds. He was not particularly fond of such events, but they were part of his ongoing effort to find the woman who had saved him from the perilous carriage accident five years prior. Since Warren’s confused words on the day he had regained consciousness, Joshua had scarcely mentioned her to anyone, expecting to be met with a similarly pitiful look and inferences that he had temporarily lost his mind. But deep down, he had not given up his hope of seeing her again.
As of yet, however, his search had been fruitless. It was not surprising, given he hadn’t an inkling of an idea where to even begin looking for her. All he remembered was her blonde hair and the gentleness of her touch. Still, he reasoned she had to live somewhere in the area. Otherwise, there would have been no reason for her to be walking the cliffside under such perilous weather conditions to save him in the first place.
Joshua recognized that his search for his mysterious angel had become his secret obsession, but he did not care. His focus on finding his rescuer had at least helped him to overcome his heartbreak over Francesca. Now he could think of her without feeling anything in particular. She was neither a source of pain, grief, nor desire. She was nothing to him, and he was still rather stunned that he had allowed himself to fall into such an abominable state of being for as long as he had. After his brush with death, he had pulled himself together. He had put aside the drink and resumed his responsibilities to his title and estate, albeit with a lot less conviction. Regardless, it had been an enlightening experience, being on the brink of leaving behind everything.
Ever since, he vowed no woman would ever cause him to sink so low again. Joshua had no intentions of marrying or trusting another lady… with the only, albeit imprudent, exception being his guardian angel. Were he to ever find her, he might propose to her on the spot. She was the only lady he would ever even consider giving his heart to. And the chances of that happening were slim anyhow.
As he continued to sort through his pile of summonses, a knock on the heavy-oak door interrupted his reveries.
“Yes?” he called out.
The door opened a crack and Warren lumbered inside. He appeared troubled and hesitant, which made Joshua frown.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Your Grace, you have a… guest at the door.”
Confused, Joshua pushed to his feet and moved around his desk. “A guest? At this hour?”
It was late into the night, and pouring rain. The only person he could think of that might call on him so late was his friend Benedict, but even he would have sent a note ahead informing… or rather warning Joshua of his imminent arrival. Moreover, if it had been Benedict, Warren would have had difficulties preventing him from reaching Joshua’s study to begin with.
Then, he grasped the emphasis the butler had put on the word ‘door’. “Door? You mean to say they are not waiting in the drawing room?”
Warren shook his head, his brows furrowed tremendously. “No, Your Grace. The young lady refuses to enter the house until you have personally invited her.”
A lady? At this time of night?
Joshua’s mind began to race as he tried to puzzle out who it might be. A part bedmate? There were quite a number, but would any of them dare show up at his home unannounced?
“Will you not just tell me who it is?” he demanded of Warren.
The butler slowly shook his head. “I believe it would be best to go and see for yourself, Your Grace.”
Now, Joshua’s curiosity could not be contained.
“Very well,” he exhaled, rising from his warm damask armchair and striding with conviction past rows of aged books once belonging to his father, before reaching his butler. “This mysterious act of yours had better be worth it, Warren.”
Joshua strode on, navigating the bare corridors of his ancestral home, barren from his neglect and unwillingness to play the part of the perfect Duke when he was alone. He could only scoff at the past portraits of stern ancestors that seemed to scrutinize his every move, as he went to receive the damsel he had likely just bedded and forgotten.
And why should I care? The games of the aristocracy were about to condemn me to a fate with the one-who-shall-not-be-named, sentencing me to a life of a miserable husband. All for the mere elevation of my family’s standing. Pah!
Approaching the front door, his hand grasped the heavy brass doorknob worn smooth from generations of use and yanked it open. The sight that greeted him halted him in his tracks.
There, on his doorstep, stood Francesca Nightingale, utterly drenched from the waterfall. Raindrops glistened on her skin, trailing down her neck and disappearing into the soaked neckline of her dress. A dress that was sopping and translucent, accentuating the curves of her breasts and hips and leaving little to the imagination. Her blonde hair, ordinarily coiffed untidily—a clear testament to having attempted it herself, now lay in damp tendrils around her face, framing it with an unintentional seductiveness.
Joshua bit back his imaginings fiercely to prevent them from wandering off to more wanton thoughts, and it was then he noticed she was clutching a heavy suitcase in both hands.
“Lady—Lady Francesca? What in God’s name are you doing here?”
She raised her blue eyes to meet his, her face set firmly, her jaw clenched with the same resolve he had witnessed no less than twelve hours ago during his morning stroll with Lady Susan Moore. Was she returning to make a final point? That thought did seem quite silly, but he would not expect much less from the young lady.
“Your Grace, I must ask something of you that is not… easy for me,” she began. There was a waver in her tone and Joshua’s face suddenly grew solemn. It was only now that he noted her eyes were a touch red and slightly swollen. Had she been weeping?
“…What is it?” he inquired.
“Could I possibly stay here?” she asked in a soft voice. “Only for a fortnight. No more.”
Joshua was confused. No, he was stunned and utterly bewildered. He stared at her, speechless, for a long moment. He had no idea what to make of it all. She gazed up at him coyly from beneath long lashes, her usually cold eyes brimming with vulnerability and distress that might have struck a chord in his heart if it hadn’t already been ripped to shreds.
He was not certain what possessed him to do so, but without demanding any further explanation, he stepped aside, allowing Francesca to enter his home, her gown soaked and boots caked in mud.
Look out for the full release on the 2nd of Februrary!
