Chapter One

1816

London, England

“He is the most notorious rake there is, Bridget. Pray, do not set your cap at him!”

Laughter filled the chamber, as it so often did, but it was laughter that Evelyn was not encouraged to be a part of. She sat up straighter in the window seat, pausing with her embroidery of the fine gown in her lap.

Today was the first day in many years that she had dared to pull the gown out of its hiding place in her closet. Her mother’s dress was a beautiful thing, if perhaps a little old-fashioned, with capped sleeves and a heavy amount of embroidery on the brocade of the bodice. Still, it was beautiful, and far finer than anything else Evelyn owned.

It is right that I wear it tonight. If Mr. Windham is to propose to me, what other gown should I wear?

She was taking down the hem, determined that everything should be just right for the proposal. As she attempted to return her concentration to the hem of the dress to accommodate for her tall height, her cousin’s laughter disturbed her once more.

Evelyn’s chin jerked up a little, the loose red curls of her hair falling past her cheeks as she looked at her cousins.

Hester, the eldest, and by far the most beautiful and fashionable of her cousins, was waving a scandal sheet in the air. Despite her propensity for gossip, Evelyn was fond of Hester. She was the kindest of her cousins.

Bridget, the middle of the three sisters, was the most proper. Upon learning the man Hester had been speaking of, and the one she herself had been daydreaming over was a rake, she held a hand over her lips and gasped.

“Ha! I am surprised you did not know,” Katherine, the third and youngest sister declared as she sauntered into the room. With bright blonde hair, she was petite and pretty, and she shared this bedchamber with Evelyn, something Evelyn was secretly glad for, though she would tell no one why. “He is indeed a notorious rake, though it is hardly surprising Hester knows so much about him.”

“I beg your pardon.” Hester tossed down the scandal sheet and stood with her hands on her hips, her outrage imminent.

Evelyn held back her smile of amusement, raising the sewing closer to her face to mask her expression. She often felt left out from her three cousins when they took part in such scandalous conversations. After all, she was not one of the sisters, and it was emphasized in the difference of her looks, with her rich red hair when they were all blonde.

“I merely meant that you are interested in the Duke of Ravensworth’s friend, are you not? How often have we seen Lord Linfield by your side recently?” Kitty asked with mischief, dancing around her sister teasingly.

“Kitty, one should not talk about another’s suitor,” Bridget reprimanded. Despite her concern for propriety, as she sat down on the edge of Evelyn’s bed, she snatched up the scandal sheet and continued to read. “What do you know about the Duke of Ravensworth then, Hester?”

“Oh, you’re still interested, are you?” Hester looped her arm around the bedpost and moved closer to her sister. “I know that his name has been in the scandal sheets for the last eight years at least. Lord Linfield is dear friends with him, and they have been ever since they were children. From what I understand, the Duke has no other close acquaintances.”

How lonely.

Evelyn felt a twinge of sympathy for this mysterious Duke, for she knew loneliness in a crowded room all too well. Ever since she had been brought to this house after her parents’ deaths, she’d felt it. She could be surrounded by her cousins, but so different to them, the quiet one in the corner, she was unable to take part in their exciting lives.

No, the Duke must be very different. After all, if he is a rake, he certainly knows how to charm and seek out the company he wishes for, does he not?

Evelyn felt a little envy fill her up now as she wondered what it would be like to have such power of flirtation and charm.

“Enough of the Duke of Ravensworth.” Kitty waved a hand in the air. “He is unlikely ever to have much to do with us. Now, who we should be speaking about, is Lord Linfield.” She took Hester’s shoulders and steered her to sit down on the edge of Evelyn’s bed too.

Evelyn looked at her bed, recognizing the usual problem. Soon enough, her bed would be scruffy from them sitting on it like a common chair. Hester was the only one who ever really noticed they made a mess of Evelyn’s things. She jumped up at once, trying to straighten the covers, but to little avail as Kitty just plopped herself back down on the sheets.

“Do you think he will ever ask for your hand?” Kitty asked excitedly, leaning toward her sister. “Lady Hester Linfield, a countess! Imagine that.”

The three sisters giggled together before Bridget seemed to catch herself and shake her head, realizing she should not be giggling in such a fashion. She stood and hurried out of the room, mumbling something about being immature and returning soon.

“Oh, I don’t know, Kitty…” Hester sighed, waving away her question. “Lord Linfield is kind indeed. And there is something incredibly endearing about him.” The way her voice had softened captured Evelyn’s attention.

She looked up from her needlework, staring at her cousin. Hester spoke of Lord Linfield in a way that Evelyn never spoke of her own suitor. Hester had turned almost wistful, running a handkerchief back and forth through her hands as she wandered the room, a dreamy smile on her thin lips. She was classically beautiful, with stunning dark eyes and a sharp nose.

“Yet I cannot speak of his heart. I do not yet know how he feels about me,” Hester shrugged, noncommittally. She turned and when her eyes fell on Evelyn, she smiled warmly. “Who we should be asking about proposals is, of course, Evelyn.”

“Me? Ow.” Evelyn accidentally pricked herself with the needle. She muttered under her breath as she shook out the pain in her finger, praying she would not get blood on the gown.

“Evelyn?” The humored smile slipped from Kitty’s lips. “Surely her suitor does not mean to propose.”

“You think not?” Hester laughed at her sister. “Then, in my humble opinion, Kitty, you still have some growing up to do. You need more experience of the ton and courtship.” Hester crossed the room and sat down beside Evelyn, nudging her with her elbow. “Has your suitor not done everything a suitor should do?”

“Yes, I suppose,” Evelyn muttered, her eyes only fixed on her needlework. “He has sent flowers and gifts. We dance twice at every event.” Yet she noticed there was something missing in her tone. She had not talked in that wistful way that Hester had done, nor did her cheeks blush as Hester’s had.

Marrying for love, eh? It had once seemed like the perfect idea.

Evelyn had a stash of books under her bed that told romantic tales of women marrying for love. She knew her parents had been one such love match, though the older she got, the more she saw that it was not always possible.

“Mr. Windham is so boring though.” Kitty knelt on Evelyn’s bed and puffed out her cheeks in emphasis. “Trust you, Evelyn, to find the dullest man in the ton.”

“Kitty!” Hester said sharply in reprimand, but Kitty gave no sign of having heard her.

“He is dull. Dull, dull, dull! A breeze has more to it than Mr. Windham does.”

“But he has been very attentive to our Evelyn.” Hester smiled as she sat forward on the edge of the window seat, nudging Evelyn once again, though in a softer manner this time. “Ignore Kitty. She is simply envious that you have attention and she does not.”

“I am not!” Kitty complained, the youth in her coming through in her voice. “I just do not understand why Evelyn would wish to marry a man like him.”

Well, neither do I…

Evelyn kept the thought to herself as she returned her focus to the hem of the gown. Mr. Windham was indeed attentive and kind. Over recent months, she had decided that would be enough. She could not have her head in the clouds all the time and expect love when it was not always possible. No, Mr. Windham would suit her well enough.

At the very least, if he did propose, it would be a way out of this life, far from being the one left in the corners of every room alone. Rather than being the wallflower in her own home, as a wife, she would have more independence.

That is what I long for these days.

“Will you say yes if he asks you to marry him tonight?” Hester said excitedly, leaning toward her.

“We are leaping to conclusions, are we not?” Evelyn glanced up briefly from the needle and thread.

“Oh come on, Evelyn. He has as good as asked for our father’s blessing.”

Shame he could not ask my own father for his blessing.

Evelyn pushed away the simmering feelings of grief. It had been so long ago now that she lost her parents, it was a feeling easier to contend with, even if sometimes it snuck up on her and crashed into her like a great wave.

“We shall see,” Evelyn said, brushing off the matter. Finishing with the hem, she cut the thread and held it up in front of her, examining it in the light from the midday sun.

“Quite beautiful.” Hester ran a finger down the material. “Your mother’s, was it not?”

“Yes,” Evelyn whispered.

“It is not very fashionable,” Kitty grimaced from her place on the bed.

“Perhaps not, but it has sentimental value, Kitty. You would do well to remember that,” Hester said sharply.

Evelyn smiled at her eldest cousin, comforted at least that even when she felt so alone, Hester would not turn her back completely.

“It suits me,” Evelyn said softly. “I wish to wear something special this evening.”

“Of course, you do.” Hester clasped her hands together. “For after this evening at the ball… you might come home betrothed!”

Kitty sighed dramatically and flung herself back on the bed.

“Imagine being betrothed to a man like him.”

“Katherine!” Hester hissed again.

Evelyn glared at Kitty but said nothing. She was used to the jibes, and over the years had come to ignore them. In the past, she used to have her own sharp retorts prepared, but that had only ever earned her harsher reprimands from her uncle. It was easier these days to just stay quiet.

“Let me see that gown.” Kitty was suddenly on her feet, crossing the room toward Evelyn.

“It’s delicate.” Evelyn held tightly onto the shoulders, not wishing to give up the material. Yet Kitty took it from her all too easily and held it up.

“Well, it’s certainly too tall for me.” She had to hold it above her shoulders for the hem to brush the floor.

It is to fit me, not you.

Evelyn kept the words to herself, holding out her arms expectantly to have the dress back.

“Hester! Kitty! Good news!” Bridget suddenly called from the doorway.

Hester stood and walked to her sister. Kitty tossed the gown back into Evelyn’s hold, but in the fumble, she stood on the hem and twisted it at an unnatural angle.

The sound of silk ripping was unmistakable.

All three sisters recoiled in unison.

Evelyn sat numb, her lips parting as she stared down at the gown. The hem she had worked so hard on was now torn, so badly that it would be difficult to correct, especially in the time that she had left.

“Oops.” Kitty froze, her hands loose at her sides. “Oh dear, I’m truly sorry, Evelyn. I did not mean to do it.”

For one awful second, Evelyn wasn’t sure what to think. Was it possible that Kitty had indeed torn it on purpose?

“It doesn’t matter.” Evelyn tried for a smile, pushing down her true feelings, refusing to give way to them. Slowly, she lowered the gown on her lap, then lifted the tear closer to her face to better examine its condition. 

This will be no easy fix. Can I even do it in time for the ball?

“…Those necklaces Mother promised us have arrived,” Bridget declared slowly to her sisters, but with a hint of subdued excitement. It didn’t take long before the rest of the words toppled from her lips with more enthusiasm. “The golden chokers with the pearls. They are here, oh and they are so gorgeous! Come, come see, quickly!”

Hester was out of the room first, with Kitty chasing behind her. Slowly, Evelyn put down the gown on the window seat, deciding she’d return to it in a few minutes. As she approached the doorway, she found Bridget waiting for her. She was wringing her hands together, the rather plump fingers never once sitting still.

“Oh, Evelyn! There… there are only three necklaces.” She offered a sympathetic smile.

Evelyn tried to keep her face as impassive as possible. This shouldn’t have surprised her. Over the years, her aunt, Mrs. Mavis Gulliver, had made no secret of who her favorites were. After all, it must have been burdensome to have to raise her niece as well as her own three daughters. There had been comments, infrequent jibes, no hatred, but a little resentment that occasionally was made plain.

She spoke of the necklaces when I was in the room…

Evelyn swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat. The week before, Mavis had offered to buy them all new necklaces for the ball. Evelyn had secretly been excited at the idea, touched that at last Mavis was including her in things she’d prepared for her daughters.

That was a foolish dream. That is all.

“You do not mind, do you?” Bridget asked, her grimace falling away very quickly. “I mean, you hardly have love for such jewelry after all, right?”

I do. It’s just that I have so little of it.

“Yes, you’re quite right.” Evelyn forced a smile. “Go find your necklace, Bridget. I need to return to my work on the gown.”

The moment Bridget was gone, Evelyn’s smile dropped. She reached for the door and slowly closed it, feeling a heavy sigh escape her lips.

“Not for much longer. Soon enough, I can be free of here,” she whispered as she returned to the window seat. Lifting the gown once more, she set about trying to repair it as much as she could. “Once I am married, I will never have to feel like an outcast in this house again.”

There was a part of her that wondered if she’d be more confident away from this house, perhaps recover a little more of who she was. As a child, before she had come here, she had been witty and not afraid to say her thoughts. That was a long time ago though, and these days she was shy and kept to herself.

“Come on, Mr. Windham,” she whispered as she picked up the needle. “Get me out of here.”

Chapter Two

The air was like ice, wrapping around Rafe’s body. He couldn’t escape it as he backed out of the castle. It consumed him, drowning the air from his lungs.

“No, no, no.” He kept muttering the word repeatedly, but it didn’t change anything. He couldn’t escape what had happened before him.

He had to get away from the castle. Even dashing into the waist-high snow was preferable to being in that place. He turned on his heel, struggling as his boots were consumed by the thick snow. The icy depths reached just below his waist, making it impossible to run anywhere at all. He stumbled to his knees, with his hands outstretched in the snow. The ice dug in beneath his fingernails and scraped his palms. He gasped at the sheer extent of the cold that seemed to reach inside of him to his core, making him tremble.

“This… this cannot be happening. No.” He kept repeating the words as he managed to get to his feet again.

He hurried away, this time somehow managing a lumbering lope through the snow. He looked back at the castle over his shoulder every few seconds, as if it were a great beast that would follow him. The silhouette against the stars of the night was all too plain, the crenellations and the towers reaching high into the sky. It was foreboding with its motte and bailey structure, the great curtain wall domineering and surrounding him.

He ran for that wall, determined to find an escape. Perhaps if he kept running, he could escape this ice, and flee what he had just seen inside the west wing. Maybe if he ran far enough it would not be real. It would be some sort of mad dream.

He pushed through the giant gate at the side of the wall, pushing out onto a bridge that stretched out over the moat. The water was frozen solid, the ice like glass. He glanced at it with fear before he ran on, his boots slipping and sliding on the bridge.

“She can’t be gone. No. Please. Not again.”

When he reached the other side of the bridge, his boots skidded to a stop.

He hadn’t escaped her at all. The memory of her in that room had followed him, as if she were a ghost, now sent to torment him.

Stretched out in the snow in front of him was her figure. Her body clad in the thin gown didn’t move. The only thing that twitched at all was the white skirt as it was picked up by the wind. Her dark hair lay eerily flat on the ice, her eyes staring up at the sky above them. Her skin was as pale as the snow around her, unnaturally so.

She should have been full of life, laughter, joy, but as Rafe dared to near her, dared to get a better look, he saw, with horror, the tormented expression plastered across her face…

“Leave me alone!” The words roared from Rafe’s lips as he jerked up from his bed. He scrambled to be free of the sheets, falling to his knees beside the bed with a heavy thud.

“Rafe! Rafe?” a voice called from a distant doorway. There was heavy pounding on that door. “You are shouting in your sleep again.”

“…Simon?” Rafe Fitzroy blinked, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Slowly, he caught his bearings.

It was the same dream, the same one as always. He left the castle as he had done the night that his betrothed had died. He ran through the snow, but the dreams always tormented him further by recreating her deadly image in the snow somewhere on the outer lands of the castle. No matter where he ran or what path he took through the grounds, she continued to appear to torment him.

“I command the audience of the Duke of Ravensworth!” Simon shouted from a distance, banging on a door once again.

“I’m coming, man, hold your horse,” Rafe said weakly as he rubbed his sore head. The pounding had begun as he got up from the floor in the small apartments he rented and crossed into the nearest corridor.

There were but a few rooms in these apartments in Covent Garden. Expensive to rent for a space so small, but it suited him well enough, and the derelict exterior kept people and their prying eyes away.

Well, for the most part. Simon will always come.

“—well, it is hardly early morning, sir.” Rafe caught the last bit of Simon trying to assuage another tenant he’d awakened with his loud knocking.

He picked up a dressing gown from a nearby faulty pianoforte, and pulled it over his shirt and loose trousers on his way to the door, before opening it wide. He regretted it a moment later, for standing at the top of the staircase was Simon, backlit by the bright sun that filtered through the windows behind him.

“Argh,” Rafe complained, shielding his eyes.

“And a merry morning to you too,” Simon Linfield charmed with his usual buoyant tone as he stepped inside. “Let me take a guess. You have not become a vampire overnight and this is in fact another headache, brought on to you by liquor, yes?”

“You do not need me to answer that.” Rafe backed up into the main sitting room of his accommodations as Simon followed him inside. Simon opened two vast sets of curtains, letting in the draught, as Rafe dropped down into the nearest chair, kicking away an empty bottle he’d discarded the night before.

“You’ve got to find a new way to live, old boy. You carry on at this rate and you’ll drink yourself into an early grave. And I—”

Rafe winced as Simon opened the last set of curtains.

“—have no wish to stand being a mourner at your graveside just yet. That should be saved for when we’re old and gray,” Simon added simply, turning his back to the sun. “Just how many spirits did you consume last night?” He nudged the empty bottle with his boot and set it rolling back to Rafe’s feet.

Rafe slowly picked it up along with a few others and returned them to a table nearby. In his obsessively neat way, he lined them up perfectly, so not a single one was out of place or at a jaunty angle.

“Too many. Strangely enough though,” he wheezed, “today, I find myself in agreement with you.”

“On what? That we’re not yet old and gray? You’ll get there before I.”

“Ha! I suppose I will.” Rafe laughed at his friend’s good humor. “No, I have been thinking something else. First, allow me a moment to get dressed, then let’s go for a walk.” He stood and hurried out of the room, heading back to his bedchamber.

“I am not sure you’re in a fit state to walk anywhere, old boy. You should take a look in the mirror. If you can still see your reflection, that is.” Simon’s words echoed down the corridor.

Rafe pushed back the curtains in his bedchamber, revealing a room that was decked in dark mahogany wood, with a single shoddy mattress at its corner. He squinted at the bright sun and did as his friend asked, moving to the nearest looking glass to see his reflection.

The dark blond hair that reached his shoulders was heavily mussed and tangled. The oval face with the long and strong jawline was something he’d been greeted with every day of his adult life. But something that was becoming more and more noticeable was the tiredness in his expression, with bloodshot eyes and shadows too.

“God, I look like death warmed up.” Rafe shuddered at his own appearance and turned away, hurrying to change.

“What was that?” Simon called from the other room.

“Nothing! Let’s get out of here.” Rafe didn’t bother keeping a valet in these apartments, for what was the point? He could dress himself well enough on his own, and he did not require an audience for all the ladies he brought here. He changed into a dark green suit, hurrying to flatten his hair. So eager he was to escape the apartments that he hadn’t even finished tying his cravat when he beckoned Simon to join him in leaving.

“And where are we off to today?”

“Hyde Park,” Rafe called from below, practically leaping down the stairs.

“You’re like a skittish horse when you have a hangover.”

“Only one way to be rid of this headache, chap.” Rafe burst out of the door at the bottom of the stairs and stretched his arms and back until they clicked. Sighing with relief to have the fresh air on his face, even if the weather was turning chillier now that they were in the depths of autumn, he pushed ahead and walked toward the park. “A walk is the panacea to feel like myself again.”

“To feel human at all, I’d imagine,” Simon muttered in humor.

Rafe glanced back, grinning at his friend.

They had known each other for as long as they could remember, and Simon was the only one Rafe trusted with his secrets. The bonds that tied them together lasted many years and he could never see them being torn asunder.

Where Rafe was tall and strong in build, with sharp features and dark blond hair, Simon was the opposite. He was slightly shorter, lither in build, though just as athletic. His dark brown hair curled wildly around his ears and his bright green eyes were always full of spark or some sort of humor.

They were a contrast, and Rafe had overheard more than one set of gossipers over the years wondering why the two of them got along so well.

Perhaps it is because Simon has always managed to make me laugh, even when all seems quite lost.

***

“And lo’ and behold.” Rafe reached the park and strode through the gate, eager to be in and amongst Mother Nature. “Ah.” His jaw slowly shut when he saw how busy it was. “What is it with people promenading so much these days? It’s autumn, hardly the height of the summer season.”

“People need to marry no matter the weather, old boy,” Simon whispered in his ear, tapping his arm and urging him down a different path, away from the main throng of ladies clad in spencer jackets and fur pelisses, with bold bonnets on their head and feathers that shivered in the bitter wind. “Soon enough, the winter balls will begin, and the marriage market will be open again. Be warned, my friend. Ladies will set their caps at you.”

“They’ll steer clear, they always do,” Rafe hissed under his breath.

“Yet their parents do not, do they?” Simon said with a knowing smile. “It seems parents want a duke for a son-in-law, even if he does have your… shall we say, chinked reputation.”

“Ha! Chinked!?” Rafe roared a laugh at his friend. They both knew that Rafe had as good as destroyed it over the last eight years. It was a wonder the parents of fine young ladies looked at him at all. “It’s in tatters around my feet, my reputation. And that is what I wished to talk to you about.”

“Oh? Go on,” Simon urged as they turned to walk alongside the river. A group of three ladies came the other way. They offered charming smiles to Simon, and the elder of the three smiled shyly at Rafe, clearly well aware of his reputation.

As they walked past, they tittered behind their fans, not realizing that Rafe could hear every single word they uttered.

“Yes, that’s him. The Duke of Ravensworth,” one of them said hurriedly. “A wonder he was ever betrothed at all with his reputation. Poor woman, she must have been mad to marry a rake!”

Rafe turned on his heel. He didn’t care if people disparaged his own name, but he could not have anyone talking ill of Juliet.

“Halt.” Simon caught him under the arm, stopping him from going anywhere.

“What are you doing? Release me,” Rafe hissed as he watched the three ladies scuttle down a path between the trees.

“You expect me to release you and watch you go hound some three women who are merely gossiping?” Simon quirked a brow. “I may not be the smartest man in the world, but even I’m not as great a fool as that. What good would it serve, Rafe?”

Rafe was forced to stand still, glaring at the retreating ladies as he acknowledged Simon’s words with a single nod. At last, Simon released him, and he spun back to face their path again.

“They insulted Juliet,” Rafe murmured under his breath.

“Everyone insults everyone.” Simon brushed it off. “You’ve heard of the ton, right? All women and men are like cats in a street fight. They’ll lash out at anything if they think it makes them look like the top cat in town.”

“Yes, yes, I suppose, it’s just…” Rafe cursed and walked on down the river, forcing Simon to hurry to chase after him. “The same thing happened the other night with my father.”

“What? Your father?” Simon muttered in shock.

“I was at a gambling hall when I overheard three gentlemen saying that I must have gotten my wild ways from my father, Marcus Fitzroy. My father was a good man.”

“I know that.”

“No. You don’t, Simon. He was the greatest of men and had always been respected as such, up until then. No matter what I’ve done with my life, I do not want him disparaged. His reputation should stay intact. The Fitzroy family name should stay intact.” Rafe sighed heavily, realizing what the last eight years had done when it came to gossip. “My intention to drive myself into oblivion these last few years is now damaging all of those around me. I expect you have been dragged into the gossip too, though you have never openly complained about it.”

“Nor would I,” Simon said simply.

They reached a bridge over the river, and both stopped there, halting to look out at the red and yellow leaves that were falling from the trees.

“Rafe, are you hinting at something here?”

“Perhaps.” Rafe leaned on the side of the bridge. “Maybe it’s time I changed, a little. If I cleaned up my reputation, then people would not disparage my father, or Juliet, or you, so much.”

“Do not change on my account, old boy.” Simon put his back to the railing and folded his arms.

“The fact you would never ask me to do so is even more testament as to why I should.” Rafe shrugged a hand at his friend. “I do not want you damaged by association to me.”

Simon smiled rather ruefully, turning and looking out to the river once more.

“I find it rather hard to believe it is possible for a man to turn over a new leaf just like that.” He caught one of the leaves that had fallen from a nearby tree and had been taken by the wind. He turned it over, resting it on the railing across the bridge. “No man is that simple. Besides, you were three sheets to the wind just last night!” With that, he crunched the leaf flat beneath his palm.

“I know, I know,” Rafe sighed, “it was a sort of farewell to my past life this time though. Besides, I did not say it would be easy, but it’s time, Simon. As you said, I can’t drink myself into an early grave. What would my father say if he greeted me on the other side so soon?”

“Knowing your father, he’d clip you around the ear,” Simon said with a chuckle.

“And send me hurling back to earth,” Rafe replied with his own little laugh. He’d had the best of fathers in the former Duke of Ravensworth. A good, stern man, who was not afraid to point out the foolishness of Rafe’s actions when everyone else flattered him for his title.

And he was one of the few people who supported my courtship with Juliet at the time. I owe the old man this much.

“It’s time, Simon,” Rafe said in a more somber tone, firmer this time. “I need to change.”

“Well, we shall see what happens.” Simon gave a small smile. Then, a thought seemed to light up his features and he pushed himself off the bridge’s railing. “Actually, there is a masked ball tonight if you are truly serious. Come, and dress up in a mask so great no one will see your face. You can attempt to improve your life for a short while, what do you say?”

“Tonight? Hmm. Yes, I suppose that could work.” Rafe nodded and leaned on the railing beside Simon, his mind working quickly. It could be a good chance to act the perfect gentleman all evening, then surprise the company he had been in by taking his mask off at the end of the night. Yes, something like Vindice from The Revenger’s Tragedy.

Though I may have taken the wrong message from that.

“Don’t look now, but someone wants you.” Simon pointed down the riverbank which they had just walked up.

A young errand boy was running toward the pair of them, waving a letter in the air.

“How do you know he’s for me?” Rafe asked, keeping his eyes fixed on Simon.

“Because my correspondences wait at home for me on a card tray. Only you are so difficult to find that message boys have to chase after you.”

“Thanks, Simon,” Rafe said wryly, turning as the message boy reached him.

“The Duke of Ravensworth?” the boy asked, bowing once.

“In the flesh.”

“Message for you, Your Grace.” The boy thrust the message into Rafe’s hands and bowed once more. Rafe tossed him a few coins that he caught easily in the air before he ran off again.

“Well? Who is it from?”

Rafe leaned on the railing once more, recognizing the handwriting at once. It was from his steward, Mr. Jarvis Garfield. He tore open the seal to confirm his suspicions.

“It is from my steward.” His eyes darted over the note, taking in the information as quickly as possible. “Well, he pleads my presence. It seems, and I quote, ‘the castle in Sussex has fallen into disrepair this last year’ and I am needed.”

Suddenly, the tone of his voice softened. “The…west wing in particular… it is deteriorating.” Rafe tried to keep his voice level. The west wing was where Juliet had stayed before she died.

“Then you must see to it,” Simon said with ease. “After all, if you’re turning over a new leaf and trying to be the responsible duke again, where better to start?”

“Yes…quite,” Rafe mused as he folded up the letter and put it in his pocket, though he now fidgeted constantly. He adjusted his cravat and straightened his jacket, trying to make everything sit perfectly.

“You’re fine. There are no creases on you.”

“Thanks, old man.” Rafe smiled at his friend. Simon was just about the only person who understood his need for perfection and gave him no judgment for it. More than one valet in his time had been frightened away by his need for such high expectations to be met.

“Now, let us talk of tonight,” Simon said, taking his shoulder and urging him to walk on through the park once more. “Perhaps you will meet a genteel lady, so disguised tonight?”

“Simon, you know that is not why I am doing this.”

I need to stay away from women from now on if I’m to no longer haul around the reputation of a rake.

Look out for the full release on 13th of October