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Sandy Raven

• Herausgeber: WS
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: The Caversham Chronicles
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 605

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

She’s loved him all her life.

Lady Elise Halden knows how to get a horse to bend to her will with a gentle touch and subtle coaxing. But she’s learning that bringing the new Earl of Camden to heel is nothing like training a horse. If she has any hope of reining in the Earl’s affections, she will need a plan. With help from her friend Lady Beverly, and her sister-in-law the Duchess, Elise sets out to win her indifferent Earl’s heart.

He’s admired her from a respectable distance.

As young men, Michael Brightman and his best friend swore sisters were off limits. This promise was made solely to protect his own sisters from his friend’s charming, rakehell ways. The Duke of Caversham’s little sister was always a precocious minx to avoid, till one day Michael realizes Lady Elise is all grown up and the things he wants to do with the lady are surely going to upset the friendship with her brother.

Together they discover that physical evidence doesn’t equate truth and trusting the heart is sometimes the hardest lesson to learn.

Leseprobe

Michael has been Elise’s future husband since she was ten...

Only he didn’t know this.

“I detest smelling salts!” Elise opened her eyes and shoved the offending bottle away from her face, then gave him a frosty glare.

“Then you should not have fainted.” Relief flowed through Michael. For a moment fear of losing her had paralyzed him, but when he realized what had happened he’d ordered the coach to stop and called for her maid to help him. God, he was going to hate explaining this to her brother.

“I didn’t faint. I never faint.”

He cracked a cocksure grin. “Right.”

“Did I hear my lady? Has she come to?” Bridget asked behind him.

Elise tried to sit up, but he held her down.

“Rest. Your maid’s just concerned. Yes, she’s finally come around,” he said to the maid. “Why do you women insist on wearing things like this—” Michael held up the spencer. “—on warm days like today?”

“Because,” the servant said, “to appear indecently dressed will bring the wrath of society down onto her head. It’s my job to see that she at least appears conventional.”

“Did you...?” Elise sputtered, apparently just noticing her sleeveless dress and unbuttoned collar. “How did...?”

“I removed it to aid in cooling you. Don’t worry, I didn’t take any liberties. I was too busy fanning you with your book.” He lowered his voice so Bridget couldn’t hear him, and added, “Besides, when that time comes, I want you very much conscious, my sweet.” Smiling, he thought, how he looked forward to that day.

Elise muttered something he didn’t fully catch, though it sounded like a rant about stubborn men and their misguided allegiance. Michael knew she was well when she turned another frigid glance his way. “Let’s be off then,” he said. “Woodhenge is still some four hours distant, without the stop for lunch.” He held Elise’s hand, preventing her from leaving the coach and riding with her waiting maid. “No. You stay with me. She can ride in the other coach.”

“Oh! You arrogant cur,” she hissed. “I don’t want to ride with you.”

He held his tongue thinking she would definitely want to be with him before this day was over. If only he could restrain his frustration at her insolence. “Be that as it may, you will.” He sent Bridget back to her vehicle, and nodded for the groom to shut the door on theirs. Soon they were underway once again.

Within minutes Elise fidgeted with the book she’d finished. He could tell she was contemplating re-reading the thing to avoid talking to him. He didn’t want that. He wanted her ebullience and vivaciousness to fill the coach. He wanted to talk to her, explaining the decision he’d come to, and ask if she’d still felt the same about him, and about a possible future together. Then afterward, assuming she still did, he would laugh with her, hold her, touch her, kiss her.

But if she didn’t, he had only twenty-four hours in which to change her mind. And the only way to begin with this spirited minx was to be honest, because that was the one thing he knew she valued beyond measure. She always had.

“Do you remember that night at the Holderman’s?” he began, his voice sounding somewhat strange, even to himself. Maintain control, his brain ordered his heart. When she nodded, he continued, “Do you remember what you said?”

“I’m afraid I said a great deal that night,” she said as she stared out the window. “I cannot remember specifically what it is you wish me to recall.”

Michael took a deep breath, almost afraid to begin. “You said, ‘Have you ever known something to be so right and true in your deepest heart, without ever knowing how it could be that you know.’ I have not forgotten your words. You spoke from your heart when you said that.” She turned to face him, and he thought he saw a flicker of something, an emotion deep inside her she was yet unwilling to give rise to, so he continued, hoping it was the response he’d wanted. “I think I understand what you meant now, because I don’t know where this feeling is coming from. I only know that I don’t want to lose it.”

“May I ask how you came to this conclusion?” Her voice barely contained her emotion. He could see that she wanted to believe him, and he could only continue as he’d began, with honesty.

“On my word, Elise, this... this... whatever-it-is between us caught me very much unaware. One day, you were just Ren’s annoying sister, and the next I wanted you and at the same time knew I could never have you. Then I started thinking on why I couldn’t and every reason came back to one thing—the agreement your brother and I made when we were young, in which we promised each other sisters were off limits. At the time it was made, I worried about your brother breaking Christina’s heart. You were never an issue, as you were just a child.”

She didn’t react to his speech, but he could see she was fighting a smile. Michael removed the loosened cravat completely, as it was growing warmer and more stuffy inside the slow-going coach. He shed his unbuttoned waistcoat, tossing it onto the seat with his jacket, and continued. “Then there was our age difference. In my head, I wasn’t seeing you as the young woman you’ve become, but rather as the little sister of my friend. Am I making sense so far?”

Michael could see the hope bubbling just beneath the surface, but she just nodded mutely. He went on. “That night, at the Holderman’s, you tried to tell me the age issue was irrelevant, but I wouldn’t let myself believe it. Then you, termagant that you are, arranged that evening at the theater with Huddleston and Wilson.”

“I’ve got questions about that...” she began, but as realization dawned, her eyes first widened with shock, then narrowed with skepticism. “How did you know…?”

He held up a hand to cut her off. “Later, please. Let me finish. When I asked Ren about allowing someone older than me to court you, he reminded me of a few things and clarified others, basically telling me what you’d said the night of the Holderman’s ball—that our age difference would not be an issue with him.

“Once that began to sink in, I started to see that I couldn’t allow someone to ‘tame’ you or break your spirit. It was the one thing about you that always drew me to you. That’s what makes you special.”

“You followed me the other night,” she said. He loved that tilt she got to her head when she asked him a question. “And you heard Edgcumbe, didn’t you?”

He nodded. “I only thought to be there to protect you should you need me. Though you obviously held your own. I should have known you would be fine. You are a strong and direct young woman. Edgcumbe is like a colt still finding his legs, and not what you need, Elise. In a few years time, he would have worn your spirit down and you wouldn’t be happy. Neither would he. Then, soon after, he’d seek his comfort elsewhere, be it his club, gaming, or a mistress. And you would continue to grow older and unhappier.” He paused and let his words sink in.

“Look at me. Please, Elise.” When she did, he spoke again. “That’s not what I want for you.”

It seemed an eternity to him while she quietly digested his words. True to what he knew of her nature, she asked, “Why are you telling me this? Now?”

“Because I want to kiss you again, Elise.”

ALREADY HIS

THE CAVERSHAM CHRONICLES, BOOK TWO

SANDY RAVEN

CONTENTS

Teaser

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

Please leave a review

About the Author

Dear Reader letter

Acknowledgments

Copyright page

PROLOGUE

Woodhenge (near Goring), Summer 1808

Michael Brightman, heir to the pile of crumbling stone in which he currently found himself, hurried through the narrow corridors, eager to reach the rooms he kept in this, his uncle’s home. He thought about his odds of finding a willing wench among the kitchen or laundry staff at that moment, but decided against it. And the village was certainly too far to travel in the middle of his older sister Sabrina’s wedding feast, take care of business, and return. Damn his balls, but the past two hours of staring at Miss Stansbury’s delectable décolletage—and envisioning his face planted between those luscious breasts—caused an uncomfortable tightness is his breeches that would need relief soon, whether by his own hand, or a willing woman.

He’d prefer the latter, but in a bind his hand would do.

He hurried through the chilly hallway of the family wing and slowed his pace when he heard the muted sobbing and delicate sniffling of a young lady as he passed the priest hole. The medieval tapestry that hung on the wall to his left had been the handiwork of several of his early female ancestors and their ladies, and had been in that same spot for over three hundred years. Only a few knew the true purpose of the tapestry was not in displaying the battle scene which won the first Earl of Camden his title, but rather it served to hide the entry of a secret passageway. The tiny room hid a stairwell leading to an escape route from the castle that not many knew about, so Michael wondered who it was hiding during his sister’s wedding feast. The room had been a favorite of his and his sisters when they were children. He and Christina used to play in the secret room, and hide from their nurses when they were young. Thinking on it, he hadn’t seen her below in some time, and he just passed Sabrina and his mother, so likely this was Christina. He wondered what had her so upset?

Glancing up and down the corridor and seeing no one, he moved the tapestry and slid behind it. Running his hand along the wall, he reached the open entry to the priest hole which began the escape route his relatives used on more than one occasion when the castle had been attacked.

As expected, he found Christina, in the tiny antechamber to the stairwell, with a solitary taper lit on the table. The room was unchanged since the last time he’d been there, with only one small table and two chairs filling the space.

He stood in the doorway, feeling as though the entire room had grown smaller over the past few years. Michael watched as Christina blew her nose delicately into a linen. His heart wrenched for her, his little sister. “If you had shut the door,” he said, “I never would have heard you weeping.” He put his hand on her back, wanting to give her his sympathy for whatever was breaking her heart. “Why aren’t you below, enjoying the festivities?”

“No reason,” she sniveled and wiped her nose. “I’m simply feeling sorry for myself.”

“I know you better than to believe that nonsense. You’re the least likely girl to feel sorry for herself that I know.” He stroked her back gently. “Come now, dry your eyes.” Michael tried to sound cheerful, thinking to get his sister back out into the great hall where the party was ongoing. “Tell me who it is that has you in tears and I will make sure the bounder pays for your upset.”

“I cannot.”

“Absolutely you can. You know I’m not averse to pummeling the face of the Prince himself if he were the one, though I doubt you’d find him to your liking.”

Christina dabbed at her eyes with her kerchief and shook her artfully arranged golden curls. “No. It would drive a wedge into your friendship. Even though he was not the only young man standing near me, when I turned I saw no one but Glencairn. I just hope Lord Vance did not witness his actions, because he is the man I am most interested in. Glencairn, though of noble birth, will certainly wind up a drunken, debauched rake. If he were to ever marry, he will not make the unfortunate young lady a good husband.”

“What did he do?” Michael had to ask, though he was not certain he really wanted to know because he hated the thought of having to call out his friend.

Christina started a convoluted explanation, and in between wiping her tears and blowing her nose, Michael thought he heard her misspeak. “He did what?” Michael’s ire rose, especially when he realized of whom she spoke. “Glencairn touched you inappropriately? In front of others? Where?”

She nodded.

“Christina, tell me exactly what did Glencairn do?” Before he pounded his friend’s face into a bloody pulp, he wanted to be certain of his actions.

“We were leaving the dance floor after a long, exhausting country dance, where Mr. Hampton was my partner, and Glencairn partnered Miss Prudence Chichester. There was such a crowd on the way to the refreshment table as it was the end of a set. Lord Vance was nearby, on my left, and Glencairn was directly behind me. I felt a large warm hand, masculine to be sure, touch me...” she dropped her voice to a whisper, “on my...” she seemed to struggle with saying where Ren touched her.

“Where did he touch you Christina?”

She pushed the heavy wooden door closed, and whispered, “He more than touched my bottom, Michael, he... he squeezed it! I have never been so shocked in all my life. That’s when I turned around to see your friend standing directly behind me acting nonchalantly, as though what he’d done was of no consequence.”

His sister went into another bout of tears, repeating her fear that Vance might have seen what Ren did, and that her chances with him were now forever ruined. Michael wanted to slam his fist into Ren’s ugly mug for what he did to cause his sister such distress. He knew better than anyone what a profligate rake his friend was. Michael had to warn him away from ever touching his sister again. At sixteen, Christina was too young and innocent for the likes of him.

Michael had heard enough. He wanted nothing more than to pummel his friend into the ground for taking liberties with his sister, but held his anger in check for her sake. He strode from the room, and went in search of Lord Glencairn, his best friend for ten years, since their very first day at Eton when they were both eight years old. The bounder had touched his sister inappropriately and by damn he would apologize to her.

Michael found Ren in the old castle’s receiving room which was the official card room for the evening. He sat with one of his new brother-in-law’s relations, Michael forgot the fop’s name, and several other young rakes, most of whom were older than they, Lord Vance among them. As Michael drew nearer, his friend met his gaze and gave him a lazy smile, likely influenced by the amount of alcohol he’d consumed.

Ren stood. “Would you like my seat Michael? I’m thinking about asking Miss Chichester for another dance. Hopefully a country dance where she has to skip a time or two.” His friend leaned in closer and whispered, “I keep hoping those glorious breasts of hers will come bouncing out of that low cut gown.”

Michael had heard enough. He swung first and clipped Ren on the jaw.

“What in hell was that for?”

“I think you know,” Michael hissed as he swung again, only this time Ren was able to deflect the blow.

The other guests in the room leaped from their chairs and cleared the floor for the two young bucks to fight.

“Is this about Prudence Chichester?” Ren said as he kept out of Michael’s reach. “I didn’t know you were interested in her.”

He shook his head, swung at Ren again who deflected his strike.

“Are you drunk, Michael? I’ll admit to having a few myself, but not...” Ren swung, Michael ducked and came around, only to feel the force behind his friend’s punch to his rib cage.

Michael grabbed Ren and wrestled him to the ground. “Did you touch my sister inappropriately?” He hissed only loud enough for Ren to hear his words. Heaven forbid that action were made public. It could ruin Christina.

“You’re either drunk or insane, Michael,” the young Lord Glencairn replied as he held Michael down.

But Michael was only momentarily pinned because he shoved Ren hard enough to roll his friend beneath him. Pressing his elbow into Ren’s shoulder, pinning him, as he reached out with his free hand and grabbed Ren’s wrist. “I’m neither, you ass, and you owe my sister an apology.”

The double-ring of young men circling them began to shout and Michael heard one of them call out, “Tell us what the fight’s about!”

Michael just grunted, not one to make public his emotions. He spoke in a low tone for Ren alone to hear. “My sister is in tears upstairs. She said you squeezed her bottom coming off the dance floor.”

“I did not,” Ren hissed, “and I won’t apologize for something I didn’t do.”

Michael lessened the pressure into Ren’s shoulder and shifted his weight, which proved a tactical error because he was soon back under his friend. Michael heard his coat tear and thought about the peal his valet would ring over him in the morning. “She’s upstairs crying because she said you touched her in a most egregious manner.” He struggled for a breath as his friend bore the brunt of his weight onto his chest, pinning him with a leg up. “She’s my little sister!”

“Gad, Michael! You’d think I tupped her for the reaction you’re giving me.” Ren pressed Michael’s leg a little higher up and he felt a burning sensation on the back of his thigh as he tried to buck his friend off.

“Don’t talk about my...” Michael strained, trying to best Ren and roll them over, “Don’t talk about my sister like that!”

“I gave you my word, so I don’t... understand why...” Ren grunted when Michael pushed up with the one foot he had on the stone floor, and tried to roll them over. “You’d believe her and not me.”

Michael heard material tearing, and wasn’t certain if it was his or Ren’s. “Did you...”

“I swear I haven’t touched your sister!”

“You will promise me you’ll never touch her,” Michael hissed in Ren’s ear.

“Believe me,” Ren said, “I have no desire to dally with your sister!” Ren weakened his hold a moment, and Michael rolled Ren under him.

“I want your word on that,” Michael said, shoving his knee into Ren’s groin for leverage.

“Bloody hell,” Ren ground out. “Only if I get yours in return.”

“You’re a sick sod.” Michael strained against the material which held him captive more than his friend. “Your sister’s yet a babe.”

The sound of shouting finally reached the confined circle of onlookers watching their debased efforts.

“Remember that when we’re older and she’s on the market,” Ren hissed.

“Do I have your word,” Michael demanded just before Ren flipped him on his back.

“Do I have yours?” As the words left his mouth the entire room fell silent. It was then that he knew someone, or likely more than one persons of importance, had entered. Persons of enough rank and presence to command the parting crowd to silence.

“Glencairn, get off the floor.” In a deadly calm voice, one known to make lesser men’s knees buckle, His Grace, the eighth Duke of Caversham, addressed his son. Then he added, “Brightman, the same for you.”

Ren wiped the blood from his nose and lip before meeting Michael’s gaze one last time before they separated. “Then we’re in agreement? Sisters are off limits?”

“Glencairn,” Ren’s father repeated, “Now.”

Michael didn’t speak, but met Ren’s cold silver gaze and nodded.

* * *

Haldenwood, Summer 1812. At the occasion of the marriage of the eighth Duke of Caversham to Miss Amelia Manners-Sutton.

Looking down from her perch in the oak tree near the terrace off her father’s office, Lady Elise Halden decided she would run away and join the gypsies. Gypsy children were free to roam the countryside and do as they wished, including fish and shoot their bow and arrows. Gypsy children could ride their ponies whenever they wanted for as long as they wanted. Gypsy children didn’t have to obey to the wishes of their nanny, governess or tutors—all of whom prevented her from doing the aforementioned activities as she pleased.

And as of today, she would now have to add a stepmother to the ranks of those ordering her about.

Footsteps on the terrace told her someone was pacing, albeit slowly. She didn’t think anyone was looking for her, as no one ever did. Curiosity almost got the better of her. She knew if she shifted her position to look behind her, the tree would move alerting the person on the terrace of her presence. After a few minutes she caught a whiff of tobacco smoke and realized someone had come outside to puff on a cheroot. If she did not move, she could go undetected and be left in peace.

She heard the heavy footfall of a another man step outside, then recognized her brother Ren’s voice as he spoke.

“Why do unwed ladies think that the happy occasion of celebrating a marriage is the perfect place for choosing a husband? I had to escape the dancing before one of my new stepmother’s young relatives finagled me into a compromising position. I’ve just turned twenty-two and far from ready to marry.”

“I don’t know how you were able stay in there as long as you did,” the other voice replied, “I felt very much like meat hanging at the butchers.” There was a pause as the young man dragged on his cheroot. After he exhaled, he continued. “During our entire dance, Miss Valerie Morton informed me of her age and that she has made her bow.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Ren said.

“Oh, but she then listed a long string of accomplishments as though she were applying for a position. She then asked why she hadn’t seen either of us at any of the events in Town. I told her I was busy studying and you were often out of the country.”

Her brother grunted as he sighed, one of his few outward signs of frustration she’d learned long ago. “The lady with whom I danced, my new stepmother’s cousin, though not unattractive, is not my type,” Elise heard Ren say. “What’s worse, she is following me around like a spaniel, complete with big brown puppy eyes.” Her brothers voice dropped to just above a whisper as he said, “You know I much prefer the petite blonds with blue eyes and bounteous breasts.”

The conversation was getting interesting, so she shifted slightly on her perch in order to better see to whom her brother spoke. She went as far out onto the limb as she dared.

“When the time comes that I must take a bride, I want a lady with spirit and courage.” She got a look at the man with her brother and recognized him as one of his friends she’d seen before. Michael Brightman’s handsome brown hair and hazel green-brown eyes made her heart flip in her breast. What an odd sensation she thought. “She must enjoy the hunt, fishing and chess. We should converse on topics beyond fashion, romantic novels and housewifely skills.”

“There you are.” Elise heard a female voice address the two young men. “Come inside, gentlemen. The dancing is about to start again and the numbers are uneven for a reel. We really need you both.”

“Yes, ma’am,” her brother said.

“Yes, mother,” Michael replied.

Both young men left the terrace to rejoin the festivities and Elise felt an incredibly superb idea hatch in her brain. She would have to marry eventually, and so would Lord Brightman. He might be an appropriate match for her, she would have to check. Certainly he was a gentleman with a title and was connected to an earl somehow. And just last week when discussing her own father’s upcoming marriage to Miss Amelia with her governess, the dour-faced old woman tried to instill in Elise the importance of marrying within the proper bloodlines.

Elise didn’t care about bloodlines, except in the case of the horses in her father’s stables.

All she knew was that listening to Michael just now proved to her that they were perfect for each other. As she listened to him list the attributes he looked for in a bride, she realized she fit each and every one of his criteria.

Before the week-long wedding celebration was over, she would convince one Michael Brightman that they belong together and should marry. Their situations were so very similar, as neither was ready to marry. Why, she had to wait at least four more years because she heard Catriona in the kitchen say she was fourteen when she married James the under-gardener. Elise heard this just the other day when the staff was talking about how young her new step-mama was, and how she was soon to present her papa with another babe.

She had to get to her room to think out a plan. As she saw it, the situation was very similar to what Old Ned taught her about horse training. Elise didn’t see a difference. She needed to make the horse want to do her bidding, as the old man always said. And to do that she needed a plan before she climbed onto the horse’s back.

“But first I have to get out of this tree,” she said to herself. She looked down and decided it was too high to jump down, even with the green limb bending low under her weight. She also might hit the branch beneath her, and that would hurt something fierce. No, she had to get to the trunk and climb her way back down the way she came. Reaching for a limb over her head to hold onto for balance, she stretched up an arm while at the same time holding fast to the branch on which she sat.

“Oh, fiddle-faddle. Come here.” Elise reached out again, this time grasping a cluster of new leaves and then the branch. She felt the seam under her arm tear and swore again. “Maisy will be angry now that I’ve torn my dress.” She’d never hear the end of it from her maid. And if her father found out... Oh, heaven. She’d likely be punished, and that was after she got spanked.

She tried to keep her hold of the branch over her head while she scooted toward the trunk, but she was unable to do so without ruining the dress further. Grabbing the branch over her head with both hands now, she tried to pull herself up when she heard a crack and felt herself falling, only to have her skirts snag on a branch, stopping her descent.

In the blink of an eye, Elise both thought she would die and realized she wouldn’t. She almost wished for death when she realized she wasn’t alone. On the terrace, fanning herself, was one of her father’s guests, Lord Brightman’s mother, Lady Richard. And here Elise was hanging by her skirts from a branch in an oak tree. She supposed it was a good thing that it was her and not a male guest witnessing her humiliation.

The sound of fabric tearing echoed throughout the side garden. Just as Lady Richard reached her, Elise felt the material give and she squealed as she fell the rest of the way down, landing in the arms of the woman, sending both of them falling to the ground.

Elise rushed to get off Lady Richard, hoping she hadn’t killed her. When she didn’t move, Elise knelt beside her and took her gloved hand in her ungloved ones and pat it, as it was what she saw the housekeeper do whenever a housemaid fainted. She then began to pray as she hadn’t prayed since the last time she was about to get caught at something she wasn’t supposed to do.

Lady Richard groaned and moved, and Elise heaved a sigh. As soon as the woman opened her eyes, Elise knelt over her and began to apologize profusely.

“Ma’am, I am so very sorry. Please do not... My father will be so very angry.”

“Move aside,” said the woman with gray streaks in her ruined coif as she sat up. Elise handed Lady Richard the pearl-encrusted comb that fell from her once artfully-arranged hair, then rose and stretched out a hand. She ignored Elise’s offer of assistance and rose on her own, then began to dust off her backside. The lady’s aqua colored dress was now in disarray and probably stained as well. Elise apologized again for her behavior, and prayed Lady Richard didn’t want retribution for Elise ruining her dress and mussing her hair.

Lord Brightman’s mother looked down her nose at Elise, who stood almost as tall as she, and asked, “Who are you, and what were you doing spying on the guests in the house.”

“I am Elise Halden and I wasn’t spying as I was in the tree before my brother and his friend came outside.”

Elise watched as Lady Richard rearranged her bodice, and wondered if she should mention the rip in the back. She decided against it. If the woman was this mad and she didn’t know about the tear, imagine how angry she’d be if she did.

“Just what were you doing in that tree, Elise?”

She’d come to the tree to escape the taunts from some of the older girls during the feast, then Michael and Ren had come outside to puff their cheroots and she was trapped aloft. Elise smiled as she remembered the qualities Michael listed when he described the woman he wanted as a wife. The instant she heard them, she knew he was describing her, and that they would marry one day because they were perfect for each other. She gathered her ripped skirts and held them in her hands, as she looked up to the limb from which she just fallen to see if she’d left any material behind.

Smiling, she turned to the woman who softened her landing, and replied, “Falling in love, I think.”

CHAPTER ONE

London, May 1822

“Have you heard the news?”

Lady Elise Halden shot her dearest friend in the whole world a stern gaze and tightened her lips. Unable to move for fear the dressmaker’s pins might come out of place, she hoped her friend would catch her expression and hold her tongue. Lady Beverly Hepplewhite’s eyes widened as she continued into Elise’s room and hopped onto her bed.

Elise looked down to the stitchers working on the hem of her gown. “Excuse me,” she said. Holding a rose-colored ribbon in place on her sleeve, she stepped off the stool and addressed her maid and the seamstresses. “Bridget, Madame, will you give us a few minutes please? I’ll ring when I’m ready to continue.”

Adding a straight pin to the ribbon before leaving, Madame Fuichard and her two assistants quit the room. But not her maid, Bridget. She looked directly at Elise and her friend. “You’re due to come out in five days,” said the red-headed maid, just a few years older than Elise. “If you do something foolish now, His Grace’ll banish ye for sure. An’ because I don’t have a fondness for the Grampians in winter, I won’t be going with ye.”

Once the door shut behind her maid, Beverly said, “I was wondering why he didn’t come for breakfast. Now I hear he’s gone to Woodhenge to make arrangements.”

Elise lifted her hands, showing Beverly her inability to hold them steady. “I have never in my life been so nervous as I am now. These horrid butterflies are the result of the entire ton believing Michael, my Michael, is in need of a bride now simply because his uncle has died and he’s ascended to the title.”

“You can’t say it took you by surprise. We all knew this day would come as the old earl has been on his deathbed for the past year,” Beverly quipped. “Heaven knows the new Earl of Camden has a responsibility to all those women in his family. After all, he’s now the only male and will need to see to an heir very soon.”

“His mother and older sister have been pressuring him to take a bride for the past year. Now he must wait three months.” Elise sighed. “My heart wants to believe he’s been waiting for me, but my brain says it’s unlikely.”

“I’ve always wondered why the old earl never married,” Beverly said. “Was he... you know, light in the instep?”

Elise shook her head. “Heavens, no! It’s not common knowledge, but—” Elise checked to make sure Bridget hadn’t come back into the room, and continued, “The old earl had a scandalous marriage many years ago. He’d fallen in love with, and married, a young lady who was unfaithful while he was in India on the Crown’s business. She then became with child by her lover. Both mother and babe died in childbirth. And the earl, as you know, never remarried.” Elise’s mind raced at what she could do now to benefit her cause. “This does not help my chances.”

“Michael will be in mourning for three months, Elise,” Beverly stated. “He’ll not start a bride hunt until after that. That’s when you need to worry about competition.”

“In three months I won’t have you here to help me think things through because your Papa will be back any day now. Won’t he?” When her friend nodded, Elise sighed, feeling as though the whole world was conspiring against her.

“I won’t be moving to Land’s End, Elise. I’ll only be a few blocks away.”

She nodded as she caught her reflection in the mirror. “I had so hoped to win him over gradually during this season. Now I shall have to contend with every mother of a marriageable-age daughter, and the daughters themselves, all pursuing Michael for his new title and wealth.” Elise studied the dress pinned onto her with a disapproving eye, and sighed with double frustration. “You would think that Michael being my brother’s life-long friend would give me an advantage,” she muttered. “He’ll likely not wish to be in the same room as me.”

She stamped her foot, her complete annoyance giving rise to a flourish of unladylike manners. “Damn his uncle for dying last night!”

Beverly gasped at Elise’s invective. “The man couldn’t very well plan the time of his departure from this world, Elise.”

She sat at her dressing table, her shoulders slumping in dejection. “I’m sorry for my selfish tirade. The old earl really was a dear man.” A pin stuck her in the waist and she pulled the offensive thing from the dress.

Beverly nodded, “You know, that dress has turned out better than we originally thought.” Her friend eyed it closely. “But, something is still missing.” She shook her head. “Perhaps after you have your jewels and your mother’s tiara on, it will complete the effect.”

Elise contemplated her friend’s words. The as-yet unfinished dress she planned to wear Saturday was completely conventional, and the latest fashion among her set. It gave her the appearance of a proper young lady. The lady her brother wanted her to be. She did want to please him—all of them really—and make he, Lia and Grandmother proud of her on her special night.

The skirt was crushed white silk with rows of narrow rose-colored satin ribbons ringing the skirt up to the knee. The same colored ribbons ringed the puffed white silk sleeves at the edge. The bodice of rose-colored silk ended just below her less than acceptable bust line. It successfully created the desired effect of a more abundant cleavage than God had provided. A wide band of silk rosettes, precisely three shades lighter than the ribbons, intertwined with satin greenery at the hem of the floor-length creation. More of those same rosettes were sewn into the folds of ribbon gathered on the sleeve, and on the same material gathered between her breasts.

Looking at herself in the mirror with a critical eye, she realized that the dress she once adored, she now hated. The exquisite, one of a kind creation from Madame Fuichard made her look just like all the other girls out on the marriage mart this season. She would be unremarkable among the herd of other chits being paraded about by anxious mamas.

“What am I going to do, Beverly? How ever will I get him to notice me?” She stamped her foot again. “You more than anyone know I have the worst luck where Michael is concerned. Now to be forced to catch his eye while all the other unmarried ladies out there do likewise… Why, I could never compare! I am not as pretty as they are.”

“You are so,” Beverly argued.

Elise cut her off, “Not to mention that he remembers every misdeed and prank I’ve executed on him since I was ten.”

“He doesn’t know about Attila,” Beverly said with a confident smile.

Elise remembered seeing Michael at Tattersalls that day three years ago and laughed. “No! He doesn’t know that was us, and it’s best left that way.” She began to pull pins from the dress, removing all the rosettes as her imagination began to wander. “I knew Attila was perfect for Michael when I started him under saddle. And I was right, for Michael loves that horse.” She smiled as she pulled pins from a ribbon and tossed it onto the table. “To this day, the man has no idea I was the one who trained him.”

They were silent a moment as Elise continued removing adornments from the unfinished dress. Their eyes met in the mirror, and Beverly asked, “What are you doing?”

“I’ve been fretting over this for the last hour.” Elise pointed at the pile of rosettes and the ribbon from the hem she’d just pulled. “There is far too much frippery on this dress. It isn’t what I normally wear, so why pretend I like it?” Their eyes met in the mirror again. “I need a dress that reflects me. The old me and the new me. Who I have always been, and who I am today.”

Beverly’s eyes grew wide with excitement. She smiled and nodded. “More important than a just a dress, what you need is to come up with a plan for making him take notice of you. Though nothing like you did when you were fifteen. That little act nearly got you killed and it was over a year before Michael returned to Haldenwood.”

“I did not nearly get killed. I was barely scratched. And I never would have fallen off that trellis if it wasn’t rotted to begin with.” Elise remembered all too well how fabulous Michael looked when stripped to the waist, baring that magnificently muscled chest and back of his. She had stared, mouth agape at the beauty of him. As she felt the vines ripping away from the stone, and the remnants of the ancient trellis crumbling beneath her, her friend screamed, alerting him to her presence as she dangled from his balcony. He’d come running to the rail and looked down just in time to see her land flat on her back in the freshly weeded flower beds below.

“Perhaps it was a little embarrassing for him, but I was duly punished... after father ascertained I was indeed well and truly alive.” Elise closed her eyes and sighed. “I remember thinking I’d died and gone to heaven.” Meeting her friend’s blue-eyed stare, she added, “That was before I fell!”

Beverly threw her arms up and flopped back on the mattress. “You’ve been falling for him since you were ten. One day I’m afraid you might fall too far and get hurt.” Her friend turned a worried expression to her and said, “You must, I implore you, endeavor to restrain yourself. The consequences are too severe for us now.”

“I shall, I promise, but I need your help devising some way to make him notice the new grown-up me, and not remember the irritating little brat I was.” Elise clasped her hands together in a praying fashion and brought them to her breast. “I so desperately want him to realize that I have waited for him all these years, and I am already his.”

“What we need is a plan,” Beverly said.

“Yes, you’ve said that.” Elise stared at her short, mousy-brown hair in the mirror, now wishing her hair were longer, her face prettier, her features more feminine, and her nearly non-existent bosom, more full and lush. Anything so he would see her as a beautiful, desirable woman. Michael was so perfect in her eyes that he deserved a charming, ladylike wife. Granted, she could do nothing about her actual looks, but what about her clothes? Could her clothing help portray her in a more desirable light? A tighter fit to the bodice? A dropped waist perhaps?

But more important than her looks and clothing, she understood it was her behavior that must be tempered. To that end, she vowed to continue to work on that part of her personality. It often felt like a Sisyphean task she undertook, with the hope that one day Michael might think her worthy.

After several minutes of complete silence while both girls contemplated the problem, Beverly leaped from the bed, startling Elise. “I’ve got it! Or, at least, I think I do.”

Eyes closed, Beverly paced the long hand-tied Turkey rug, rubbing the bridge of her delicate nose with her thumb and forefinger. “What we want is for Michael to see you for the woman you’ve become, and not as the girl you were. Right?”

“Yes, of course. You said as much a few minutes ago.”

“You know me, Elise, everything has to be mapped out, the goal identified and a plan put into motion to accomplish the task.”

“Yes, yes, you have always been the planner, but what have you come up with?” God, she hoped it wasn’t too unorthodox. With her brother overseeing every move she made, she’d never get away with anything outrageous. If she even tried, Bridget was right, he’d send her to that box of rocks he used as a hunting lodge up in Scotland for sure.

“You must not only behave differently, but look different as well,” she said. “Stand up.”

Elise did. Beverly walked around her. “You look just like every other chit at every other ball we’ve been to this past month.”

Elise resisted rolling her eyes. She knew that. Hadn’t she just been thinking it all morning? Beverly tugged at Elise’s short, straight locks. “Granted, your hair is shorter than the other girls’, but it is very much the trend now that you and your sister-in-law started the fashion. Why every woman with a backbone is liberating herself of the nuisance of long hair.”

Elise smiled at her best friend. “Yes but my hair just sits there, where your hair is fabulous, curling like it does.”

“Elise, this will become a mutual admiration session if we let it. We simply must stay on task.”

“Right.”

“Now, let’s start with this dress. It’s all wrong. It’s a debutant’s dress. What you want is something more... womanly. A sheath of a dress. Something that will maximize what figure you do have with less frills and flounce. Something a tad more daring. Are you following me?”

“I believe I am,” Elise whispered, staring at the dress in the oval pier glass. “You’re right. That is what has been bothering me since I saw myself in the mirror.”

“You need something plain, but not white,” Beverly said as she continued to scrutinize Elise’s figure and dress. “No pastels, either. The only people who wear pastels are little girls and wallflowers.”

“I don’t think my brother will allow me to make my debut in a scarlet peignoir, Beverly.” Just because she’d been daring in the past, she had to remember her goal—to become someone Michael would desire. She wanted to be the kind of woman he would be attracted to, and proud to marry.

“No, I shouldn’t think he would. But he needn’t know what your gown looks like does he? And what about the duchess, or your grandmother? Will either of them be assisting you on Saturday evening?”

“I suppose I could manage with just Bridget.”

“Yes you can. Now about your dress....”

After several more minutes of staring into the mirror, Elise and Beverly concluded the current dress just would not do. So they sketched a design for a new dress. A dress that was sure to catch the eye of every man in attendance. Most hopefully, the new Earl of Camden.

“What if we’re wrong?” Elise asked. She realized, for the first time, that this feeling of doubt was foreign to her. If the stakes weren’t so high, she’d throw caution to the wind and go with her heart. “What if this backfires? This is my entire future we’re placing in the hands of a modiste.”

“This will work, Elise. There is nothing in this design that is unorthodox. The dress is not immodest in any way. It is simply... simple. Which allows you to shine as the jewel you are. This,” her friend pointed at their sketch, “Lord Camden, will appreciate. I promise you.”

Elise pulled her bell cord and Bridget, Madame Fuichard and the seamstresses returned. Elise showed Madame the sketch and asked if it could be ready by Saturday afternoon, five days away. Madame looked about to faint, declaring the task impossible in the few days before her big ball.

“This is not a dress fit for a young mademoiselle making her debut to the world. This... This creation is perhaps something fit for a married woman wishing to court scandal.”

“My lady,” Bridget stated, “One look at ye, when you come down to dinner in that, and they’ll be sending you right back up here to change into another gown.” The servant shook her red curls while she studied the drawing. “Ye won’t get away with it, I tell you.”

Then it hit her. Why not two dresses?

She took Beverly aside and asked, “What do you think about changing gowns? I mean to have one for dinner and another for the ball.”

“Well,” Beverly mused, “as I see it, your biggest obstacle is your maid. We can’t have her leaking our secret. Then, all we need to do is calculate the time it would take to come upstairs after dinner, change, then reappear in the receiving line. We cannot do it without Bridget’s help.”

Elise nodded then turned back to the modiste. “Could you do both?”

The modiste looked from Bridget to Elise. “There simply is not enough time to find the material and sew another new dress.”

Not about to let her plan be defeated, Elise gave a winsome smile to Madame Fuichard, then added, “I have enormous faith in you and your assistants, Madame. But, if you don’t think you can do it, would you be upset if I ask Madame Robillard if she could squeeze me into her busy schedule?”

Madame closed her eyes tapped her pencil on the dresser. Elise could sense the other woman’s agitation with her. “I shall pay you handsomely Madame, if you could make this dress also. I truly do not wish to go to another modiste.”

“If I do it,” the other woman said with some reservation. “I will need to hire two more seamstresses to have just your two orders completed in time.” The modiste studied the sketch closely, saying, “The dress appears simple and easy to make, and we already have your measurements. We would need the fabric selection.”

Elise clapped her hands together and grinned. “Wonderful! We shall go shopping for new fabric this very minute, unless Madame has something suitable for this design, in a color to complement my complexion already in her shop?”

The woman returned Elise’s smile, either because of the opportunity to double her fee, or because she instinctively loved the idea of being known as dressmaker to this sister of a duke. “It just so happens I received a bolt in my latest shipment from the east. In fact, it is so newly arrived I have not even cut into it. It is a dark ivory silk, the color will be a perfect highlight for your hair, skin and eyes, and because you are so willowy and graceful, you will carry this masterpiece with exceptional flair. There will be none to match you on this night or the rest of the season, Mademoiselle.”

“I wish to purchase the entire bolt, as I trust your judgment completely, Madame. Now, if you could create this dress,” she held up the sheet of heavy vellum, “for me alone, you will have my gratitude, as well as exclusivity as my dressmaker for the rest of the season.”

This seemed to please Madame immensely, and she assured Elise she would have both dresses for her to try on in two days.

Later, as the women gathered their belongings to leave the chamber, Elise reminded them of the need for secrecy. The last thing she needed was her brother getting wind of her intention and somehow foiling her plan.

Once she closed the door behind them, she turned to her friend and said, “That went very well, don’t you think?”

Beverly smiled and nodded. “I do. Michael will hardly be able to dismiss you once you appear on the landing wearing that dress. His eyes will be riveted on you the entire night.”

* * *

Early Saturday morning, hoping to avoid the amazingly organized chaos that was the preparations for her ball, Elise and Beverly headed out the front door after breakfast, prepared to go for their usual ride in the park. Unlike other young ladies, Elise and Beverly actually rode to enjoy their horses, not to be seen.

“Thank you, Niles,” Elise said, as the butler held the door open.

“Yes, thank you, Niles,” Beverly added right behind her.

“It would not be remiss of me to remind you ladies of the evening ahead.”

“How can I forget, dear Niles,” Elise replied. “My stomach is roiling because of nerves as it is. I’m hoping this ride will calm them so I can eat something before tonight.”

Niles watched over the ladies as they waited for the grooms to come up with their horses. But before the grooms arrived, a familiar dark green carriage bearing the gold-inlaid Camden crest pulled in front of the Upper Brook street home of the Duke of Caversham. A groom hopped down, opened the door and lowered the steps, and out stepped the man Elise had fantasized about since she was ten years old. At that time, her papa had just married Amelia and her brother was away at school. Often when her brother returned home he had Michael in tow, and that’s was how she became acquainted with him. But it was the evening of her father’s wedding celebration that she fell in love with him. As soon as she realized she wanted to marry him, Elise did what any little girl would do to force an unwilling young man to come up to scratch—she held his horse hostage by hiding it in another barn until he agreed to marry her.

Michael removed his hat as he ascended the steps. His cocoa brown hair was slicked back as though he was fresh from a bath. Those familiar greenish-brown eyes, set wide on his face under a strong brow, held an amused twinkle this morning. The grin turning the corners of his well-formed wide lips upward was most contagious. Elise’s fingers just itched to trace his fine features, including the faint cleft in his chin. Even though he had a tiny ‘v’ shaped scar on his cheek from some childhood accident, he looked too devastatingly handsome for his own good.

And it bothered Elise that he knew she thought him handsome. Though she hadn’t told him so recently, she had told him just that in the past. She remembered the day many years earlier, when she’d gone into the barn to find an angry Michael waiting on his horse. She told him he was too handsome to go through life scowling. He said nothing to her, just mumbled at her as he took his horse’s reins and left.

Today he smiled. Which irritated her. Though in his favor, everything was irritating her on this day, and she knew she really needed to temper her thoughts before getting on her horse. The excitable little mare was doing well, and Elise really didn’t want to end up on the ground because she couldn’t control her own emotions.

Michael’s light gray fine wool coat bore a black velvet mourning arm band to match the collar. The fabric stretched across his shoulders as though it was pasted onto his broad back. A silver satin waistcoat adorned with onyx buttons hugged his trim waist. Her breathing stilled as she could almost imagine him unbuttoning them, to relax over a game of cards or chess. What she wouldn’t give to have him relax in such a manner with her.

Even in mourning, this man looked every bit the handsome rogue. His buff-yellow nankeen breeches looked as though his well-muscled thighs were poured into them, without a wrinkle in sight. She surmised that his fine boots probably took his valet hours to polish to their mirror shine.

She tried—really, really tried—to appear bored and disinterested in his presence, even so far as feigning interest in the traffic on the street. Elise knew she more than likely was not succeeding.

He came up and greeted them. His smile warm and genuine.

Beverly curtsied and said, “Good morning, Lord Camden.”

“Yes,” Elise said when she turned to face him, bobbing a quick curtsy. “Good morning, my lord.” She immediately turned away, as though staring down the street would bring the grooms out of the mews faster.

He nodded to them. “It is turning into a beautiful day, ladies. I’d begun to despair after waking to a fog so thick I was unable to see across my garden.” He came to stand beside them, and asked, “Out for a ride on this fine morning?”

His proximity made her more nervous, causing her heart to beat faster. Elise’s naturally sarcastic tongue blurted out the first thing that came to her head. “No. We just thought we’d watch the traffic pass by in our best riding habits.”

Beverly elbowed her and shot her a warning glare. Turning her full smile back to Michael, she said, “You must forgive her, my lord. Tonight’s festivities have left my friend on tenterhooks and those she loves most have been the recipients of her stinging retorts all morning. I am hoping this outing will bring back the sweet disposition I know Elise to have.”

Elise just stared, slack-jawed at the excuses for her behavior pouring from her friend’s mouth. She wished it were possible to kick herself for those words—once for thinking them, and once for saying them. Why, oh why, did she always turn her sarcastic tongue on the only man she wanted to impress with her changed ways?

“Yes,” Michael replied, giving her a sympathetic smile. “Let’s hope this ride rids Lady Elise of her nerves before the evening’s big event.” Turning to Elise, he smiled. “Just remember to breathe deeply and relax. All will turn out well.”

“Easy for you to say. It’s not your debut!” She did it again, snapped at him when she wanted to entice him. She wanted him to see the new Elise. Why was it so difficult to change? She’d never win him over if she didn’t.

“You’re right, it’s not. But I’m trying to help here, Elise.”

“You can’t help, when you’re part of the problem.” Immediately she slapped her hand over her mouth, embarrassed by her words. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said... Oh, dear.” She felt her body tremble and her eyes well with burning tears. She swallowed the lump that rose and words of apology rushed out of her. “I’m sorry, my lord. You would think because of all the preparations we made last year, that I would not be so nervous now. But, since the start of the season, I have felt somewhat left out, attending everyone else’s ball when I hadn’t had my own yet.”

Michael nodded his head. “If I could I would offer to dance with you, but as you know...”

“Yes, I know,” Elise said. “Your family is in mourning.”

“But if I were not, I would love a dance.”

He appeared sincere, and not in his normal teasing manner. Elise wondered if he were feeling well because he was usually ripe to pick on her when she was in a snit like a moment ago. Not letting this new, compassionate mood of his slip by she said, “I will hold you to that, my lord.”

He nodded. “Absolutely do, We can even make it a waltz if you have permission.”

“Of course I have permission,” she said. But the sarcastic tone with which she’d begun her reply quickly died. “We got it last year just before... Um, before we...” Elise stopped, remembering that day the family had planned to leave for London and last year’s season. Grandmother had taken a tumble down the main stairs, striking her head, knocking her unconscious. For almost a week they held vigil over her, hoping she would awaken. Their prayers were answered when one afternoon she opened her eyes, thus beginning her long recovery. As a result Elise missed her first season.

“That’s right,” he said quickly. “Grandmother was recovering.”

Elise nodded, unable to speak as she was still ashamed at her outburst. And now she had the added emotion of remembering the pain at nearly losing her grandmother.

“All is well now,” Michael said with a smile. “Lady Sewell is in prime form, ready to take on the Season with you and your family.” He winked at her, causing her to return his smile. “I know the season will be over by then, but in three months we can have our waltz.”

The three of them watched as the grooms led the horses forward—mares for Elise and Beverly, and a quiet gelding for the groom following as guard. Michael tipped his head and bid them a delightful ride.

Once mounted and away from the house and the groom, Beverly turned her curly blond head to Elise, her eyes reproachful. “That was better. You started off sounding shrewish, but recovered when he mentioned the family foregoing the season last year.”

The mares walked on a relaxed rein toward the park entrance. “Remembering grandmother’s accident brought back the fear and emotions from those weeks when we didn’t know if she would survive. It still causes me upset.”

“Or were you tongue-tied because you were surprised to find Michael being polite to you?” Beverly turned to look at her. They rode through the park’s gated entrance, and her friend added, “Remember, you must give him a reason to want to be in your presence, or else all is lost.”

“I know you are right. Over and over in my head I go through every scenario possible with him and plan how I would comport myself in that situation. Inevitably, I never do what I rehearsed and my sarcastic mouth just takes over.” It was times like this when Elise thought she would drown in her despair.

“Do you remember what Mrs. Pritchard taught us to do in those situations?”