CHAPTER ONE
Oaksgrove, London
Harriet stood before her full-length dress mirror. The afternoon sunlight bathed her in a warm glow. Her dress was resplendent purple and dark blue, glittering in the sunlight with lighter shades that mirrored the sky. Her long hair was black, and her slightly tilted eyes, green. A smile played across her lips, lifting her rosebud cheeks. The mask that accompanied the dress sat on the dressing table beside her, a black raven—emblem of the Earls of Oaksgrove.
If only Mama and Papa could see me. Would they be proud? I hope so.
For a moment, behind her in the mirror, she could see the tall, slender woman with flowing black locks and the green, tilted eyes that her daughter had inherited; sitting on the bed and watching her with a proud smile.
“You are beautiful, Harriet. Enjoy this moment. A ball is a celebration of beauty and you will be the center of attention.”
“And who knows, perhaps you will meet your husband this evening? He had better be worthy of you.”
That was the deep voice of her father, with his long, shaggy light-colored mane and square-jawed face. Sitting next to her mother, one strong arm protectively around her, as Harriet had seen many times when they were alive.
“Who knows indeed,” Harriet whispered, letting the memory of her parents fade.
She could not think of them without some sadness, even today when she was at her happiest. They had been taken so suddenly from her and Ralph. Neither of them had been given the chance to say goodbye.
Ralph copes by throwing himself into the role of Earl. Master of the house and my guardian. Perhaps a little too zealously, but I must forgive him for that. He only wants to protect me. As Mama and Papa did.
And this evening, Ralph would escort her to the masquerade ball of the Duke and Duchess of Chelmsford. She snatched up her mask, affixed it to her face, and dashed from her rooms. Along the carpeted hallway past the many landscape paintings created by her father, down the stairs to the second floor, and along the hallway there to her grandmother's rooms.
She knocked quickly and opened the door. In the sitting room with its south-facing windows, she saw her grandmother sitting in her favorite seat, looking out over the gardens planted by her daughter-in-law, Harriet's mother.
“No, child,” Agnes Tisdale, Dowager Countess of Danbury, began, “I wasnotin conference.”
“I did knock, grandmama,” Harriet grimaced.
“Barely,” Agnes replied with a pointed chin.
She had a croquet hoop on her lap and wore her customary black, mourning that had begun for her husband and continued for her son and his wife. She had a strong jaw and the Tisdale's fair hair, though the only color remaining was white.
“What do you think?” Charlotte asked, turning in a circle with arms widespread.
“A truly beautiful example ofCorvus Corax,” Agnes noted.
Harriet tilted her head, a birdlike gesture, confused. Agnes rolled her eyes expressively.
“Child, your parents should have paid more attention to your tutors. It is the Latin name for the raven.”
Harriet smiled, removing the mask and shaking her raven-dark hair loose.
“Ah, Latin was never my strong suit, though I did love my natural history studies.”
“They gave you and your brother a great deal too much leeway when it came to choosing your studies. He wanted to do nothing but ride and shoot, and you wanted to run wild in the woods. Your parents would not be told. They were too keen to see the pair of you happy, even if unhappiness was in your own best interests.”
Harriet gave her grandmother a level look, taking a seat opposite her.
“You do not fool me, grandmama. I remember the stories Papa told me about his upbringing. I think you indulged him as much as he indulged Ralph and me.”
“I did. I was foolish. And look what happened, child.”
She wagged a stern finger at Harriet, who took it and kissed it. Agnes allowed a rueful smile to break through her customary stern expression, drew her granddaughter to her, and kissed the top of her head.
“I am glad that Ralph has overcome his usual excessive protectiveness and is taking you to the Chelmsfords’ ball thisevening. A bird should be free, not cooped up in a cage. Even one as gilded as Oaksgrove.”
Harriet rocked. “I am so excited I could barely sleep! I am sure that by the end of this evening, I will be asleep before my head hits the pillow,” she laughed, “I have not been to a ball since my debut. Not to a luncheon or a promenade in Chelmsford. This estate has felt like a prison at times.”
