Prologue
“Catch me if you can!” Josephine Merton called over her shoulder to her friend, Frederick Hadley, as she raced around the side of the manor house, Frederick close on her heels. She was ten and Frederick was three-and-ten, so his legs were quite a bit longer than hers, and he caught up to her in very little time. He tackled her to the ground, and the pair of them rolled down the grass embankment, stopping just before they reached the pond.
“I win,” he proclaimed as they both laughed breathlessly in delight. Frederick stood and helped Josephine to her feet. They brushed the debris from their clothes and smiled at one another. He reached out and pulled a blade of grass from her riotous red curls.
They had been friends for as long as either of them could remember. Josephine’s mother had been a maid at Chescrown Manor for longer than Josephine had been alive. In fact, she had been born in the servants’ quarters. Frederick was the son of the Duke and Duchess of Chescrown, Marcus and Aurora Hadley. Though he was high above her station, Josephine had been the only child within the manor house that was close to Frederick’s age.
“Oh, look! A pen and her cygnets,” Josephine exclaimed, pointing out across the pond to a mother swan and her newly hatched offspring floating across the water’s surface.
Frederick grinned at the sight. “Mother will be most pleased.”
The sound of a horse’s hooves pounding up the drive drew their attention. The man was riding as if his very life depended upon it. “I wonder what that is about?” Josephine queried, cocking her head to the side.
“Let us go and find out,” Frederick suggested, taking her hand in his. He led her up the slope and into the house through the servants’ entrance. They snuck up the back stairs, through the dining room, and stopped just inside the doorway that lead to the entrance hall. They peeked around the corner and spied a man with dusty boots standing there with his hat in his hand. He shuffled from one foot to the other as though he were nervous about something.
“That is Mr. Hanson. He is one of my grandfather’s men,” Frederick whispered.
The butler, Mr. Johnson, entered the hall and addressed the man. “The Duke and Duchess will see you now, Mr. Hanson.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Hanson replied, then followed the butler into the Duchess’ favorite drawing room.
The children crept forward and pressed their ears to the drawing-room door. “Your Grace, Your Grace,” Mr. Hanson was saying, “I come bearing sad tidings. Your father, the Marquess of Pentford, has died. As you are aware, your son, Lord Frederick Hadley, is his grandfather’s only surviving male heir. As such, he is now the Marquess of Pentford and bears all the wealth and responsibility that goes with the title.”
Frederick squeezed Josephine’s hand. When she looked over at him, she saw tears in his eyes. She knew that he had loved his grandfather dearly and had spent a great deal of time with him at Pentford. Josephine squeezed his hand in return, hoping to offer some form of comfort.
“Father is dead? How?” The Duchess’ voice sounded as if she were crying as well.
“I am sorry, Your Grace. He died in the night, quietly as he slept,” Mr. Hanson explained, the tone of his voice making it evident that he too was sorrowed by the news he carried. “As the young Marquess is still in his minority and Your Grace’s heir to the dukedom, he will obviously remain here at Chescrown. At Your Grace’s discretion, I can remain on at Pentford to attend to the Marquess’ affairs until he comes of age.”
“Yes, of course, Mr. Hanson. You were my father’s most trusted man. I appreciate your willingness to continue on under my son,” the Duchess answered, sniffling.
“It is my honor, Your Grace,” Mr. Hanson replied. Josephine could just imagine him bowing at that moment, though she could not see it through the thick wooden door. Bowing to the nobility was what people of her and Mr. Hanson’s station did.
“We will prepare to make the journey to Pentford immediately. After the funeral, I will take time to go over the books with you, Mr. Hanson,” the Duke stated, his voice reverberating with authority.
“Of course, Your Grace,” Mr. Hanson replied. “I will make sure to have the house ready for your arrival.” Footsteps heralded Mr. Hanson’s coming, and the children scurried back out of sight. The drawing room door opened, and Mr. Hanson exited. Mr. Johnson saw him to the door.
“Johnson,” the Duke’s voice called from the drawing room.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Mr. Johnson answered, returning to the room.
“Find my son and bring him to me here. There is much to discuss,” the Duke commanded.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Mr. Johnson bowed and exited the drawing room once more. The butler came to stand before the dining room door. “Lord Frederick,” he spoke as if he had known they were there all along.
Frederick and Josephine stepped out from behind the dining room door. “Yes, Mr. Johnson.”
“You are wanted in the drawing room,” Mr. Johnson informed him. In an uncharacteristic moment, the butler laid his hand on Frederick’s shoulder in sympathy, then straightened up, turned, and led the way to the drawing room, leaving Josephine standing in the hall alone.
Chapter 1
Twelve Years Later
Josephine wiped the perspiration from her brow as she paused from scrubbing the entrance hall floor. The day was abnormally warm for an English summer, and she wished more than anything to leave her chores and jump in the nearby pond. Her black maid’s uniform was soaked through with sweat and clung to her most annoyingly. She loosened the buttons at her collar and fanned herself with her hands.
“Attempting to fly away, are we?” Frederick’s amused voice asked from the library door.
She looked up and smiled. “If only I could.”
