PROLOGUE
London - May 1816
Standing at the edge of the ballroom, Elise felt like an outsider. Fidgeting with her gloves, she watched the others dance, uncertain what to do with herself as she waited for the next set to begin. Slowly moving backward into the shadow of the potted palm she had intentionally placed herself next to, Elise sought to camouflage herself, making her impending exit less noticeable.You are a confident and capable woman,she reminded herself.You have every right to be here and are no less worthy of a match simply because you are three and twenty.
It was ridiculous that Elise should feel so out of place. Yes, she was making her debut into society a full five years later than most, but Elise had experienced much more in life than many of the young women who had also come out this season. The glitz and extravagance of the ballroom—a world away from the sickroom where she had spent so many years caring for her mother—was overwhelming. She felt ill at ease making small talk with others and found the scandals many of the other debutants liked to discuss petty compared to the weightiness of life and death she had existed within for so many years.
Shaking her head at her uncertainty, Elise reasoned that hiding away and avoiding the small talk she found so tedious was acceptable for the next little while. Promising herself to remain fully engaged with the gentlemen she had promised to dance with later in the evening, she rationalized it was a fair compromise for stepping away now.
Inching toward the door on her left, Elise attempted to make her escape but was stopped short after colliding rather spectacularly with a footman holding a tray of refreshments. At the impact, she spun around and watched in horror as the young man tried to keep the tray balanced and the contents from landing all over the floor, but his efforts were to no avail. A large crash sounded as champagne flutes shattered on the marble floor, immediately drawing the eyes of everyone in the vicinity.
Elise stood frozen as the guests closest to her began tittering at her expense. She noticed Lady Priscilla, the eldest daughter of the Marquess of Wrexham, lift a hand to cover her gleeful smile before whispering to a friend while staring in her direction. Of course, it had to be Lady Priscilla, widely known for her proclivity to gossip and possessing a sharp tongue, who was present to witness her humiliation.
Hearing a groan of pain from the footman, Elise’s attention was drawn back to the scene where she noticed him cradling his arm awkwardly. She realized one of the broken champaign glasses must have cut him, noticing a bloom of red blood saturating his shirt cuff. Reacting without thinking, she fell with ease into the practiced role of caretaker, feeling like herself for the first time all evening and knowing precisely what to do.
“Come with me, we need to wrap your arm,” Elise said briskly. The footman nodded, face pale, and followed her down the hall, complying at her no-nonsense tone, while clutching his arm to his chest. She opened a few doors before finding a small drawing room that had been set up as a staging area for the ball. Several side tables held pitchers filled with water and other beverages, and stacks of napkins were laid out alongside platters withhors d’oeuvres.
Another footmen rushed into the room after them and frowned at the sight of his injured colleague with whom she had collided. “Peter, what did you do?” the newly arrived footman asked in an accusatory tone.
“I’m afraid it is my fault,” Elise spoke up, grabbing a napkin off the top of the pile. She did not want the young man to be reprimanded for what had most definitely been her fault. “I was not watching where I was going, and I ran into Peter.” She gave Peter a small smile, trying to convey her apology before reverting to crisis mode. “I’m afraid he has cut his arm and it will need attention,” she said, directing her attention back to the healthy footman. “Can you please go find the medical kit? We will need to clean out and possibly stitch up the wound.” Not bothering to see if he had obeyed her directive, she placed the napkin on Peter’s arm and applied pressure to stem the bleeding.
“We’ll need to remove your jacket,” Elise instructed a moment later once the bleeding had slowed. Following her direction, Peter winced as he tried to lift his injured arm. “Here, let me help.”
Immediately moving to stand behind him, Elise helped ease the jacket off. After rolling up his shirt sleeve to expose the cut, she knelt before him and dampened a napkin to clean the area and better assess the damage when a commotion broke the silence of the room.
“There,” exclaimed a triumphant feminine voice from the doorway. “I told you I saw her slink off alone with a man.”
“Young lady, what is the meaning of this?” demanded another voice.
Still applying pressure to the footman’s arm, Elise twisted towards the door to see a small group of social elites of thetongathered, all gawping at the sight of her daring to touch a servant’s bare arm. And standing smugly at the front was none other than Lady Priscilla herself, looking much like the cat who had caught the canary.
“I saw her taking his clothes off,” Lady Priscilla continued in feigned outrage. “Really, Lady Elise, a servant? I expected better of you.” The last was said with a look of disgust for the benefit of her audience. A chorus of mixed gasps and titters followed her haughty proclamation.
Realizing at once that she was in a position which appeared compromising, Elise tried to defend herself. “It’s not what it looks like,” Elise stated firmly but quietly, moderating her voice to appear calm. “This young man was injured when I ran into him, and I am simply trying to see that he is attended to.”
“Then you should have called for help, not left yourself open to compromise. Attending to a half-dressed houseboy alone? Really, it’s too much,” said Priscilla’s irate mother, Lady Wrexham, pointing a glare Elise’s way as she made her damning pronouncement. “This is hardly proper behavior for a young, unattached woman,” she added, placing the final nail in Elise’s coffin.
“I did ask for assistance,” Elise responded, valiantly trying to regain control of the scene. “Another footman went to fetch medical supplies so I might sew up the cut. He should be returning any moment,” she added practically.
“I’m afraid it’s too late to make this appear acceptable,” Lady Wrexham admonished. “Your benevolence has outweighed your common sense, Lady Elise. You must know you have quite ruined yourself.”
CHAPTER1
Dorset Coast, England - September 1819
Straightening from her crouched posture over the tomato plants, Elise let out a groan. Bracing her hands against the small of her back, she rubbed her fingers in small circles trying to loosen the muscles that had cramped while picking the last fruits from the vine. Taking a moment to appreciate the gorgeous day before fall weather moved in and firmly took hold, she stretched her arms above her head and twisted her body about. Working out further kinks, anyone seeing her might think she resembled a cat contorting itself to catch every possible drop of sun.
Picking up her basket filled with the last dregs of the gardens summer bounty, Elise headed back into the kitchen. The preserving during this time of the year was endless. While she would never complain about the results, as she enjoyed eating fruits and vegetables in the winter months, presently the thought of peeling one more tomato made her want to cry from the sheer tedium of it all.
“Let’s see what you’ve got,” Nora said as Elise placed the basket on the table next to the cutting board where the housekeeper was hard at work. “I’ve placed a pot on to boil, so let’s score these quickly and get them in to blanch and be ready for peeling.”
Elise saw the glass jars lined up and glinting in the afternoon sunlight, waiting to be filled and sealed, and sitting down next to Nora, she diligently picked up a knife, starting to work on the tomatoes. “There are some green ones at the bottom, we can fry them up for supper. “They were just too beautiful to let go to waste,” she shared with Nora. “I’ve stripped the plants down, as new growth has halted with the colder nights. I’ll ask Jed to help me take cuttings and plant them in the greenhouse. I want to see if we can make them keep producing until next spring.”
As Nora nodded in agreement, Elise marveled at how drastically her life had changed over the past three years. Her peers would have shuddered at the thought of assisting with kitchen work. Though she complained, she was more content here completing the chores of daily life than she had ever been in a ballroom. She had managed to create a comfortable home for herself here along the Dorset Coast, and she couldn’t help but worry that with a new earl in charge, it may now be imperiled.
“Any word from Cliff House?” she asked Nora, her fear clear in her voice.
“Don’t you worry,” Nora answered patting her stilled hand. “The new Lord Weston is a good man, he’ll not throw you out, as he has no reason to.”
