Prologue
London,December,1815
Overwhelmed and disappointed, Miss Althea Claywell glanced about her chamber.
The only space in her set of rooms not currently filled with trunks, valises, and clothing was her bed, where she’d spend her last night in London. Not even a crease or a wrinkle was noted upon the pristine white coverlet.
Ball gowns had already been pulled and were neatly folded and placed with care in the larger trunks. Another held the matching shoes, shawls, ribbons, and fans purchased to complete each ensemble. Several of her walking and day dresses were draped over the chaise, waiting to be packed in the open trunk beside them. The variety of fabrics offered a bright cheeriness and a rainbow of colors from pale yellow to the pastel blues and greens in contrast to the otherwise understated interior.
With a sigh, Althea plopped down onto the bed. She’d had such hopes this year, but the Season had come to an end without even a courtship, let alone a betrothal. However, she’d not lost hope as she and her uncle had remained in London through the summer, into the Autumn, and two days ago they’d quietly celebrated Christmas. She’d enjoyed being in Town for the holiday festivities and then yesterday, Uncle Clarence had decided that it was time to return home, to Clarenbridge Abbey in Gloucestershire. His decision had set the house atwitter with packing and preparation so that they could leave on the morrow.
Althea didn’t understand his sudden need to be gone from London now and he was quite cryptic in references tofuture plans. His mood was also greatly improved these last few days, which had nothing to do with the Christmas holiday.
She glanced about the room once again and wondered if it was really necessary to pack everything. They’d be returning to London in two months to prepare for the Season. Surely, she didn’t need every garment in her wardrobe at Clarenbridge Abbey.
The Season, she thought with a groan. Althea had tired of them, but there wasn’t much else for the niece and ward of a wealthy viscount, with her own inheritance, to do but travel to London each spring, then spend the summer traveling to house parties, all in search of a husband. After four Seasons, she’d still not found one, and wondered if she ever would.
If only there were more options available to misses. She didn’t want to marry for the sake of marrying because it was expected of her. Althea also wished to be happy.
If she must marry, she’d like him to at least be someone who was enjoyable to be around, intelligent, and didn’t treat her as if she had nothing but fluff for brains. Such was near impossible to find in London.
Oh, she grew so tired of the flattery and pretending humor at a gentleman’s attempt at wit. She could not really say what she thought as it would be impolite, so she endured.
Perhaps she was the problem and not those who called on her. Friends and other misses seemed to enjoy their company well enough. Unless they were pretending as well.
There must be more to life than this.
In truth, only one gentleman had caught and held her attention, and that had occurred this past Season.
Major Ambrose had first approached and gained an introduction at the second ball of the Season, and for the first time in her life, Althea experienced a physical reaction when she glanced into his blue eyes. Thick brown hair, with a curl that fell across his forehead, would have given him a boyish look if not for the intensity of his gaze. He was also one of the most handsome gentlemen at the ball, if notthemost handsome, with his straight nose, high cheekbones, and full firm lips. He also stood nearly a head taller and filled out his eveningwear with wide shoulders. Althea had granted a waltz without thought because she’d been nearly robbed of breath as her entire being took notice of him as everything and everyone else faded away.
Even though she wore gloves, when he grasped her hand, her fingers tingled in awareness. Then, when he placed his hand upon her waist, warmth spread from the location of his palm through her back and torso. No words were spoken as he led her from one end of the dancefloor to the other, in command of their movements, of her, and Althea found that she needed to look beyond his shoulder and not into his eyes for fear that she’d make a misstep, thus ruining the perfect moment.
Major Ambrose had then returned her to Uncle Clarence, bowed, and took his leave and it was several moments before her pulse slowed, her heart renewed its normal rhythm, and her body cooled. She’d never experienced such.
He was a gentleman of few words, not that it mattered as Althea tired of the prattle of others who constantly bragged upon their own accomplishments. Those conversations were empty, shallow, yet in Major Ambrose’s eyes, she noted a sincerity that she’d not witnessed in London very often. He needn’t say anything at all, and by the end of the dance, Althea was already smitten.
She’d spied him across the room at several entertainments, but he hadn’t approached again even though she intentionally tried to save a waltz for him. And, from what she observed, he didn’t approach anyone else and only spoke to those who approached him. She had likened him to a male wallflower who stood by the wall, sipped wine, and observed, and if she wasn’t mistaken, she was the only female he’d danced with.
When she’d given up all hope, Major Ambrose approached and asked her to partner him again. As before, her body underwent the same transformation the moment he touched her, and when he drew her closer than was acceptable, and only because another couple had nearly collided with them, her breasts had brushed against his chest, sending shivers through her body. His leg had also encountered her inner thigh and had he not been holding her, and if he hadn’t been so skilled and balanced, they may have fallen because she was nearly overcome by the heat and sudden weakness in her limbs.
She had glanced up wondering if he were affected as well, but Major Ambrose was staring ahead, his lips firm and jaw tight as if he wished for this dance to be done. Althea had pulled away then, put the proper distance between them, and they completed the waltz.
He had called on her after that, but he said little and held back. While she listened to the dandies and played the proper hostess, it was Major Ambrose who she wished would sit next to her and engage her in conversation, but he remained at the edge of the room, watching and listening. Their eyes would meet, and he’d nod, but that was all.
She remembered wishing that he’d ask her to stroll in the park, or even take a turn about the room in hopes that they could share a conversation. Yet he never did, and it was just by chance that she happened across him on Rotten Row.
Althea smiled recalling their conversation.
“If one has a horse on Rotten Row, shouldn’t they be riding?” she asked as she approached.
He’d been startled, which shouldn’t have been a surprise as misses were not to approach gentlemen. However, she’d tired of waiting on him and decided that it was time to break a rule or two.
“Miss Claywell,” he offered with a slight dip of his chin.
“Why aren’t you riding?” she inquired.
He glanced to the light brown bay and frowned as if he wasn’t certain of the answer.
