Prologue
1814, Wiltshire, England
“Send her to France,” ordered Serena’s father. Lord Elmstead’s tone would brook no argument.
From the other side of the slightly open door, she heard those words sealing her fate, and then her mother’s anguished reply.
“But the danger, Edward.”
“Far more dangerous here. She has been compromised by that half-wit. All of London is sniffing out the scandal, and if we don’t get her away, they shan’t let it drop.”
“It was only a walk in Vauxhall Gardens,” her mother persisted.
“In the dark, Hélène, away from the lanterns, alone with that rake of a man.”
Serena sighed quietly. She’d shown extremely poor judgment, indeed, but the man’s words had been so smooth and his smile so charming.How could she know his true intent when no one warned her?
In seconds, he’d become like that terrifying, multi-limbed sea monster, the squid, with one hand holding her against a tree, another attempting to reach under her gown, and somehow, a third stroking her cheek. Or so she recalled.
When his lips touched hers, she’d fled, not realizing her state of disarray nor that she a leaf or two and a twig in her curls until she re-entered the Vauxhall pavilion at a trot, searching for her dear mother.
Immediately, people had pointed, and the whispers behind their colorful fans had begun. The following morning,The Gazettementioned a ruined girl with her initials, and her father had been livid ever since, demanding his wife and daughter return to the country, interrupting Serena’s first Season.
A week had passed since Serena along with her two younger brothers and her mother had returned to the family estate in Wiltshire, and her father had arrived from London the night before to say thetonwas still chewing on the scandal, just waiting for Serena to return so they could pounce. And now, she knew his decree.
“It wasn’t her first transgression,” Lord Elmstead reminded his wife. “She is too flighty. She has behaved immaturely on more than one occasion and nearly came to ruin last month. She is gaining a reputation, Hélène. To protect her, we must get her out of the vultures’ reach.”
Serena bit her lip. Her father was right. She had treated the entire London season as a silly lark. After being presented at court, she’d been concerned only with dancing and dandies, champagne and kisses.
“With your parents, she can be an ordinary young woman, like you were.” Then he quickly added, “Not that I ever thought you were anything but extraordinary.” There was a pause while Serena knew her parents were sharing a loving kiss as they often did. Yet when her father continued, his stern stance hadn’t changed.
“Paris has no Season to speak of. Instead of London’s nobs and their shallowbon ton, there is merelyle bon genreof which our daughter will most certainly not be a part. And there are far fewer scandal sheets.”
“What if war breaks out again,” her mother asked, “and Serena is trapped in France?”
“You’re just coming up with excuses,” her father said. “She is half-French and speaks like a native. She’ll be perfectly safe with your parents. Besides, Bonaparte is securely in exile. How could war break out again?”
