Prologue
The Pyrenees Mountains, Spain, July 1813
Weary to hisbones, the boom of musket fire still ringing in his ears, although it was now eerily quiet, Captain Hugh Fairburn pulled off his gloves and his bicorn hat and entered his makeshift tent.
Arthur Wellesley, Marquess of Wellington, and the Fourth Division had achieved their objective. Marshal Soult’s incursion across the border to relieve the French garrisons in Pamplona and San Sebastian had been cut off, despite the men struggling with shortness of breath in the thin air and fatigue on steep slopes as they’d marched uphill and along narrow trails, while maneuvering cannons and wagons. Fighting alongside Spanish and Portuguese soldiers, they’d been tired when they’d faced the French forces in intense combat, with musket fire, bayonets, and the artillery exchanges making their efforts difficult. But Soult’s forces had eventually retreated, after failing to relieve the besieged garrisons.
Inside the tent, Hugh’s batman waited. “This message just arrived, Captain Fairburn,” Wickstaff said, handing the letter to Hugh.
The brief missive was from Mr. Collins, the family solicitor. Seated on the camp bed, Hugh took a deep breath, then tore it open and read it through, knowing in his heart what news it bore.
After a short illness, his father had passed, and Hugh was Earl of Dorchester.
His lordship left a letter for you, my lord, Mr. Collins had written.He wanted you to know he had complete faith in you. He was confident he left Woodcroft in good hands and believed you would make an excellent earl. And he went to his final rest with the knowledge you will take good care of your mother and sister.
Deeply regretful not to have been able to say goodbye to his father, Hugh shook his head, distress tightening his throat. He had planned to see his father when next in England. To make amends. But death was final. They had not parted on good terms because his father had never approved of him joining up. “It seems we are going home, Wickstaff,” Hugh said, his heart heavy. “Pack the bags.” He raked his hands through his dark hair and propped a booted foot on a chair for Wickstaff to rub away the dirt and mud. When he gazed into the small mirror, his blue eyes stared back at him dark with grief. “I must speak to Wellesley.”
“I’m sorry to hear of your father’s passing,” Wellesley said when Hugh had found him in his tent and explained. “What you were able to endure and subsequently accomplish inspired the men. Of course you must sell out, but you’ll be missed.”
“I’m sorry to leave, sir. But I’m glad I served in the army and witnessed you and the men’s triumph under such trying conditions.” Hugh saluted.
Within hours, he and Wickstaff, a sturdy, unflappable Yorkshireman, rode toward the Channel and home, with Hugh’s thoughts resting on what awaited him there. As earl, he had inherited great responsibilities: to his people, his staff, his tenants, and the House of Lords, as well as the upkeep of invested properties. Hugh would be expected to attend the king and the Royal Court. More still was his need to support thosewho depended on him, his delicate mother and his mutinous younger sister, plus the importance of producing an heir. He must now face the marriage his father had arranged for him many years ago, to Miss Isabel Ashton, daughter of his neighbor, Sir Phillip Ashton.
Chapter One
Bath Assembly Rooms, England, March 1814
Miss Lucy Kershawturned this way and that before the mirror in the ladies’ withdrawing room. She bit her lips, pinched her cheeks, then smoothed her skirts, satisfied the white muslin trimmed with spring-green satin ribbons compared favorably with the other ladies’ gowns here tonight. She had only completed the final hem yesterday.
Papa had insisted she come, and although she’d finally agreed to make her first appearance among Bath society, she was still concerned about the financial pressure that would place on him. He had been downhearted since his investment in an African goldmine company that had found no trace of gold. So certain of the venture’s success, he’d borrowed heavily from a London cent-per-center to pay for Lucy’s come out. Next week, she was to travel to London for the Season, but that looked doubtful now. She tried to hide her disappointment from her father and was determined to make the most of what Bath offered.
Lucy took a deep breath and ventured into the elegant ballroom, where the chandeliers sprinkled a myriad of sparkling lights over the dancers performing a quadrille. There were some guests here she knew from childhood, but there was always a large influx of people visiting Bath to drink the waters, bathe, and attend the functions. Tonight, the ballroom seemed to buzzwith expectations as some important personages had attended. As Lucy moved through the crowd intent on finding her father, two women she knew only by name drifted past her, fanning themselves vigorously in the warm, smoky air.
“Losing money to an adventurer, I could weep,” Mrs. Hoskin, a lady of middle years in a dress of violet satin, said to the lady walking beside her.
“As do I, my dear,” Mrs. Vellacott, a dark-haired widow of a similar age, in gray silk, responded bitterly. “To think we accepted the advice of someone who has barely two pennies to rub together. Had I known Mr. Kershaw lacked breedingandfinancial competence, I would not have invested in the company he recommended. There was never any chance of discovering gold. I might as well have thrown my twenty pounds into the river!”
“We must warn others not to be taken in by him,” Mrs. Hoskin said bitterly, her tight, fair curls bouncing.
Lucy, furious on her father’s behalf, came up to them. “A broker assured my father of the company’s success,” she said fiercely, standing before the surprised women. “And Papa, although he gained nothing from recommending it to you, would have wanted you both to benefit from the investment.” Seeing a smirk on Mrs. Vellacott’s lips, Lucy propped a gloved hand on her hip and glared at the women. Upset for her father, the lie seemed to come from nowhere. “And I am surprised you don’t know my father is the Marquess of Berwick’s heir. I’m sure you’re aware the Kershaw’s are very wealthy.”
Mrs. Hoskin opened and closed her mouth, seemingly struck dumb. Mrs. Vellacott, her face burning, took her friend’s arm and hurried her away among the milling guests.
“Nasty women,” Lucy muttered.
“Quite so,” said a deep voice behind her.
Lucy spun around.
A tall, exquisitely dressed gentleman bowed before her, a spark of humor in his startlingly light-blue eyes. “I beg your pardon. We have not been properly introduced. Dorchester. How do you do?”
Recognizing the earl by his name, Lucy sank into a curtsey. “Miss Kershaw, my lord.” Mortified to have been caught out in such a blatant lie, Lucy gazed up into the earl’s eyes that searched hers. He seemed so elegant and self-assured that she sank into her slippers. A horrible thought struck her. Was he familiar with the marquess’s family?
She was furious the women would say such distressing things about Papa. If only she’d stopped to think of the repercussions of such a declaration. Papa was a second cousin once removed from Fergus Kershaw, Marquess of Berwick, but their branch of the Kershaw family was the poorer and lesser known one. As Lord Berwick had two sons, there was absolutely no possibility of her father ever inheriting the title.
Lucy dropped her startled gaze to the broad stretch of the earl’s waistcoat embroidered with an intricate pattern in silver thread, the exquisitely cut cobalt-blue tailcoat and crisply tied white cravat at his strong throat, while waiting breathlessly for him to contradict her. She sagged with relief when he showed no such inclination and talked instead about the hot ballroom, and how crowded and smoky it was, and she could only murmur in agreement.
Lucy recalled that the Marquess of Berwick’s estate was located near Carlisle, close to the Scottish border. She imagined the family would not often come to Bath or be rarely seen in London, so perhaps this would go no further. But she still wished she hadn’t said it. On reflection, her fatherhadmused about their connection to their wealthy relatives, but it was a tenuous connection.
