Chapter 1
Greater Edgerton, Lancashire
Summer 1818
Regrets were dastardly things, often sneaking up and springing upon one without warning long after the mistake had been made. But at other times, they crashed down, following fast on the heels of the poor choice—something Rosanna Leigh realized too late as she hurtled through the air toward the muddy and rocky creek bed.
She ought to have listened.
But regardless of how the regret arrived, it always arrived with unavoidable consequences in tow, and Rosanna couldn’t prevent hers any more than she could stop the gravity thrusting her downward.
And all because she’d wanted a bit of quiet.
Every woman needed a sanctuary. Men were afforded their studies, and heaven help anyone foolish enough to cross that threshold without invitation, yet the rest of the household made do with shared bedchambers and sitting rooms. And with two sisters, a brother, and their grandmother lurking about, there was hardly space to breathe. To say nothing of the servants hiding in odd corners, and the whirlwind that was the Leigh matriarch, who filled every inch of the house.
Whitley Court was stifling.
Rosanna Leigh was blessed to be the only one of her sisters with a private room at present, but only because her elder sister had vacated it upon becoming Mrs. Parker Humphreys last spring. But without Prudence there, their bedchamber was the wrong sort of private, with only the memories of the past and Rosanna’s aching heart to fill it.
Prudence may still live a short distance away, but her life was elsewhere and quite full at present. Rosanna needed a confidant. Or peace at the very least.
Filled with teeming mills and a bustling economy, Greater Edgerton was not a tranquil town, but there were corners of it in which the elusive sentiment could be found—which was how Rosanna had found herself standing on the edge of a creek weaving through the grounds of Boxwood Manor.
With just enough water to babble, it was hardly substantial enough to be deemed a creek, but with the sound of the water trickling over the jagged stone below and the wind teasing the leaves in the trees above, Rosanna had been close enough to peaceful that she ignored the voice calling out to her.
“Madam?”
Closing her eyes, Rosanna had basked in the breeze and the scent of the water, grass, and soil all mixing together. For all that the bustle of a ballroom filled her with vigor and vitality, there was no better place to find contentment than in the midst of nature—
“Madam!”
The ground at her feet had shifted, throwing her off balance. Arm swinging wide, she’d fought against gravity, and then that awful moment of clarity had arrived. The knowledge did not help one wit, only serving to make the descent all the more terrifying, for she knew it was coming.
Arms wrapped around her, tightening as though to pull her back, but her rescuer only had time enough to let loose a single profanity that would’ve blistered Rosanna’s ears had she not been preoccupied with far more pressing matters.
Then the bank gave way entirely.
Rosanna had once read a story in which the heroine took a terrible tumble, only to be saved by the great skill of the hero, who through some action that defied physics managed to snatch her midair and place himself beneath her, so as to bear the brunt of the fall. It was a shame nature was not a lover of romantic tales. Instead, it held true to its laws (gravity being its favorite), forcing the pair down into the creek bed in a tangle of limbs, and Rosanna’s makeshift rescuer landed atop her, crushing her into the rocks below.
Thankfully, it was not a far drop and the ledge she’d been standing on had enough soil to cushion some of the damage, but it didn’t take much of a drop to bruise and batter a poor pair of legs. Especially with the edge of her skirt and pelisse rucked up, allowing her backside no protection as it dragged against the dirt and filled her pantalettes with mud and grit.
More problematic was the great weight sitting atop her, which made her errant rescuer feel like thirty stone as Rosanna struggled to push him free.
“Apologies,” he murmured, rolling back to stare at the bank above, though still leaving her legs pinned.
Rosanna followed his gaze and saw that her ledge was now entirely gone.
“The creek had eroded the bank in that spot,” he added.
“I can see that now,” said Rosanna with a sigh.
“I tried to warn you.”
“Yes, I understand that now.” Poking him with her finger, she added, “Would you please lift yourself?”
With a wince and another apology, he rose to his feet and brushed his palms against his muddy trousers. Reaching for her hand, the fellow averted his gaze from her exposed legs, and Rosanna fought a blush as she rose to her feet and quickly righted her skirts.
Her backside throbbed in protest as she stood, but otherwise, her limbs felt intact. A brush of muslin against her calves made her skin sting, and Rosanna drew in a sharp breath. The stockings and legs beneath were likely shredded, but as she felt no trickle of blood coming from the wounds, she would leave them be for now. Her dignity may be in tatters, but she wouldn’t eviscerate the last of it by lifting her hem to examine the wounds.
