Chapter 1
Spring 1801
Haverford, Lincolnshire
It was entirely inappropriate for a man to look handsome whilst wearing mourning attire. He ought to appear solemn. His countenance subdued. His figure diminished rather than distinguished. That was the proper order of things. And yet with his shoulders set square and the line of his jaw visible even in the shadow of his lowered head, Frederick Voss was striking.
Of course, the gentleman in question wasn’t attempting to attract the female gaze, but he was doing a thorough job of it. Or at least attracting the gaze of Althea Keats.
And no matter how inappropriate (even indecent!) it was to ogle a man in mourning, her gaze lingered. Enough so that Thea would’ve missed the final prayers had Mama not poked a determined finger into her daughter’s arm.
Rising to her feet alongside the congregation, Thea attempted a properly penitent expression as an apology, though her attention remained fixed upon Frederick. And though his eyes did not turn to meet hers, the smug curve of his lips betrayed the fact that he was well aware of the perusal.
Thea’s cheeks flushed pink (something for which the blackguard would tease her mercilessly later), but her embarrassment fled when her eyes finally met his. Her breath caught, a subtle hitch she was quick to hide as she straightened her spine. Yes, there was the ever-present smile upon his lips, but that gaze held a far truer sign of mourning than all the vestments and bands provided. Others might see composure, but Thea felt the fracture beneath it.
Following the parishioners as they filed out of the nave and into the spring sunshine, Thea didnotfixate on Frederick Voss. She certainly didnotwatch as he wove through the crowd, giving the passersby acknowledgments (as was fitting) as he forged ahead, moving from where the crowd had deposited him to her side. And she certainly didnotgrin like a giddy little girl when he dipped his head in greeting.
However, Theadidslip her hand into the crook of his arm at the selfsame time the gentleman offered it up to her.
“How is a fellow supposed to achieve spiritual enlightenment when an excessively fine lady is making eyes at him throughout the service?” he whispered.
“How did that fellow realize the excessively fine lady was making eyes at him if he is paying proper attention to said service?” she replied, leaning into him. “Especially as the gentleman sits in a pew ahead of that so-called distraction. The only way he could know she is looking is if he is turning in his seat to notice.”
“I always feel it when your gaze is upon me, my love,” he said with a grin befitting the rascal he was.
How was Frederick able to infuse such meaning in the smallest of things? A few words. A glance. A touch. That power filled her like the blazing sun at the height of summer, sending its light and warmth into every dark nook and cranny until everything was bathed in gold.
Yet beneath it, Thea felt the sorrow that lingered in his heart and the heaviness of his mourning garb. Three months was not such a long time, and with the added responsibility of stepping into the shoes that his father had left behind, it was little wonder that a shadow lingered in Frederick’s eyes—for all that he tried to hide it behind a mask of joviality.
Holding tighter to his arm, Thea offered him the only support afforded them whilst in public, and Frederick’s smile twisted into the smug expression of one certain that he was the envy of every man in the parish, though others were far more occupied with their own business than paying attention to the affectionate display.
“Behave,” whispered Thea, though it had as much effect on his affectation as a thimble of water has on a bonfire. If anything, it poured pitch upon the flames. That dear fool.
The church stood solid against the pale sky, its stone walls softened by centuries of lichen and the tender green of ivy, which the caretaker was forever fighting off, and beyond the gates, the market square lay quiet for the Sabbath, the stalls packed away until the next market day.
Within the churchyard, parishioners lingered in small circles; the first true warmth of the year loosened their tongues, and their voices mingled with the cries of children, who chased one another over gravel and grass. Above it all, a skylark sang, its notes tumbling through the pale blue sky as it ushered in this new season.
The tree branches glowed with a haze of spring green as their buds began to burst, and the air carried both the sweetness of those early blossoms and the faint dampness of earth, freshly turned and awaiting the planting.
But that beauty was lost on the group gathered around Thea and her beau: there were far more pressing matters at hand.
“Well now,” said Mrs. Norfolk with a spark of mischief in her eyes as she glanced at Thea and Frederick. “The pair of you cut such a fine figure together that one cannot help wondering if the church bells will soon be rung for more than Sunday service. Should we expect a grand announcement soon?”
Was there a better question in all the world? With each passing month, the villagers’ prodding grew more pointed, and Thea couldn’t help but revel in it and the way her heart fluttered at each mention. Mrs. Althea Voss had a nice ring to it.
“A lady must play hard to get, and Miss Keats is doing her level best to keep me humble,” said Frederick in a tone of such seriousness that, had Thea not known him better, she might’ve assumed he was telling the truth, and Mrs. Norfolk certainly nodded along as though that was a sage observation.
“Dear me,” said Thea, opening her eyes wide in mock surprise. “If it is my responsibility to keep you humble, then I ought to quit the field now and accept the loss. That is an unwinnable battle.”
Frederick held fast to his serious expression, though Mrs. Norfolk looked all too concerned at that declaration.
“You two are hopeless,” said Miss Phoebe Voss, forcing her way between the pair as only an elder sister could. Turning her attention to Mrs. Norfolk, she added, “And you ought to know better than to pester my brother if you expect a genuine answer. They will make that ‘grand announcement’ when they choose to.”
Mrs. Norfolk’s eyes fell to Frederick’s armband and the matching black ribbon adorning Phoebe’s bonnet. “Yes, of course. I didn’t mean to offend.”
“Of course not,” said Thea, giving her friend a pointed look, but Phoebe ignored it. “Trust me, Mrs. Norfolk, I will be certain to tell you when there is anything to announce.”
“‘When?’” asked Mrs. Norfolk, grasping onto that slip of the tongue with a beaming grin.
