Prologue
WHEN LADY SERAPHINA WALLER-MITCHELL was two months old,her mother handed her care to a nursemaid and sailed for Rome.Having secured funding for her latest expedition with her marriageand her womb, the Marchioness’s passion for archaeology andantiquities far outweighed the negligible delights of motherhoodand she gave no more thought to the daughter she left behind. Theservants didn’t know what to do with an infant, however they didtheir best to manage the newborn daughter of their lord.
Seraphina’sfather, the Marquess of Tidswell, had left for Ceylon many monthsprior to his daughter’s birth. He did not much care for his newwife, having reluctantly acquired her only to secure the future ofa marquessate he’d never thought to inherit. The third son of athird son, he had spent most of his life amusing himself with aplantation secured by his long-deceased father and was eager toreturn once the wedding and bedding had been done. Not even whenthe news eventually reached him that Marchioness had borne only agirl child, and thus he had no heir, had he been tempted toreturn.
When Seraphinawas seven, a letter from Rome arrived advising of the death of hermother. Seraphina hadn’t been sure if she was sad. She’d known sheshould be—her mother was dead—but it was difficult to mourn aperson she had never met. She had done her best, though, and MrsMiddleton, the housekeeper, arranged for her clothing to be dyedblack and similarly hued wreathes hung on doors. Many people Seradidn’t know sent condolences, the spiky pen marks blurring beforeher eyes. She could not read some of the words, and though she wasmaking her way through the books in the library, she was still onlyseven and her vocabulary—she was proud she knew what that wordmeant—was not fully established. She knew this to be as MissWebster, her governess, said it often.
With the deathof the woman he’d married, the Marquess finally decided to returnto London. He sent word ahead and Seraphina spent the time betweenthe letter’s arrival and her father’s in a state of nervousexcitement. Finally, she was meeting her father. Someone who wouldlaugh and toss her in the air and give her lemon drops, as she’dseen Ned the groom do with his daughter. Her father would read herbedtime stories and she would let him, even though she had learntto read ages ago. She would finally have a family, and her fatherwould stay and care for her and life would be grand.
The day of herfather’s arrival, Seraphina wore her best dress, her finestslippers. Her nurse had spent a half-hour brushing and arrangingher hair, weaving a ribbon into a complicated half-braid. Gazetrained on her bedroom door, she sat rigid on her bed, not daringto move in case she mussed herself. Finally, the door opened andJohn the footman bade her attend her father.
She followedJohn, tugging at her fingers until they reached the study. Johnrapped on the door and a firm voice bid them enter.
She had notoften been in the study, only when Sir Walter, the solicitor incharge of her trust, came for his quarterly checks. Sir Walteroccupied the study now, but instead of sitting behind the desk ashe usually did, he stood awkwardly by its side. Instead, a man shehad never before seen sat behind the desk.
Joy filled her.This must be her father.
He appeared likeany other man, though he was dressed in clothing that seemedexotic, with bright colours she had only seen ladies in the parkwear. He had no moustache like Sir Walter, or a beard like Charlie,Peter or Xavier, the grooms
The man—herfather—looked to the side. “This is my daughter?”
“Yes, my lord,” Sir Walter said.
Her fathersighed. “I suppose she’ll do.” He crooked his finger. “Come here,girl.”
She took carefulsteps toward him, determined to impress him with what Miss Websterhad taught her. From behind the desk, he assessed her. She triednot to be disappointed he did not immediately hug her. Perhaps hefelt a bit funny. She felt a bit funny when she met newpeople.
“Youhave my look, I suppose, but your hair, that must be yourmother’s.”
Abruptly, shewas ashamed of the hair she and her nurse had spent so longattending.
“Doyou attend school, girl?” her father continued.
“No,sir. Miss Webster teaches me.”
“Miss Webster?” he said to Sir Walter.
“Thegoverness, my lord.”
Her fatherscoffed. “She will attend boarding school.”
Sir Walterappeared confused. “But she is the daughter of a marquess, mylord,” he said. “Is that wholly appropriate?”
“Itis appropriate if I say it is appropriate.”
Seraphina lookedbetween Sir Walter and her father. Neither of them looked at her.“But I don’t want to.”
Her father’sgaze whipped to her. Frowning, he said, “You will do as Isay.”
“ButI want to stay here, with Miss Webster and Mrs Middleton and Nedand John and Peter.”
“Servants,” her father said with disgust. “You must be amongstyour own. I will direct my secretary to make thearrangements.”
“But, Father—”
“Youwill be going and that is final.” He turned to Sir Walter. “Whereare those titles for the Marchioness’s property?”
Seraphina staredat her father and, horribly, she couldn’t stop the tears thatwelled. Angrily, she scrubbed at her face and dipped into acurtsey.
