CHAPTER 1
Deliverance
Indeed, it really seemed like my beloved Papashouldhave left me with more money.
We had always beenoverflowingwith money at The Gables, our elegant, stately home in the country, where Papa studied ancient languages in his library and I managed the house and servants. I’d been the mistress at The Gables ever since my mama left. She had been bored with our quiet life in the country and run off with a dissolute French nobleman.
But Papa and I had been very happy. . . until a short, shattering bout of influenza a few weeks ago had taken him away. That was when our family lawyer Mr. Finch informed me that, contrary to my expectations, there was no money left.
Unbeknownst to me, my dear father had been making risky investments, spending heavily on the house, and now there was simply nothing left except a mountain of bills. To pay them, The Gables would have to be sold and the lands parceled off to the highest bidder.
“And what’s to become ofme?” I cried. “I have no other family. Papa and I lived very quietly here, going out very little into society.”
Mr. Finch was a dry, fussy little man, and he shuffled through some papers as I looked around in horror at the bright morning-room with its floral wallpaper.
Would there soon be creditors crawling through this room, their fingers outstretched for all my beautiful things like nasty dirty scavengers?
“If you were married, it would be a simple matter,” Mr. Finch said firmly, and my cheeks pinked a bit in embarrassment.
Marriage had never seemed like an urgent matter, and it wasn’t like I had ever had a suitor. And, well, I had never been tempted away from my position at The Gables. Due to my Papa’s training, I believed in modesty about one’s looks and I was quite ordinary, small and inelegant, with a face that was still pink with sunburn and a nose with too many freckles. My one beauty was perhaps my long, thick wheat-colored hair, but even I kept it neatly tucked away in an updo.
“You will be getting a guardian.”
I was still dressed soberly in my mourning black, a net across my face with its swollen eyes, and at this I twitched in surprise, dropping my embroidery and pricking my finger with a sharp needle in the process.
Bright, scarlet drops of blood instantly appeared, and I hastily covered the bloody finger behind my skirts.
“But I don’t need a guardian,” I protested. “I am 23 years old and have been running this household for the last ten years.”
Mr. Finch gave me a quelling glare.
“You are lucky that a distant relative has stepped up to take charge of you, as I don’t know what would become of you otherwise. Gone to the poorhouse, I expect, as all women do who have no friends or money.”
The front door banged open, and I saw rough, hard-looking men come in and begin to measure the furniture, handling my delicate teapot with dirty, foul hands.
“Please,” I begged. “It’s only been two weeks since he died. Can I not have a few more days to go through my things and say goodbye?”
“This is the way of the world, Miss Deliverance,” Mr. Finch said. “Now come outside and meet your new guardian.”
I pulled the net down further over my face as tears prickled at the corners of my eyes, but there seemed no other option but to follow him. My stomach heaved with nausea.
What was to become of me?
Beautiful autumn colors were beginning to seep across the neat and trim landscape as we exited, a sudden breeze stirring my long mourning-scarves around my face.
"Here is your cousin, Mr. Gideon Nightshade," Mr. Finch said.
I stared in astonishment, for I had never heard of the man. Or anyone of that name connected to our family.
Mr. Nightshade was very tall and looked about 40 years of age, with thick coal-black hair and beard. He stood with one hand resting on his carriage, his dark eyes so heavy-lidded that I could not read their expression. He was dressed very correctly in a sober dark jacket and boots, but how powerful his shoulders looked and how broad his chest was made me wonder wildly if he was a boxer and not a proper gentleman.
"I did not know I had a cousin named Mr. Nightshade," I said in some confusion, my cheeks flaming with embarrassment.
My Papa and I had lived such a quiet life in our little country village. He was a gentlescholar who had rarely gone out into society, and I did not meet very many other men.
"It is a very distant relationship,” Mr. Nightshade said, in a low, gravelly voice.
"Pray, tell me, sir, how exactly are we related?"
