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The last remaining button gave up the ghost, but instead of dropping to the floor with quiet dignity and politely rolling under the pianoforte, it burst free with the force of a pistol shot, flew across the drawing room and landed with an audible plop next to Viscount Lawton’s shiny black Hessians.
Viscount Lawton, the object of Cornelia’s most ardent affections.
She released her hold on the windowsill, lowered her feet to the ground and pressed her back against the stone wall, closing her eyes.
Fate, gravity and a dozen jam tarts had been her undoing.
If only she could stay here forever with the sun-warmed stones at her back and the winter breeze on her face! Better still if she could scale the stone wall surrounding the garden and disappear. But it was hopeless. She had no money, no friends, and no place to go.
She was utterly at Phillippa’s mercy.
By the time she roused herself the rattle of the departing carriages had faded to silence. The guests had made a hasty retreat, and there was nothing to be done now but to face the consequences.
Her feet dragged with every step back to the house. She slipped through the front door, bracing herself for a tumult, but there wasn’t a sound to be heard.
The house was silent. Ominously so.
How strange. She was halfway down the corridor that led to the drawing room when the soft murmur of voices reached her. She crept closer, uneasiness tugging at her, and paused in the corridor, just out of sight.
“… afraid we have no choice but to delay your season until next year, dearest.”
“Delay it! But what of Viscount Lawton, Mamma? Miss Grimshaw says he intends to wed this season. I can’t give him up! I simply can’t. I shall never recover from the loss of him. Indeed, my heart will break.”
Cornelia burst into a flood of noisy tears, and Phillippa was obliged to raise her voice to be heard over the din. “Never mind Viscount Lawton, dearest. Why should you settle for a Viscount when you could have a duke?”
The screeching stopped at once. “A duke? What duke, Mamma?”
“The Duke of Hawthorne, my love. I wasn’t going to mention it, as I know you had your heart set on London.” Phillippa held up a thick, cream-colored card. “He’s having a house party, and just listen, dearest! The party will culminate in a Christmas Eve ball, where the duke will choose his future duchess. All the best people will attend. I daresay the London season will be quite dull this year.”
“The Duke of Hawthorne?” Beatrice, who hadn’t any use for either dukes or viscounts, gave a dismissive sniff. “Never heard of the man.”
“He’s only just returned to Scotland after six years in Brazil. Or was it some other godforsaken place? I can’t recall, but he’s a scientist of some sort and reputed to be quite brilliant.”
“Six years?” Cornelia wrinkled her nose. “He must be quite savage by now.”
“Perhaps,” Phillippa allowed. “But he’s a savage who also happens to be a duke. For pity’s sake, Cornelia, don’t you want to be a duchess? Hawthorne Castle, his country seat in Annan, is meant to be spectacular, indeed. Imagine being mistress of a castle, Cornelia!”
“If Cornelia is meant to land a duke, Mamma, you’d best keep her away from the pianoforte.” Beatrice popped a bite of shortbread into her mouth. “The jam tarts, as well.”
Stella didn’t wait to hear any more. She tiptoed back down the corridor, ran up the three flights of stairs to her tiny room and closed the door with a quiet click behind her.
A house party, and a Christmas Eve ball? A beautiful Scottish castle, and a betrothal to a duke?
It sounded like a fairy tale waiting to unfold.
She’d believed in fairy tales, once upon a time. She’d believed in dazzling pink peonies and plump berries and a father who would live forever. She’d believed that life was sweet, and people were good at heart.
Of all the things she’d lost, she missed her faith the most. She wanted it back more than she wanted her next breath, but her eyes had been opened, and there was no closing them again.
Fairy tales weren’t real. At best, they were pretty stories, nothing more.
At worst, they were lies.
And no good ever came of lies.
CHAPTER 2
Hawthorne Castle
