Prologue
Marstone House, London, April 1780
Nicholas Carterton breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped into the hall and the butler closed the dining room door. What had his father been thinking of to suggest an alliance with the Earl of Marstone’s family? Dinner had been tedious in the extreme, with Marstone sitting like a fat toad at the head of the table pontificating about the conduct of the war in the Americas. It hadn’t been a conversation—Marstone had required only agreement. No amount of political influence was worth connecting their family with such a man, even if Nick’s views had matched Marstone’s.
Marstone’s twin daughters had been too cowed to speak at all—so much so that he wasn’t even sure which of the two young women his father had suggested as a potential bride. He’d claimed a prior arrangement as soon as the ladies left the room. At least the evening wouldn’t be completely wasted—he could get back to his translation of Plutarch. Even checking household accounts would have been more entertaining.
He examined a portrait while he waited for someone to fetch his coat and hat. A previous earl, he guessed, in a long wig and lace collar of the last century. The features bore some resemblance to Marstone, although this forebear was considerably slimmer.
“Psst!”
Nick spun around. A door opposite the portrait was ajar, and a hand poked through the gap, beckoning. A female hand.
“Hurry!” The word was no less commanding for being spoken in a whisper.
Intrigued, he obeyed. The parlour into which he stepped was cold and dim, lit only by a pair of candles on a table. He made out only a small figure, clad in a plain gown, moving further into the room. Once close to the light, he could see from her features she must be another Marstone daughter, much younger than the twins.
“Mr Carterton,” she started in a loud whisper. “You are Mr Carterton, aren’t you?”
“I am ind—”
“Shh.” She waved a hand at him. “We must not be discovered here. Papa would—”
“Who are you?” As instructed, he whispered the words. He had as little wish as she for discovery, but he suspected their reasons were different. “Are you sure you shouldn’t be in the schoolroom?”
“I’m sixteen in a week,” she hissed. “I cannot help being short!”
Not so much younger, then. “My apologies, Lady…What is your name?”
“Isabella. I’m Lizzie’s sister. You mustn’t offer for her—she doesn’t want to marry you.”
“How flattering.” He tried to keep the amusement from his voice—it was clear that she was serious. “She can always decline.”
“No, she can’t—you don’t know our father. He would make her accept.”
Amazing, the force she could put into a mere whisper.
“You haven’t already offered, have you? Please say you haven’t!”
“I have not,” he admitted.
“And will you promise that you will not? Please, sir, you cannot want a wife who does not want you.”
“I do not, but we hardly know each other yet.”
“How could you?” she asked. “I expect Papa talked all through dinner.”
“He did. And attempted give me orders, as you are doing.”
“I’m doing it for Lizzie’s benefit. And yours!” Her hand flew to her mouth—she must have realised how loudly she had spoken.
“Is he marrying off your other sister, too?” Nick whispered the question. It had been unfair of him to liken her to her father.
“He is making arrangements with Lord Drayton for Theresa.”
Drayton? A drunkard who spent most of his days on a racecourse or at prize fights, and his evenings at cards or dice.
“Will is trying to stop him,” the little spitfire went on.
“Who is Will?”
“Our brother, Lord Wingrave.” Her chin lifted. “He’ll stop you as well.”
“Is that a threat, Lady Isabella?”
She glared at him, her eyes glittering in the candlelight, then she looked away, her shoulders slumping. “No, it is not a threat. I just thought that if you were a decent—”
“Lady Isabella, I will not offer for your sister.” He should not tease her any longer.
“—man you would…” Her downturned mouth transformed to an uncertain smile. “Oh… thank you. I am—”
This time the interruption was a shaft of light from the opening doorway. Nick grabbed the candlestick, the flames flickering from his sudden movement.
“Under the table,” he whispered, moving towards the door as he spoke, hoping his movement would conceal the rustle of her skirts.
“Sir, what are you doing in here?” The butler stepped through the doorway. “I thought I heard voices?”
“Merely looking around,” Nick said, walking past him into the hall, blowing out the candles as he went. “I need my coat and hat, if you please.” It was unfair to be brusque, but he didn’t want the man investigating the parlour until Lady Isabella had had time to escape.
That glimpse of her ducking beneath the table would amuse him for some time.
Chapter 1
Marstone Park, Hertfordshire, June 1782
Lady Isabella Stanlake, the youngest daughter of the Earl of Marstone, stared disconsolately at the fine drops misting the outside of her bedroom window. The park was too familiar, too controlled—like everything to do with her father. Low box hedges made intricate, neatly clipped patterns in the formal garden next to the house, with few flowers to show the changing seasons. The isolated trees in the parkland and the long curve of the drive were the only irregular features. Her father had made the gardens as tedious as he’d made her life.
Bella turned at a knock on the door, ready to welcome any distraction from her boredom.
“How is your mother, Molly?” she asked. “Did you enjoy your afternoon?”
The maid’s plump face beamed. “She’s much better, thank you, my lady. We had a nice talk. She’s taking in sewing again now the curate got her them spectacles.”
“That’s good.” She’d never spoken to any of Molly’s family, and likely never would, but she’d learned more of life beyond Marstone Park from her maid than she would ever have done from her governess. And hearing Molly chatter on about her family, their hopes and fears, was almost as good as having a friend to talk to.
Almost.
“It’s time to get ready for dinner, my lady. You’re to put a decent gown on to dine with his lordship and Lady Cerney.”
Bella sighed, meeting the maid’s sympathetic gaze. “Let us choose a gown, then.”
It didn’t take long, for beyond the plain round gowns she wore daily she had few that still fitted her. The last social events she’d attended were dinners with their nearest neighbours, last year. She’d grown since then, but more outwards than upwards, sadly. At eighteen, she still only came up to the mark on the nursery wall that her sisters had reached at fifteen.
“This should do nicely, my lady,” Molly said, holding up a robe à l’anglais in yellow and white stripes. “The stomacher’s wide enough to fit without having to lace you too tight. Pity that blue gown’s too small now—that went lovely with your eyes.”
“Molly, is there any gossip in the servants’ hall about why my aunt has come?” Bella hardly knew Aunt Aurelia. She’d seen none of her family since her twin sisters had been taken to London the previous year to have their seasons under the chaperonage of Aunt Honora. Now they were both married and hadn’t been back to Marstone Park. And her brother—Will, Lord Wingrave—was not allowed on the estate.
“Not yet, my lady. I’ll be sure to let you know if there is. But Langton says the butler was told a few days ago to send folks to London to open up Marstone House.”
Bella felt a sudden spark of excitement—had Aunt Aurelia been summoned to supervise her season? After Lizzie and Theresa had made what her father regarded as unsuitable alliances, she had worried that she might not get a season at all. Papa was as likely to arrange a marriage for her with someone she’d never seen.
Molly broke off from pinning up Bella’s hair. “I got this for you, my lady.” She fished a slim packet from the front of her stays.
A letter! Bella took it eagerly, forgetting her speculation for the moment. “How long have you had this, Molly?”
The maid ignored the reproach in her voice. “Langton only just gave it to me, my lady. One of the grooms went over to Nether Minster on his day off yesterday.” She met Bella’s eyes in the mirror with a cheeky grin. “Didn’t want you trying to read it while I was dressing you!”
Bella returned the smile, thankful that there were enough servants like Molly, Langton and the groom willing to help her.
The letter was from Lizzie, and was full of the usual domestic news—balls and assemblies on visits to York, dinners with neighbours when they were at home near Harrogate, her pleasure at being out and about now that she was recovered from the birth of little Edward.
Bella let her hands drop to her lap. Although she was happy for Lizzie, her sister’s happiness only emphasised her own frustrated loneliness. Theresa didn’t have any children yet, but Will had two daughters now. She hadn’t seen either of her nieces or her nephew, or even Lady Wingrave, and wasn’t likely to be allowed to until she married. Even then, if her husband was of her father’s choosing, she might still be kept away from the rest of her family. Anyone Papa approved of was likely to disapprove of Will.
“There, my lady.”
Molly had piled her hair high with a few ringlets hanging down the back. “Thank you, Molly. That looks very well.”
“Dinner’s in half an hour, my lady. But best to hide that soon in case someone comes for you early.”
Bella folded the letter—Molly was right. She crossed to the bed and knelt on it, pulling up the curtain that fell from the top frame to behind the wooden headboard. The letter went next to all the others in a pocket she’d sewn at the base of the curtain. No-one would think to look there—she hoped.
“Molly, can Langton listen at the door?”
“I already suggested that, my lady.”
“Well, she’s a little dab of a thing, isn’t she?” Lady Cerney ran her gaze from the top of Bella’s head to her feet.
Bella pressed her lips together as she made her curtsey. Most adults were taller than she was, but she didn’t need reminding of the fact.
The gold silk of her aunt’s gown was embroidered with large, intricate swirls of flowers in shades of red and pink. She wore her hair well powdered and dressed high, threaded with a string of rubies that matched the larger stones around her neck. Her eyes and mouth displayed the beginnings of wrinkles, despite the powder and paint on her face.
“Stand up, girl, and let me get a look at you.”
Bella’s glance slid to her father as Aunt Aurelia walked around her, resisting the impulse to raise her chin. Her aunt sounded far too much like her father, and she’d learned years ago that life was easier if she hid her resentment.
“She’ll do,” was her aunt’s final verdict.
Do? For what?
The earl struggled to his feet. Bella hadn’t seen her father for over a month, despite living in the same house, and he seemed to get rounder and redder in the face at each encounter. He hobbled across the room, leaning on a cane and breathing heavily.
“Dinner should be ready,” was all he said as he left the room, not even glancing at Bella. Aunt Aurelia’s expression turned to a scowl as they followed him.
Her aunt talked about her daughters as they ate. She was only a year or two younger than the earl, and her offspring were well into their thirties now, with children of their own. Bella hadn’t met any of them and found it difficult to take an interest. Her father wasn’t even pretending to converse, merely eating his way through the food piled high on his plate, impatiently tapping his glass whenever he emptied it.
Aunt Aurelia finally steered the conversation to Bella. “How is your education coming along, Isabella?”
Bella laid her fork down. ‘Tediously’ wouldn’t be acceptable as an answer. “You would have to ask Miss Fothergill about my progress, my lady.”
“I will.” Her aunt nodded. “What does your governess teach you?”
Nothing particularly interesting. “French, deportment, embroidery, painting, piano, harp, and singing.”
“Not the art of conversation, clearly. What about dancing?”
“There is no-one with whom to practise, my lady.”
“Hmm.” Aunt Aurelia turned to the earl. “The task may not be as easy as you made out. I cannot introduce her properly if she cannot dance.”
Introduce? Bella toyed with her food to hide her mounting interest. It sounded as though she might be allowed to go into society—at last, a chance to meet more people. But it was too soon to get excited; Aunt Aurelia might just be here to take her to someone her father had arranged for her to marry.
“Get a dancing master,” the earl said, his face settling into a scowl. “You and I will continue this discussion in the blue parlour, Aurelia.” He signalled to a footman, who hurried forward to move the chair as he stood. “Come along.” He hobbled out, in spite of the fact that the two women still had food on their plates.
“Am I dismissed?” Bella’s appetite had gone.
Aunt Aurelia’s expression softened a little. “If you have finished eating, yes. I will speak to you tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Aunt.”
Bella returned to her room and rang the bell for Molly, her feelings in turmoil. Soon, she would get to see places and people beyond Marstone Park, but if her father chose someone like himself as her husband, she would be no better off. Worse, as there would be little hope for the future…
She must let her brother know about her father’s plans—she would need Will’s help if she wanted to have any say at all in her marriage. But there was a more urgent task.
“My lady?” Molly slipped into the room as Bella started to remove the pins holding her stomacher in place.
“Molly, find my disguise—I want to listen at the service door in the blue parlour, but I can’t risk getting seen in the corridors in my normal clothes.”
“Langton will be serving there, my lady,” Molly said as she unearthed a bundle of dark clothing from the bottom of the clothes press and shook it out.
“Papa will send him out,” Bella pointed out. “You’ll need to show me the way, though—I’ve only listened at the library door before.”
“Yes, my lady.” Molly helped her off with her gown and into a drab grey garment such as all the female servants wore. “I’ll come back and make it look like you’ve gone to bed with a headache,” the maid said as she twisted Bella’s hair into a simple knot and covered it with a voluminous cap. “I’ll bring a tisane up and say you’re not to be disturbed.”
A servants’ stair opened off the corridor. Bella followed Molly down it, taking a couple of turns through narrow, stone-flagged passageways before the maid slowed and held a finger to her lips. The corridor was dim, patches of darkness filling the gaps between the lamps, but a sliver of light ahead showed a door left ajar.
“That’s it,” Molly whispered. “If anyone opens it, keep going. The door to the breakfast room is just beyond, you might be able to get back to your room that way.”
“Thank you.”
Molly hurried off the way they’d come, and Bella crept towards the faint line of light. The sun had not yet set, but even on bright days the dark walls in the parlour made the place gloomy. Her father would not move from his chair once he was seated, so she only needed to worry about Aunt Aurelia spotting the open door.
All she heard at first was the chink of glassware.
“Yes, yes. Leave the decanter.” That was her father’s voice, his words muffled. “Give Lady Cerney her drink before you go.”
“Very good, my lord.”
Bella scuttled a few paces down the passage as footsteps came closer, in case her aunt saw her through the open door. Langton’s tall figure blocked the light for a moment—he nodded in her direction before carefully pulling the door almost closed and walking off down the corridor.
She crept forward again—her aunt was speaking.
“—what is this about? You implied that Isabella is to be introduced into society, but that doesn’t sound like you.”
“I’m not well, Aurelia. I want her settled in a good marriage. Soon.”
“Naturally. But why the sudden summons?”
“Damned girl’s getting too friendly with the local curate.”
Friendly? She’d only spoken to him twice after church, and merely about starting a school for the village children. The curate hoped she could persuade her father to fund it, but Bella knew better than to even ask.
“Nothing will come of that,” Aunt Aurelia said. “Forbid her to speak to him, or get rid of the curate.”
“I’d have to replace the man, and who’s to say the girl won’t want to befriend the new one? No, she’s as likely to be as contrary as Wingrave. Better to sort it out by having her safely wed—she’s old enough.”
Sort it out? Bella scowled in the darkness. She knew her father did not love any of his children, but it still hurt to be reminded that she was regarded as little more than a problem to be solved.
“It’s very late in the season—why don’t you just arrange a marriage? There must be some suitable prospects willing to make an alliance with the Marstones.”
“Pah. Most don’t want to agree until they’ve seen the girl in company. Better to have them meet her in public. If they come here, she’ll work out why they’ve come, and heaven knows what mischief she’ll cause to put them off.”
She would certainly do whatever it took to avoid a match arranged by her father.
“The girl seemed obedient enough to me,” Aunt Aurelia said.
“Hmpf. So did the other two, until I arranged their marriages.”
“You’re not making this sound an attractive proposition, brother. Why should I put myself out to help?”
“Money, as I said.”
“Ask Honora. She’s in more need than me. Cerney isn’t complaining.”
Bella wished she could see her father’s face; she was enjoying hearing someone argue with him.
“Not yet, but from all accounts you’re heading that way rapidly.”
“You’ve been spying on me? What are my finances to do with you?”
“Aurelia, your penchant for gambling is common knowledge.”
Bella wouldn’t put it past her father to have bribed her aunt’s servants. All she heard in response from her aunt was a muffled tut.
“I’m not giving Honora the opportunity to bleed me dry again. She failed last year, allowing the girls to marry against my wishes. Understand this, Aurelia—”
“You were in Town last year. Why didn’t you stop them?”
There was silence for a moment—Bella could imagine her father’s scowl at being questioned.
“I want a suitable match for Isabella,” the earl went on, ignoring Aunt Aurelia’s question. “And by the end of the summer, at the latest. That means marriage to someone of rank. There’s been enough dilution of our lineage, what with that damned brother of mine, then Wingrave.”
“You picked Wingrave’s wife.”
From what Bella had read in letters from Theresa and Lizzie, and Will himself, her father had made a happy choice.
“Only to ensure he got an heir before he ended up dead in a duel. I wanted someone higher than the granddaughter of a viscount for him, but I needed to arrange things in a hurry.”
“If you’re so fixed on status, Marstone, why did you pick the daughter of such a woman for your heir’s bride?”
“What do you mean, such a woman? Her mother was a baron’s daughter.”
“Ah, so you don’t know.” There was definitely triumph in Aunt Aurelia’s voice. Bella put her ear as close to the gap as she dared. Too close and she risked pushing on the door and giving away her presence.
“Charters was married twice,” Aunt Aurelia said. “His first wife was indeed a baron’s daughter, and he had two girls by her. When she died, he married the daughter of a rich merchant—for her money, without a doubt. Your heir’s wife is from that second marriage.”
“What?”
Bella started at the roar from her father, then smiled. Did Will know? She thought he wouldn’t mind.
“Oh, yes. You should check your plans more carefully.” Her aunt’s tone of smug satisfaction told Bella she wasn’t the only one amused by her father’s rage. “There was even a rumour that Charters wasn’t the current Lady Wingrave’s father. When Wingrave does produce an heir, the boy could well be the son of a bastard.”
Bella heard a sucking in of breath and a thump. “I’ll get the marriage annulled!” Another thump—her father must be banging his stick on the floor. “Deceit, that’s what it was! Damn Charters.”
“Good luck with that, dear brother. If Wingrave doesn’t complain, the Church won’t give you the time of day. An annulment would make bastards of Wingrave’s children.”
Bella resisted the urge to push the door open further. Putting her eye to the gap revealed only the fireplace and the back of her father’s chair. She jumped at the sudden sound of splintering glass.
“Tut. Temper.” Aunt Aurelia sounded like her old nanny; Bella had to cover her mouth to stop a giggle escaping. “Do not take on so, brother. You’ll have an apoplexy.”
A swish of skirts must be her aunt standing up. “If you still require my assistance, we can discuss the terms in the morning. I bid you goodnight.”
Bella stepped away from the service door as her father muttered something. She felt a little less apprehensive at being put in Aunt Aurelia’s charge after hearing that exchange, but the next few months could still decide her fate and she would have little control over it.
We hope you are enjoying the book so far. To continue reading...
Copyright © 2024 All Rights Reserved
Please log in to recommend or discuss...
