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    To Unlock Her Heart: Linen and Lace, #2
    To Unlock Her Heart: Linen and Lace, #2
    To Unlock Her Heart: Linen and Lace, #2
    Ebook412 pages6 hours

    To Unlock Her Heart: Linen and Lace, #2

    By Rosie Chapel

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    About this ebook

    Relief seemed at hand when, after suffering a year of abuse at the hands of the Duke of Aldwych, Grace Aldeburgh was caught with him in an extremely compromising situation. Instead of rescue, Grace was shunned by her family, ignored by her friends and ostracised by Society. Now, rarely leaving her home Grace has accepted that it will be years, if ever, before she is free of the stigma attached to her name by the duke's heinous actions. To shield herself from further pain, Grace locked away her heart, burying it so deeply that she wasn't sure it could ever be found.

    Out of the blue, Grace is granted a boon. She inherits a house in the tiny village of Oak Stanton, a place where nobody knows her and, Grace wonders, whether this is her chance to start afresh; a new life far away from her tormentor, and the malicious whispers of the ton.

    Arriving in Oak Stanton, Grace becomes acquainted with Giles and Billie Trevallier, the Earl and Countess of Winchester, and Theo Elliott ~ the doctor for this little hamlet ~ their warm welcome, a balm to her aching soul.

    Theo knows of Grace and is intrigued to meet the woman whom Society treated so harshly. A budding friendship between the two soon blossoms into something far more enduring but, for them to have any chance at happiness, Grace knows she must share her darkest secret with Theo, expecting that once it is revealed, he too will condemn her. Theo, however, is no fair-weather suitor and, already irrevocably in love with Grace, is resolved to be the man to unlock her heart.

    Unfortunately, just as a fairy tale ending seems within reach, a chance encounter precipitates a chain of events that will have tragic consequences. Determined to reclaim what he considers his prize, the duke has one of his henchmen follow Grace, tracing her to her new home and jeopardising her longed-for happiness. After a failed kidnap attempt, the duke's quest culminates in an acrimonious confrontation with Grace and suddenly the reason for his venal pursuit of her becomes agonisingly clear.

    NB: This book is for over 18's. It contains adult situations which might be a trigger for some.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherUlfire Pty Ltd
    Release dateAug 31, 2020
    ISBN9780995430327
    To Unlock Her Heart: Linen and Lace, #2
    Author

    Rosie Chapel

    A latecomer to writing, but an avid reader all my life, I was persuaded by my hubby to channel my passion for all things ancient into a book. Despite a healthy amount of scepticism, I took a leap of faith, and The Pomegranate Tree was born. This one book became four, and is a tale spanning two thousand years and two continents, connecting the lives of two women and the two men who love them. Although the scenarios are fictional, each book is woven around historical events, include some romance and a twist While writing the above novels, I was captivated by the Regency Romance and a whole new series of books has resulted, set in an era which continues to fascinate me. In between all this, one or two contemporary romances refused to be ignored, so now I have three genres clamouring in my head. As I am also involved in several anthologies, a great honour, it can be chaotic at times - the various voices in my head are very insistent - but I wouldn't have it any other way. Born in the UK, I now live in Perth Australia, with my hubby and our three furkids. When not writing, I love catching up with friends, burying myself in a book (or three), discovering the wonders of Western Australia, or, and the best, a quiet evening at home with my husband, enjoying a glass of wine and a movie.

    Read more from Rosie Chapel

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      Book preview

      To Unlock Her Heart - Rosie Chapel

      Prologue

      Summer 1816, London.

      Not again, she begged mutely, no please not again, not here. Hadn’t he taken enough? There was nothing left, she was merely a shell. She couldn’t even find the strength to fight. He used to like it when she struggled to escape, when she tried to scream and thrash, attempting to free herself, it spurred him on, but he had quashed even that.

      Inside a tiny pocket within her soul, locked away and buried so deeply she wasn’t sure she would ever find it again, lay her heart. It was the only thing he could never reach.

      While he took his pleasure, she closed her mind, letting everything become blank, the cold stone of the wall seeping through the delicate material of her gown. She no longer felt his hands on her as, crudely, he tugged her clothes out of the way. Nor she did hear his grunts of satisfaction. His insults about her lack of looks or her statuesque figure or her ugly hair. Even his threats against her family — should she ever utter a word of what he did — had no effect anymore, she had long given up on anyone caring.

      It was inconceivable to her that he had never been caught. Why had no one come when she cried for help? She suspected her family already knew. That they allowed him to use her. That she had been traded for something more important. Something only he could either give or deny them.

      For what seemed like an age, this had hurt. Their betrayal like the last knife to her soul, yet through it all, she held her peace, unable to inflict on them the same pain. The anguish she suffered knowing her family, whom she trusted and believed loved her, would allow anyone to treat her this way, nearly destroyed her.

      Didn’t they realise she was ruined for all time? She might as well be dead! No decent man would ever want her. She was tainted. She used to cry for hours after he left. Constantly coming up with new and ingenious ways to cover the bruises on her body. Panicking in case she had to explain those marks. Now, she rarely left her room, so it didn’t matter.

      Now she had no feelings at all.

      Unable to sleep — for he stalked her dreams turning them into nightmares — she went through her days like a spectre, a pale shadow of who she once was. Occasionally, she visited her close friends, but she lost the ability to gossip aimlessly and forgot how to laugh, and the invitations dwindled. If she went to a ball, he would be there, watching her every move, never acknowledging her, which was both a blessing and a curse. He took malicious satisfaction in hunting her down and taking her in the gardens or along a balcony. Triumphing in the fact he could do so, virtually in full view of the ton, yet no one ever noticed. He loved the challenge, the risk of exposure, because he had his excuses ready. Whatever happened, he would not be shamed.

      So, she remained silent and slowly lost herself in a pit of darkness.

      Tonight was no different. She had tried to cry off, saying she was suffering from a debilitating headache and please might she be excused. Her mother ignored her entreaty. The ball was in honour of some marquis or other’s engagement and everyone would be there. Her heart had sunk. She knew what that meant. There would be no avoiding him — again. Wearily, she had allowed Peggy to dress her and style her hair, and by sheer force of will looked to be enjoying herself. That worked until about fifteen minutes ago. He had appeared out of nowhere, hooked her arm under his and, holding her hand as though he might like to break it, while nodding and smiling to the guests they passed, drew her out onto the terrace.

      Here she was, desperately praying no one came through those doors. He didn’t speak to her. He never bothered. He unbuttoned the fall of his trousers with one hand and dragged up her skirts with the other. Cruel fingers digging into her soft skin. When he began to thrust, he pressed one hand over her mouth, banging her head against the wall and silencing her whimpers of pain. His fetid breath in her face making her want to gag. Let it be quick she entreated, silently, for once let it be quick.

      Regrettably, this time he wasn’t quick enough. A movement along the terrace distracted him. Several, fashionably attired, people drifted out through a set of French doors at the far end, laughing and chattering, glasses in hand. The wide shaft of light illuminated the couple against the wall, and she heard him curse under his breath. He dropped her clothes, quickly righting his own but it was too late.

      The group had seen sufficient to form their own opinion and a horrified gasp went up from one of the women, while two of the men strode along the terrace.

      She was more humiliated than she ever thought possible, but maybe now someone would help her.

      Please, my Lord, she gasped, recognising one of the men. Please, you have to help me. I-I… didn’t ask for this. Beseeching them, frantically hoping someone, anyone would believe her. She could feel the marks from his hand already bruising her face. Her distress must be obvious to these people. Her tormentor somehow looked abashed and shocked all at the same time.

      One of the men hesitated, an expression of distaste flickering over his features, but whether it was directed at her or him, she couldn’t tell. As always, he took control.

      Say nothing, Hardacre. This silly chit cornered me, threw herself at me begging me to kiss her. Seems she’s had three seasons and no offers. I think she wanted someone to come upon us, so I would have to marry her.

      Her jaw dropped. Surely, this deceived no one. Her dress was torn, her face and arms bruised. She must look as though he had forced her. His next words were like a death knell.

      She is no innocent.

      There were mutters of consternation, and she was certain she heard the words ‘strumpet’ and ‘whore’.

      The world receded. There was a loud roaring in her ears, then blessed oblivion.

      She regained consciousness in a carriage. She had no clue whose it was, and she was lying along the seat. He was sitting opposite her and there was no chaperone. Her head was groggy and, when she tried to sit up everything spun. Groaning weakly, she lay back down. On the brink of darkness, she heard his voice, dripping with malevolence.

      I told you not to speak of it. Now you will pay the price for your foolish tongue. And she knew no more.

      She did not know how long she slept, it seemed like forever. In fact, she would have been content never to wake again, but one day she became aware of movement and opened her eyes. Peggy was pottering about doing whatever housemaids did. Her curtains were open, as was the window, and the air felt fresh and warm.

      Now then, miss, how are you feeling? I was wondering whether you was ever coming back to us.

      She glanced around. Nothing had changed and she was in her own bed. How did she get here? She looked at Peggy, questions in her eyes, questions she didn’t dare ask. Peggy came and sat in the chair next to the bed.

      You were dumped on the doorstep, miss. There was a knock and when Mr Gregson opened the door there you was in a heap. We got you up to bed but couldn’t wake you. Then your parents and brother came home, all in a flap. Something about an incident at the ball and how terrible it was. The maid looked at her mistress weighing up whether to tell her, deciding there was no longer any reason not to. She took the thin fingers in hers. We all know, miss. We know what he does and are so sorry we could not stop it.

      She stared at her maid. Tears spilled down her cheeks. How odd, she didn’t think she had anything left to cry. Oh, Peggy. What will become of me? He said he would ruin my family if I didn’t… she paused, unwilling to say the words, finding better ones she finished …allow him such liberties. It seems it was all for naught. I was already ruined, he knew that, but to blame me, to declare it so in front of society… she trailed off, the enormity of his actions threatening to engulf her.

      Peggy sat with her until she drifted back to sleep, knowing there was yet more sadness to come for her distraught mistress.

      By the time she felt able to leave her bedroom, her world had altered beyond recognition. Her parents and brother had departed for their country estate, leaving strict instructions she must not follow. Shunned by society, her life contracted to the house with the odd visit to the bookstore, museum or art gallery. People she had thought her friends refused to acknowledge her.

      She had to face those of her class who believed his claims and, eventually, she stopped trying to convince anyone she was innocent. He was a duke, she a baron’s daughter. Social climbing was the norm. It was easier to accept a giddy girl of the lower nobility seduced one of higher rank in order to trick him into marriage; it was not unheard of. Curiously, many seemed pleased he refused to bow to expectations.

      Worse was to come. A couple of months later, she discovered she was increasing. Was there no end to the shame he had wrought on her? Previously he had spent himself into a cloth or on her clothes. How typical, this last time, by avoiding one indignity, he committed another just as, if not more, harrowing.

      Alone, save for the few household staff, she struggled through the months, with no idea of what to expect. Apparently, her family were informed but no one came. The birth was traumatic, and she was beset by infection and fever. It was several weeks before they deduced her well enough to be told the child had not survived and it was unlikely she would ever be able to bear another.

      She knew she ought to feel sad, but all she could summon up was relief.

      The only good thing to come out of all this was, she never saw or heard from him again. He did not call, and she was comforted by the knowledge that if he had, Mr Gregson the footman, would have sent him away with a flea in his ear.

      For a while she was at peace.

      Chapter 1

      Two years later, Village of Oak Stanton, Hampshire

      It was over. An interminably long day accepting condolences from, and being courteous to, people she didn’t know. Her face hurt from smiling. She was standing in the front garden of a substantial property. People milled around her, sharing stories about Beatrice Montgomery, which on any other occasion would have made her chortle with mirth. She could not bring herself to do that today. It was too much of an effort.

      Everything was happening as though from a distance. Her head felt muddled and all she wanted to do was collapse in a chair and sleep. The funeral had been solemn and dignified and it was clear by how many attended, her great aunt had been well loved in these parts. What was not clear was how she came to be her beneficiary. Her, Grace Alde… no it was Fitzgerald. She must remember she was Fitzgerald now, not Aldeburgh. Black sheep of the family, of several families. She was still coming to terms with her surprise inheritance.

      Hands clasped neatly over her stomach, Grace let her mind wander back to that meeting, scant days before, at Handley and White’s Solicitors. She could still recall the smell permeating the suite of rooms, parchment and cigars with a hint of leather, a comforting kind of smell. Maybe that was the point.

      Mr Handley, the senior partner, ushered her into his office. A room so haphazardly piled with books and papers, she failed to comprehend how he ever knew where anything was. He seemed wholly unaware of the chaos and pulled several sheets of parchment covered with flowing cursive script, from a file, while explaining her great aunt, Miss Beatrice Montgomery, left everything she owned to Grace. This included a house — somewhere in Hampshire — a portion of land, a carriage, and an annual stipend. Grace, impolitely she fancied, goggled at the solicitor unable to take it in.

      Grace remembered her Great Aunt Beatrice — who was far too young to be a ‘great aunt’, barely older than her own mother — as an unfailingly cheerful sort of person who made every visit so much fun. Never a care about how many tasty treats were enjoyed, and someone who didn’t mind when you came home covered in mud and dirt from playing in the stream or rolling in the grass. Her memories of staying with her great aunt were of long sunny days filled with laughter. It was an eon since she had laughed.

      Great Aunt Beatrice lived in the tiny village of Oak Stanton, attached to the estate of the Earl of Winchester — wasn’t he the earl who married fairly recently? Grace thought there might be a whisper of scandal surrounding his bride. It wouldn’t come to her, and who was she to talk anyway? Making sure she was thinking of the right relation, Grace asked whether it was this aunt.

      Mr Handley nodded, concerned about this pale, quiet lady who outwardly seemed so poised, yet was obviously flustered over the news. He rang for his secretary and, when the young man poked his head around the door, requested he bring a strong cup of tea.

      Grace dragged her attention back to what the portly, whiskered man was saying to her, and apologised for seeming baffled. It’s just I do not understand why she left anything to me. I’m sure she has nephews and nieces who are closer to her. I haven’t seen her for oh, at least five years. Was there a letter, or anything, which might clarify her reasons?

      Mr Handley shook his head. Not in any formal document, my dear. Your great aunt came here about two years ago, specifically to draw up this will. She said everything was to go to you and we had to ensure it could not be contested.

      Two years. Grace stiffened. Two years ago. Now it made a little more sense, but why on earth would her aunt want to give her a house? She couldn’t take it in. After all she had endured, suddenly there was a glimmer of light. She had somewhere of her own, somewhere she could remove to, where it was unlikely anyone would know or, for that matter, care who she was.

      She nodded absently, accepting what Mr Handley was telling her, without grasping the import of his words. He was explaining the funeral would be held this coming Thursday at Oak Stanton and he had made arrangements for her to attend.

      B-b-but, how can I attend? I don’t even know where this village is. I have never had to find it on my own. Anyway, I have things to organise here, I can’t just up and leave. Grace stuttered in her panic. Everything was running away from her. She needed to regain some control.

      The solicitor raised an eyebrow. Miss Aldeburgh, your great aunt apprised me of your… delicately voiced, …situation. She felt you might require a place where you could be yourself without fear of, how shall I put it, consequence. A refuge if you will. Circumstance has been unkind to you, my dear and Miss Montgomery wished to save you from further distress.

      Grace struggled to meet his eyes, as his kindly face wrinkled in a gentle smile. She didn’t know whether to be mortified he knew so much about her, or grateful for his sensitivity. She was not accustomed to such care.

      T-thank you, Sir. I do appreciate it, it’s just… she faltered again.

      All rather overwhelming? He finished for her.

      Grace let out a huge sigh and nodded again, blinking away sudden tears. She would not cry. She was stronger than that. Straightening her shoulders, she took a deep breath.

      Right, Mr Handley, tell me everything.

      Someone was asking her a question. Grace forced her attention back to the line of people waiting to speak to her. A petite young woman was pressing her hand.

      Please accept my heartfelt condolences for your loss, Miss Fitzgerald. Please do not hesitate to ask if there is anything, anything at all you need.

      Grace heard the words but couldn’t form any of her own. She tried again, but nothing came out. Helplessly, all she could do was stare, feeling like a simpleton.

      The woman looked anxious and motioned to the tall and exceedingly handsome man at her side. Giles, I think Miss Fitzgerald might appreciate some time on her own. Please would you deal with these people, I’ll take her indoors.

      The man nodded and turned, addressing the crowd in a deep, yet quiet voice, his words reaching effortlessly to the furthest person. Grace had no idea what he said. Whatever it was had an effect, because there was a kind of collective murmur and everyone moved away. Grace allowed herself to be ushered into the house, through the hallway to a comfortable parlour whose windows looked out over an overgrown, but attractively colourful, walled garden.

      Please just rest, Miss Fitzgerald and I’ll make a hot drink.

      Grace gaped at the woman, who winked mischievously.

      I do it all the time. Giles has given up worrying about it. I cannot expect the staff to be at my beck and call at random times of the day or night. They have enough to do and Sarah, our cook by the way, suffers me being in her kitchen as long as I don’t get under her feet.

      Grace thought her jaw must be somewhere near the floor, and the tiny woman gurgled with laughter.

      I do beg your pardon, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Billie Trevallier, and my husband is Giles, the tall man handling crowd control. Waving her hand in the general direction of the front garden. Now, you just stay there, and I’ll sort out the drinks. I’ve been here many times and know where Miss Montgomery kept everything.

      Billie disappeared through into the large kitchen. Grace heard the sounds of what she presumed to be a pan being put on the stove to boil, and crockery being piled into the sink to soak. Billie chattered away, while she worked obviously not requiring any reply, and Grace let the sound wash over her. She rarely saw anyone. In fact, other than her one friend and her domestic staff, she couldn’t remember the last time anyone had just talked to her and it made her feel very welcome.

      Listening to Billie’s lilting voice, Grace laid her head against the back of the chair and did what she wanted to do for the last hour. She shut her eyes.

      Grace roused and for a moment could not work out where she was. Then it all came flooding back. She was in Oak Stanton. She owned a house, there had been a funeral and a tiny woman was talking to her. Someone had covered her with a soft, fringed blanket. The days were warm, but the house had cooled in the late afternoon air. People were talking quietly in the kitchen, their voices blending together as they chattered about this and that, and she could hear the chink of china.

      Pulling herself together, and folding the blanket tidily, Grace followed the sound of the voices. When she entered the kitchen three people turned and smiled. Billie and Giles were there along with another man, nearly as tall as Giles, but without the aura of authority exuding from Billie’s husband.

      Billie introduced both men, adding, with little sign of the respect due to his station, her husband was the Earl of Winchester — so this was the woman about whom the rumourmongers whispered — and the other gentleman was Theodore Elliott; retired soldier, doctor and all-round excellent friend.

      Grace dropped a curtsey saying it was her pleasure to meet them all.

      The two men studied her without appearing to. The severe black attire, demanded on such occasions, somehow suited Grace’s unusual colouring. Her lustrous hair, in no way disguised by the tight bun into which it had been scraped, was a vibrant shade of auburn. Dark eyes closer to amber than hazel and far more expressive than Grace was aware, sat in an oval face. Creamy skin, paler than it should be, was powdered with a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks.

      Theodore Elliott knew all about this young woman. He had been her great aunt’s doctor for several years and doctors encourage all manner of confidences. Also, he had seen Grace at the occasional ball he attended in London, under sufferance, at the request of his mother, not long before the scandal broke. There had been something about her then. Her poise, elegance and hint of vulnerability, stirring in him emotions long forgotten.

      At the time, he could not understand why she always seemed to be trying to blend in with the furnishings. Now he knew. Then she disappeared, and even as he contemplated calling upon her, he knew her family would refuse admittance.

      When Miss Montgomery had revealed the truth, he was aghast. Not because of how society treated Grace, to shun those judged to have flouted the rules was not uncommon, but that they believed this quiet, unassuming beauty capable of such guile. By the time her great aunt was in the last throes of her illness, it was nearly two years since Grace had been seen in public.

      Once he knew about the legacy and, without breaking a trust, Dr Elliott had discussed the matter with Giles. At the request of his friend, Theo had refrained from mentioning anything to Billie, who would have immediately taken the woman under her tiny wing.

      Giles was concerned his wife already had enough on her plate. What with running the little school, supporting him with matters concerning the estate, cultivating her herb garden, occasionally helping in Whiteoaks’ kitchens and assisting Theo when required, using her traditional remedies in conjunction with the doctor’s modern treatments, her days were full. Giles also knew it was a losing battle. Even in the short hours of their acquaintance, he sensed his wife already liked this newcomer. Before long she would gain the woman’s trust and Miss Fitzgerald would tell Billie all without even realising she had. For reasons best known to himself, he just wanted to delay fate for as long as possible.

      These things passed through the minds of both gentlemen, while Billie plied Grace with a cup of fragrant tea and a plate full of tempting sandwiches. Grace heard her stomach rumble and remembered she had not eaten since her meagre breakfast at the inn that morning. Had it been only that morning? It seemed a lifetime ago.

      Grace had arrived in Oak Stanton a little before eleven and was directed to her great aunt’s home, otherwise known as The Gables, by a friendly villager. She was expected. Mrs Weatherspoon, a local lady, had aired the house and everything was cleaned and polished within an inch of its life, the whole place fairly sparkling.

      That good lady was there to meet Grace, who pronounced her heartfelt thanks at such kindness, and who in her turn blushed, assuring the new owner it was nothing. The garrulous Mrs Weatherspoon nattered away happily, commenting that Miss Montgomery had been a delightful soul. Everyone was so pleased a family member had inherited the house, and they all hoped Miss Fitzgerald would be staying on.

      Now it was late afternoon, the funeral was over, and three people she didn’t know were tidying up her kitchen.

      I do beg your pardon. I did not mean to fall asleep. I fear the last few days must have caught up with me unawares. Please… noticing they were clearing away her pots, …leave them for me. You should not be washing up. Nonplussed a peer of the realm, and doctor, were not only lounging in her kitchen, but also drying her china.

      Billie laughed merrily. We are quite capable of helping out here and there, just because Giles is an earl doesn’t mean he cannot wash a few pots. He is a dab hand at hot chocolate too. She smiled wickedly at her husband grinned back.

      Grace nearly gasped at the depth of emotion which passed between them in so simple a gesture. How remarkable. To have someone care so much. She bent her head for a moment, biting her lip and refusing to dwell on what would never be hers.

      Theo watched her curiously, but said nothing, content to bide his time.

      Back in control, Grace thanked them prettily and asked whether they would like to join her in a glass of something stronger than tea. She had spotted a tray with glasses and decanters alongside a fine-looking Cognac and a ruby port all standing invitingly on the walnut sideboard in the parlour.

      By way of appreciation for all you have done, she explained in her quiet way. Everything happened so quickly, I did not think it probable I should arrive in time, and certainly I would not have been able to arrange so beautiful a wake. My great aunt must have been well liked.

      Miss Montgomery was a pillar of our little community. Most people did not realise she was a woman of status. She lived a conservative life but was always the first to offer her services for all manner of events, Theo said, his tone one of deep respect. Her nephew is a friend of ours. He will no doubt call on you in the next few days. He was at the funeral but left not long after because he had call on his time.

      Would that be Mr Ralph Montgomery? asked Grace. Billie nodded. The solicitor told me he still lives in the area. I hope he is not upset Aunt Beatrice left me the house. He deserves it more than I. Back in the comfortable parlour, Grace moved to pour the drinks. Theo was ahead of her.

      Please allow me, Miss Fitzgerald. Just you take a seat.

      Grace inclined her head and returned to the chair in which she had fallen asleep. Billie brought in cups of tea for Grace and herself.

      Theo poured two glasses of the dark golden spirit, handing one to Giles, before continuing, Ralph has known you were to have this house for some time. He has his own home at the other side of the village and was growing concerned about the extra upkeep should he have inherited this property. I know Miss Montgomery discussed her reasoning with him at length, and he was both relieved and happy it would come to you. He said he remembered you when you visited as a girl, something about pushing you in the stream.

      Unexpectedly, Grace laughed, the golden sound rippling around the room as, unbidden, images of those carefree days flooded her mind. Her gangly cousin, whom she had worshipped, always tripping her up or pulling her hair and — yes — tipping her into the stream.

      I must have been such a pest to him, she smiled. When I look back on it, I was always there, under his feet, an annoying brat of a child who constantly interrupted whatever he was doing. It will be most agreeable to see him again. She chattered on for a few moments, regaling them with amusing tales of her childhood. The room fell quiet. Three faces watched her intently while she talked.

      Abruptly and, surmising Ralph would likely not want to be associated with her, Grace stopped speaking and, to those in the room, it was almost as though she physically withdrew. Her whole countenance stilled, and the light left her eyes.

      Out of Grace’s line of sight, Billie glanced at her husband and raised an eyebrow. Giles nodded imperceptibly and turned the conversation to much more mundane matters, allowing the young woman to compose herself.

      When the three guests took their leave, Billie demanded Grace come over to Whiteoaks the next day, to discuss Grace’s staffing problem. Currently there was no one. On Miss Montgomery’s death, her staff was let go, their employer bequeathing each an annuity to keep them comfortable for the rest of their days. Well past retirement age anyway, all had refused to leave the woman, for whom they worked most of their lives, until she had no more need of them.

      Capitulating, Grace agreed to call in the early afternoon, giving her time to explore the house and surrounds in the morning.

      After they had gone, and not caring it was unseemly for a woman to take strong liquor, Grace poured herself a glass of brandy and took it out into the garden. The long summer evening was beautiful. She wrapped the rug around her shoulders and found a convenient bench on which to sit, watching the evening fade to night and the blanket of stars twinkle into existence across the inky blue of the sky.

      It felt like home.

      Chapter 2

      For once Grace slept without dreams, waking shortly after dawn to the sound of birds who obviously decided no sane person could possibly stay asleep on so glorious a morning. Expanding their lungs to capacity in an attempt to remind all and sundry not to waste a moment of it.

      Grace stretched, and snuggled back under the thick comforter, enjoying the morning chorus. Fresh air, scented with the honeysuckle, growing in riotous abandon up over the wide front porch, wafted in through the open window.

      Grace mulled over the events of the past week. Everything happened so quickly, and she still found it hard to believe all this was hers. She expected a knock on the door and two officious looking men notifying her the whole thing was a mistake and she must go back to London.

      Departing the solicitor’s office, Grace returned to where she had been living — nay, existing — for the last two years. Once it was a cheerful house full of fun and laughter, where she was loved and cosseted, but one, which became a virtual prison. Her parents were dead; she didn’t even know the cause, since nobody bothered to inform her until long after their funeral.

      Her brother, Anthony — now Lord Hawkesworth — rarely visited, preferring to live at their country estate and, when he did, it was merely a formality. He told her what he thought she should know and, in tones which could scarcely be described

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