Prologue

A thrilling chase brought excitement to the otherwise quiet meadow as the young gentleman maneuvered through the rolling hills and valleys in pursuit of his siren before anyone noticed either of them had vanished. Her eager giggles carried across the wind, tempting him even further.

Summer had truly arrived in Kent, bringing its usual sticky heat, accompanied by the wind’s warm caress. Night had fallen, and one could hear the constant buzzing and whirring of crickets hidden in the long grass, as well as the melodic soughing of the wind in the trees surrounding the property. It was a typical summer night: long, humid, and lazy despite the usual flurry of balls and gatherings.

However, it was late enough for most of the ton to be tucked away in their beds, reminiscing over the night’s affairs or plotting, and strategizing arrangements. The Season was never short on scheming and hidden agendas. Surely, some mischief was planned for the nearing end of the critical marriage market?

The hustle and bustle of the Season were virtually non-existent to Henry Gray, as if he was able to shove it aside and forget about the whole event. Truthfully, he had done his part to entertain those who had sought him out by participating in the occasional dance to keep his family happy, and with just enough luck on his side to be able to slip away when he tired of it.

This night, Henry found himself arm in arm with a pretty girl from the village, her lack of status guaranteed to keep him out of trouble. All the same, she had a body designed to keep his attention and stir the insatiable longings within him. She was a few years his senior, and something about that intrigued him, spurring his desires.

Nestled beneath an old tree that offered them suitable coverage, the woman was pressed against the bark, while Henry explored her body with his hands, his lips on hers, desperately seeking satisfaction. The sensation of her soft skin against his was tantalizing, as was the scandalous nature of it all.

But Henry would face no consequences for giving in to his desires because he had done so many times before. He allowed himself the entertainment as long as he was wise in his choice of woman. They meant nothing to him other than a thrilling connection for the evening. He’d be satisfied enough at the end to consider it worthwhile, and she’d leave satisfied.

The woman pulled Henry impossibly close to her, devouring his lips as if she would never get the chance again. In likelihood, she would probably be proven correct. Even so, he ran his fingers through her dark hair and reveled in the short-lived passion that would soon ebb away until she ceased to seem special, and be like any other woman. He could only imagine how much of her lip pomade would be smeared on his mouth by then.

Henry broke away from the kiss to press his lips against the skin of her neck. The woman keened, throwing her head back against the rough bark, not caring what it was doing to her hair.

“Oh, my lord! Please…” she cried.

Not needing to hear her words, Henry’s hands were already on her hips, squeezing the soft flesh of her curves. While her plumpness appeared to be suitable for fondling at first, Henry was disappointed by what he discovered. She lacked the forgiving nature of a fuller frame, and the rigidity of her body put him off. Where he had hoped for lusciousness, he found only sharp edges.

Henry was more than aware of her yearning from how sloppily she was kissing him, yet something within him had hoped her age would spell greater experience and finesse. While his interest began to dwindle, he knew he could keep it short and walk away with his mission accomplished for them both. He had gone so far, he might as well finish what he had started.

The woman clutched her dress and slid it up her thighs, allowing his hands to replace her own. They landed on her stocking tops. She leaned into the tree, a wanton grin on her painted lips, anticipating Henry’s intention to give her exactly what she desired.

He severed the link between his senses and his compulsions, allowing the latter to take control. Tightening his grip on the woman’s body, he grew impatient for his release—for an excuse to bid her farewell and return home.

But his senses rose to the surface the moment the wind carried a faint, yet familiar scent to his nostrils. He pulled back from the woman and inhaled deeply. He could practically feel the warmth and hear the crackling of fire despite the distance.

Then, the woman’s eyes widened before Henry could even get the question out. The skirt of her dress fell once again, and her finger pointed over his shoulder, her brows pinched in concern.

“I see smoke!”

Without wasting a second, Henry turned around to see for himself. Soon enough, he too noticed the dark, billowing column of smoke rising in the distance. A connection began forming in his mind, cloaking him in panic.

Henry’s eyes blown open in fear, and he faced the woman again. “It’s coming from my brother-in-law’s estate!”

Helen, his only sister, and her husband, the heir to the Earl of Ingleby,  their young daughter Agnes, as well as Henry and Helen’s parents, were all in bed at the house. Fear of what might happen to them if the building caught fire galvanized him. He jumped up, fumbling with trembling fingers to fasten his clothes. I have to get there!

The woman swallowed hard and went to speak, but Henry was already running across the meadow. She picked up her skirts and hurried after him, clearly just as anxious to see the outcome. Kicking off her shoes, she snatched them up and pushed on.

Henry was no longer bothered by the sticky summer humidity, and paid no attention to the long grass that nabbed at his feet, attempting to pull him down. Rather, he was only aware of the sheer terror swimming within his belly. The sickening worry only fueled his running.

He had almost forgotten the woman was behind him until they both reached the stone driveway of his brother-in-law’s estate. It was then when Henry truly saw the devastation with his own eyes—something he would never forget.

The pair was startled by what they saw before them. Henry’s legs felt like they were filled with lead, and the furor within him was impeding his ability to act quickly.

While flames ate at the inside of the house, darker, more saturated smoke rolled out of the windows and curled above the roof. Even from a distance, the fire was scorching.

Henry’s ears rang and he lost all sense, almost as if he had fainted. Despite this, he stood there dumbfounded, a terrible ache spreading throughout his limbs. He had never imagined anything more cruel than that moment.

A rampant static filled his senses until, at last, the woman’s voice broke through his trance. “My lord!”

Henry blinked hard and found her standing directly in front of him, clutching her dress in preparation to run once more. Finally, he appeared to snap out of it.

“I will hurry back to the village and fetch help!” she cried, her face frantic.

That was the moment everything clicked inside Henry’s mind. In contrast to his previous inaction, raw energy suddenly ripped through his body, urging him to move. He looked at her for a brief second, his face expressing the heavy burden of what he needed to do.

“Go!” Henry shouted, watching as she ran off before he turned and raced into the house.

His family was in there. He couldn’t just wait and hope that by some incredible stroke of luck, they’d find their way out.

The intense heat of the fire licked Henry’s face as he kicked open the front doors. He paused long enough to notice that most of the first floor had already been consumed, with the exception of the nearest stairwell. Despite the fire’s rapid advance, it remained unharmed.

He was able to block the majority of the smoke and barely see the ground beneath him by raising his arm to cover his eyes. Henry ascended the stairs and breathed through his sleeve, not wanting to risk inhaling too much smoke before freeing even one person.

Everything moved past him in a blurred haze, yet he did his best to navigate the house through the heavy smoke and blinding flames.

“Agnes!” Henry yelled until his voice went hoarse. He kept an eye on the raging flames on the far side of the hall, which were already blocking some of the doors, and hurried to the nearest one.

“Mother, Father!”

Henry heard muffled responses from some of the rooms, but the raging fire and its rolling smoke disoriented him. He banged on a door and heard nothing, so he pushed on to the next one.

With some of the rooms already blocked by the flames, Henry knew he couldn’t reach them all. He could only grab the nearest family members and hope the others found their way out.

His distress was louder than any other thought, but his unwavering determination led him to the next door. He recognized it right away and shoved his shoulder as hard as he could against it. The wood splintered and cracked until it separated from the frame.

Henry held his breath and ran inside the dark room, to find his dear niece splayed across her bed, unmoving.

“Agnes!” he screamed, running to her and placing a finger against her neck. The fickle, gentle beat of her pulse pounded against his skin.

She was alive.

Henry slipped his arms under the small girl and felt the delicate weight of her in his grasp. Her innocent, seemingly lifeless form shocked his entire system into fleeing the room and hurrying back down the stairs.

The smoke pinched at Henry’s eyes and tried to seep into his lungs, but he wouldn’t let it stop him. He couldn’t let his niece die in such a horrific way, and he would be damned if he gave up.

Henry heaved in a big breath of fresh air the moment he made it back outside, and his legs nearly collapsed from under him. A raging cough rattled through his chest, accompanied by a faint yet persistent ringing in his ears. Even so, he hurried across the driveway until he reached the lawn, where he found the footmen frantically watching as the house burned.

He gently placed Agnes’ unconscious body onto the grass and glanced between the footmen, eyes bewildered and wild with fear. He was already standing and backing towards the house when he barked at the men, “Help her… dear God, help my niece!”

The footmen nodded frantically and crowded around the girl to tend to her. A flash of relief trickled into Henry’s heart at the vague cough that sprouted from Agnes’ chest. She was alive and free from the burning house. Surely, she would be all right. But it was far from over.

Before reason convinced him not to enter, Henry flung himself back inside the hellish scene. One half of the house was almost entirely engulfed in flame, with more threatening smog filling it by the second.

The fire roared, leaving ruin in its wake, not caring about who or what it claimed. It smashed out windows, burned the old wood frames, and destroyed each valued treasure inside. The fumes were likely so strong that, by now, everyone in Kent was aware of the fire. Henry hoped that the additional help would be sufficient.

His lungs began to ache as he navigated the newly sprouted fires and made his way back upstairs. His eyes burned like the rest of the place, but he wouldn’t give up.

A haunting creak from the collapsing structure made Henry’s heart clench, and he knew the end was nearing. He was horribly aware of the few minutes he had left to save whoever else he could before the whole house fell in on itself and was completely consumed.

Panicked screams and blood-curdling wails echoed off the walls and crashed against his skull. He had no idea where they were, but he needed to find them. Henry ran down the burning hall, despite the small flames lapping at his feet.

***

More smoke rolled out of the estate to form a toxic cloud above the charred building. The thick plumes hung heavily in the air and served as a signal of the devastation it caused, unrelenting while the fire raged on.

Several figures emerged from the murky doorway, reuniting with clean, breathable air. A butler carried a small-framed maid out of the burning house and continued on until they arrived at the others who were waiting on the lawn. More house staff emerged, leaning on one another as they fled to safety, coughing and collapsing on the cool, refreshing grass.

The relieved individuals cried for one another and offered what comfort they could while they tried to regain their composure. Tears stained their faces, and smoke tainted their lungs. Yet, they were glad to be alive.

Henry stumbled across the threshold with a maid’s arm around his shoulders, while she covered her eyes. They both choked on the sudden influx of clean air. The maid couldn’t contain herself, whimpering and crying out for her fellow staff.

He gently helped her to the ground while the others saw to her, and did his best to catch his breath. The dense smoke weighed on his lungs like stones. His entire body ached for rest and to be outside, where it was safe and less contaminated.

Upon glancing around at the few survivors, Henry noticed a group of villagers who had come to help. While their intentions were good, he knew they had arrived too late. None of them would be willing to enter the house, not after so much was already ravaged by the fire and in danger of collapse.

But Henry wasn’t like them.

With a groan of resistance from his body, he faced the ravenous fire and began to return to the house. His skin felt half-charred from the flames that reached for him and sweat slicked his forehead. Every cell in his body urged him to stop—to give in and admit defeat.

Yet he chose to ignore the warning, and continued forward.

Suddenly, a hand fell on his shoulder, and he bristled at the sudden contact. He glanced behind to see one of the footmen staring back at him, face long and desolate. The man’s dark eyes seared into him and said everything Henry needed to know. It simultaneously relieved him and made him want to scream.

“Don’t, sir. It is gone. You have done enough.”

Panic blew Henry’s glassy eyes wide open, and he gripped the footman’s arms. “Tell me, is anyone else alive inside?!”

Henry watched the dejected man for a split second longer, until a very loud and sudden commotion tore his eyes away.

The house folded into itself and came crashing down in a blazing heap. Sparks and ash shot into the sky, and the rest of the structure was completely engulfed in flame.

The remaining members of his family had been trapped in there, and now there truly was no hope left for them. They were gone, and Henry could do nothing about it.

The world seemed to stop then, as he collapsed to his knees, all the while screaming in agony for all that was lost. His throat was scratched raw, and tears rolled down his cheeks. Nothing else mattered at that moment.

Henry was beaten down to submission, but the life-shattering fire continued to smolder throughout the dark hours of the night and into the next day.

Chapter One

The usually quiet, comfortable house nestling on a quaint street in Hertfordshire was disturbed by a flurry of commotion. A red-haired woman paced around the drawing room, hand pressed against her forehead in obvious annoyance.

Florence, normally good-natured, couldn’t grasp the beginnings of what would surely become a long-winded argument with her father. He sat in his usual chair, brandy in hand, stroking his mustache thoughtfully.

“Florence, dear, it would be wise for you to heed my advice.”

Florence threw a skeptical look in her father’s direction and halted her relentless pacing. Her brows came together, pinched tightly with an accusatory air.

“Advice? I’m sure you meant demands, Father!”

Lord Murray sighed and looked at his daughter, hoping to keep the conversation from devolving into a full-fledged row. Florence was prickly and hot-headed when the subject was broached, so the chances seemed slim.

“You are getting older with each passing Season, Florence. With you soon reaching six-and-twenty, your chances of finding a suitable husband on your own are practically abysmal,” her father declared.

Florence turned to face the window overlooking their small garden, anger bubbling up inside her. She had always despised the way a woman’s worth was measured by her age along with the dowry that accompanied her into marriage. She deemed the notion barbaric.

“Up until this moment, I have given you space to choose your husband, and look how far that has gotten you.”

“I won’t let you speak for me, Father! I would rather be thirty and unmarried than forced into a partnership with someone you consider suitable,” she retorted, recognizing the frustration that often pooled within her belly whenever her father aired his thoughts on her marital status.

“You will marry a man of my choosing, even if you despise me. Do you not trust me with your best interests?” Lord Murray questioned, exercised by the thought of her remaining unwed and under his care for years to come.

Florence shook her head and tried to keep her anger from building any higher. It was not her intention to entrap her father in a heated argument, but the resistance within her was formidable. She couldn’t take the thought of marrying a man she had no interest in, and certainly not one chosen merely to further her father’s interests.

“I will not do it. You cannot force me.”

Lord Murray slammed his fist down against his armrest, no longer willing to entertain her defiance. “My word is final!”

“As a father and a lord, do you have no honor?” she demanded, forcing her eyes back to him, even if it pained her. She hated how politics often came between them, since it seemed they were from two completely different worlds at times.

Her father’s face filled with color at such an allegation, and his voice hardened. “Honor? It is most honorable for a father to choose the right man to care for his daughter, to ensure she is given the highest station possible. It is you, dear, who disrespects my judgment!”

The door to the drawing-room creaked open slowly, and the butler poked his head inside, looking sheepish. He hesitated before saying, “My lord, I—”

“Not now!” both Florence and the Lord snapped at once. The cowed butler apologized swiftly and backed out of the room. The door clicked shut once more and sealed their bickering away from the rest of the house.

Florence adjusted her dress and tucked away a stray piece of red hair that had come loose from her braid. Her eyes fell on her father once more. The brief interruption had not quenched the frustration within her.

“How can you see honor in luring a man into marrying me under false pretenses?”

Lord Murray bit down on the words waiting on his tongue, and each feature of his face showed his confusion. He placed the glass of brandy on a nearby table and stood from his chair, albeit slowly. “What are you talking about, Florence?”

Pain flashed across her face then, and she folded her arms over her chest. She couldn’t believe his ignorance, especially not toward something that caused her so much grief—a piece of their family history he was more than aware of.

“You know exactly what I mean!” Florence returned, her eyes sharper than before.

The topic was another sensitive one for her, as the blight in her family tree had existed for many generations before her. Surely, she was destined to share the same fate, and prove to be a disappointment to her future husband? Florence didn’t want to risk that humiliation, especially not with a man of her father’s choosing.

Lord Murray eyed his daughter before waving her off. He went and stood in front of the window next to her. His arms went behind his back neatly.

“That’s no matter, dear. Besides, you are too old to expect a better match. The selection pool is much smaller than it once was, and your choices are limited.”

Florence shook her head, not willing to believe it was her only choice. There had to be more to life than that. “It can’t be!”

“Yet, it most certainly can. Make yourself as blind as you wish to the matter, but there is no changing reality.”

“Then I shall never marry!” She blurted, caught on the current of her resentment of the topic of discussion, and for her father’s stubbornness. Fear and apprehension coursed through her at the mere thought of such a sham of a marriage, tainted by lies before it even began. Even if she cared naught for the supposed man, Florence didn’t want to subject him to her inabilities.

Her father’s gaze was piercing as he took in Florence’s abrupt words. Evidently, his daughter had strayed further than he thought. Truthfully, she had never meant to admit such a thing had ever crossed her mind; she had her father under the impression that she had been searching for a husband all along, yet none had suited her taste.

“And what do you plan to do when I am no longer alive to provide for you? Surely, you aren’t cut out for the life of a spinster!”

Florence guarded herself against her father’s judgment, and she pushed forward, unwilling to relent. “I will find a much more fulfilling life as something other than a wife. It may not be what you or society want of me, but I will make my own way!”

Lord Murray pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing a harsh breath. He focused hard on finding his arguments, while Florence tried her best to anticipate each one and counter it. He waved a hand, seemingly bewildered.

“What is the point of your fine education if you won’t become a proper lady and find a good match?”

Florence found herself with nothing left to say. Her father had, indeed, bested her in that regard. She silently stewed over the question, guilt rising inside her chest.

“The tutors and lessons were not cheap, Florence. It was yet another generous thing I provided for you—which you plan to waste, and remain ungrateful for!” Lord Murray barked at her. Florence bristled.

“I never asked to be educated into a woman meant to be auctioned off to the highest bidder! I didn’t ask to be the second-born daughter in our family, destined for failure. Yet you force me into remembering that each time I look at the face of any man you’d choose for me!”

“That’s enough!” her father yelled. His face suffused with red, and his neck seemed to swell and press against the tight confines of his cravat. His sharp tone shook Florence as he added, “I have already agreed to your union with Lord Blymouth on your behalf!”

Florence suddenly became very aware of the trembling in her body, and of how deafening the silence was. It was as though an icy hand had gripped her neck and sent a chill down her spine. It was as if the room vibrated ever so slightly, just enough for her to know something wasn’t right.

She stared at her father in disbelief, distraught at the thought he had agreed to such a life-altering decision without her consent, without ever stopping to consider her feelings. It can never be! 

Florence seized what was left of her dignity and composed herself at last. She pressed her lips in a flat line and spoke in a terse, level tone.

“There will be no wedding.”

Despite her father’s look of utter shock, she padded across the polished floor and left the room, not daring to look behind her even once.

***

Darkness surrounded the house and brought along its eerie silence. On one hand, it worked in Florence’s favor, but on the other, while the nighttime concealed her—ensuring Lord Murray was none the wiser as he slept soundly in his room—any unwarranted noise could change that at any second.

Florence opened her large, leather valise and scurried around her chambers, gathering all the clothing and belongings she could take with her. She folded everything as neatly as possible and tucked it inside before securing the valise.

She worked hastily by candlelight, reminded of what she was doing each time she noticed the moonlight splaying across the chamber floor. Nervous butterflies fluttered inside her belly, but Florence pushed them down. She couldn’t hesitate any longer, not while her future rested in her father’s palm.

A quill scratched softly against paper while she wrote, and she had to force herself not to weep with each word she penned. While the anger was still very much alive inside her, sadness accompanied it, and the combination only made her more upset.

Once Florence had said everything she needed to and the ink was dry, she folded the paper in half and placed it on her dresser, where her father would surely find it. She pulled one of the drawers open and retrieved a letter with directions hidden inside. Tucking it in her reticule, she pulled the drawstrings closed with a deep breath.

Something in Florence didn’t want to leave her father, not when she knew he would be left alone without any of his girls left to keep him company. She certainly didn’t want to leave him after their explosive argument, but the subject matter was exactly what gave her cause to flee. She couldn’t marry someone against her will, not while she was still able to change the trajectory of her life—to do what she pleased.

If Florence wanted to find true happiness and fulfillment, she knew she needed to take a leap of faith. Like a precipice before her, an unknown future beckoned. Now all she had to do was jump.

The moment Florence decided to go once and for all, she slipped a cloak over her shoulders and raised the hood to conceal her identity. She stepped into her shoes and reached for her valise. Taking one last look at her chamber, she silently said goodbye to the familiar space.

She opened the door, crept into the hall, and closed it behind her as slowly and quietly as she could.  She stood still, holding her breath for a few moments. Hearing no noise, she set off silently through the house.

Florence used her determination to remain in control of her fate as a driving force to propel her forward. Oftentimes, she wondered if she was making a mistake and should turn around. She paused when she came to an old painting of her mother and father, the swarm of nervous butterflies once more raising their clamor in her belly.

Upon gazing into the face of the woman she had lost so long ago, Florence couldn’t ignore the guilt that trickled into her heart. She wondered what her mother would think of her running away from the seemingly inevitable marriage.

But her father’s pronouncement rang in her ears, drowning out her doubt. It is merely sentiment for him trying to prevent me from leaving, she told herself.

As though a fire had been set beneath her feet, Florence hurried through the house, doing her best to remain undetected. She watched for any servants who might be awake and crept around corners as stealthily but quickly as she could. When she paused in the downstairs hallway and didn’t hear a single stir inside the home, she made her way to the front door and glided out; closing it behind her with only a whisper.

It was not the first time she had tempted fate by sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night. When her father pushed her to her wits’ end, she would frequently sneak out for several hours before returning to her bed before morning. But this night was different for she didn’t plan on coming back.

Her heart raced while she crossed the driveway and found herself on the street. She kept her head down, only looking up to make sure of where she was going. Florence didn’t want a soul to know what she was up to, or to report her whereabouts to her father.

The streets of Hertford town were desolate during the late hours of the night, with only a cool breeze walking alongside her. Florence pulled her cloak closer for comfort and reminded herself that she would be just fine. It was unheard of for a lady such as herself to travel alone, especially so late at night. It was a risk, but a risk worth taking if she wanted to discover the life waiting for her.

Florence walked, silently encouraging herself. The scandal had her nerves jangling like piano wires; she had never imagined herself in such a position.

When Florence reached the late coach waiting outside the inn, she was questioned by the driver, who gave her a sideways glance. Fortunately, he had no idea who she or her father were. To entice him, she handed him the necessary coins and watched as his chilly demeanor shifted to a warmer one.

Still, he pressed. “Are you certain, miss? It is rather late for traveling. Could be dangerous where you’re headed.”

Florence added another coin to the small pile in his palm and nodded firmly. “I am. I hope this will convince you.”

The driver glanced between her and the compensation, and sighed. He finally motioned for her to climb in.

The moment Florence was in the coach, her heart raced a mile a minute. She felt both terrified and excited for what lay ahead. She made herself comfortable for the ride and looked out of the window once they started to move.

A contented smile carved its way on her lips while holding the written directions tightly in her gloved hand. She had made it this far without a hitch, and she recognized the small success as a good sign for what was to come.

Florence was beginning a new chapter of her life, and it was all of her choosing.

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