Chapter One
End of February 1815. Leicestershire, England.
The sky had darkened and wind rocked the carriage, causing at least one wheel to leave the road. Hail mixed with freezing rain battered the windows. Lady Grace Carpenter pounded on the roof of her coach, trying to make herself heard over the storm. “How close are we to the Crow and Hound?”
“Not far, my lady,” her coachman bellowed over the wind. “I’m think’n’ we should stop.”
“Yes, indeed. Make it so.” She huddled deeper into her warm sable cloak. When they’d started out this morning, the weather had been dry and sunny, giving no indication a storm of this magnitude would come on.
She was only an hour or so from her home, Stanwood Hall, but they wouldn’t make it. It was better to trust in the Crow and Hound’s innkeeper’s discretion than risk her servants and cattle to this weather.
A few minutes later, they turned off the road, and her coachman bellowed for an ostler. Moments later, her coach’s door was quickly opened and the steps let down. Her groom, Neep, hustled her from the carriage to the open entrance of the inn.
The innkeeper, Mr. Brown, was there to greet her. Saxon blond, with blue eyes and of middling height and age, he shut the heavy wooden door against the weather. “My lady,” he said in a surprised tone, “we didn’t expect to see you this evenin’.”
“For good reason.” Grace whipped off her damp cloak and shook it. “I didn’t expect to be here. I was visiting an elderly cousin, and the storm blew up on our way back.”
“It’s as they say, my lady,” he said, nodding, “no good deed goes unpunished.”
“Well,” she blew out an exasperated huff, “it certainly seems like that at times. Thank God, we were close to you. I have my coachman, groom, and two outriders”—Grace grimaced—“but not my maid.” She prayed no one would discover she was there without her lady’s maid, Bolton, who was sure to give Grace herI told you solook when she finally made it home. “I shall require the use of one of your girls. It should go without saying you have not seen me here.”
“Yes, my lady.” He nodded, tapping the side of his nose. “You were never here. Don’t expect to see anyone else in this weather. You and your servants will sleep warm and dry tonight.” He pointed to the door next to the stairs and within easy reach of the common room. “I’ll put you in this parlor for dinner.”
She gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you. That will be perfect.”
Susan, one of Brown’s daughters, showed Grace to the large chamber at the back of the inn on the first floor. She handed the girl her cloak to dry, then shook out her skirts. “I’ll call for you when I am ready to retire.”
“Yes, my lady. Anything you need, just pull the bell.” Susan bobbed a curtsey and left.
Grace glanced around. Although she had stopped here any number of times on family outings, she’d never spent the night. The inn had been in the Brown family for several generations. The building was old, but it was clean and well maintained.
She took a book and Norwich shawl from her large muff before descending the stairs to the parlor. Although it was early, not much past two o’clock, Mr. Brown had closed the shutters, and a fire was lit, as well as sufficient candles to brighten the room.
An hour later, warm and dry, she was engrossed inMadelina,the latest romance from the Minerva Press. Over the storm, sounds of another carriage arriving could be heard. Grace lowered the book, wondering who the newcomer could be.
The inn door slammed opened. Moments later, Mr. Brown’s agitated tone and that of another man, a gentleman by his speech, reached her.
Her heart skipped a beat. Worthington? Could it really be him? She hadn’t heard his voice for four years, but she’d never forget it.
Opening the door slightly, she peeked out. It was him. The man she’d wanted to marry her whole first Season and had never seen again. His dark brown, almost black, hair was wet at the ends where his tall beaver hat had failed to keep it dry. If he turned, she knew she would see his startling lapis eyes and long lashes.
“Could you not just ask the traveler in the parlor if I might share it with him?” Worthington asked the landlord, his tone strained, but still polite. He was probably already cold and wet, and the common room would be chilly at best.
The kernel of an idea began to form. Swallowing her trepidation, Grace stepped boldly into the hall. “Mr. Brown, his lordship is welcome to dine with me.”
“If you’re sure, my . . .”
She flashed him a quelling glance. If he said “my lady,” there’d be too many questions from Worthington. Whatever happened, he could not know her identity.
“Ma’am.”
She tried not to show her relief. “Yes. You may serve us after his lordship has had time to change.” Grace dipped a slight curtsey to Worthington and returned to the parlor.
Closing the door, she leaned back against it. This was her opportunity, maybe her only one, and she was going to take it.
“What are you doing, my girl? Are you out of your mind?”her conscience berated her.
No one will know. Brown will deny I was here.
