Page 1 of Aurelia

Chapter 1

The Isle of Crewe

Off the coast of Scotland

Roland Montgomery, the eighth Earl of Crewe, had just come to the tricky section of his upcoming presentation for the Royal Society, about sexual dimorphism among the selasphorus rufus of Las Floridas, when somebody knocked loudly on the library door.

“It had better be damned important!” he bellowed.

Everyone—family and servants—knew Roland was not to be disturbed when he was in the library, which also served as his workroom.

His cousin, Arthur Montgomery, opened the door halfway and hovered on the threshold. “I’m terribly sorry to interrupt you, Crewe, but I’m afraid there is a problem.”

Roland scowled and gestured for him to enter. “What has my daughter done now?”

“Why do you immediately assume that Celsa has done something bad?”

“When is it ever anything else?” Roland slumped in his chair and waved his hand in a get on with it gesture.

“Well, as it happens, you are right.” Arthur ignored Roland’s unamused bark of laughter and went on, “Celsa has been, er, naughty. She locked Miss Hatchet in the dungeon.”

Roland groaned and let his head fall back. “Bloody hell! How long?”

“The woman says it was almost six hours. I’m afraid she is a bit, er, hysterical.”

Roland muttered a string of curses that made the other man recoil. It always astounded him how he and Arthur had been as close as brothers as boys and worked together as men, and yet Arthur had somehow ended up possessing the worldview of a rural vicar.

“I managed to calm down Miss Hatchet,” Arthur said.

“Thank Christ for your God-given abilities,” he said, ignoring Arthur’s wince at his blasphemy.

Just like every other woman on the island, the fussy governess was three-quarters in love with Roland’s angelically handsome cousin. Not that Arthur ever took advantage of any of the dozens of women who threw themselves at him.

Arthur’s milk-pale cheeks darkened. “I did not say anything inappropriate to her, Crewe.”

“I know that, you gudgeon.” Although Roland couldn’t help thinking it would be better if Arthur did step out of line occasionally. But he knew from experience that his puritanical cousin would not thank him for the suggestion.

He massaged the back of his neck as he considered the problem of Celsa and her ninth governess. “Did you convince the woman to stay? Or do we need to hire another one?”

“She agreed to another month after I promised to ensure that Celsa behaves.”

“How? By murdering her?”

“She’s not a bad girl—”

“She’s a bloody demon, Arthur. Only you would think the little monster can be tamed.”

Arthur gave him that look, the same one he’d used throughout the years whenever he had felt it was his duty to serve as Roland’s moral compass. “She is only misbehaving because she craves your attention.”

“Then perhaps it is time I give her the same sort of attention my father gave the two of us when we were lads and misbehaved.”

Arthur gasped. “You cannot whip a girl!”

“Oh, I could—trust me—but I would never be able to bear the looks of reproach you’d turn on me afterward,” he said, only partly in jest. If there was one thing Arthur did excellently, it was to make Roland feel guilty for his bad behavior.

“Can’t you just spend some time with her?” Arthur asked quietly.

“I see her every evening at dinner.”