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Chapter 1
Giulia stood in the center of the lane and watched the carriage bound away down the pocked road, jarring the passengers seated on top of the swaying conveyance. She had only just been among those who couldn’t afford passage inside the stagecoach, and cringed watching Mr. Bradley, the older gentleman she’d sat beside earlier, clutching his seat to remain upright on the careening vehicle.
Cold autumn air rushed into her lungs as Mr. Bradley nearly toppled off the roof. She squeezed her hands together as if maintaining a rigid posture would keep the elderly gentleman atop the carriage and waited for what felt like ages. Mr. Bradley righted himself, lifting one hand in a tentative wave and she eagerly responded, trying—and failing—to ignore the pity she could detect in his kind, old eyes.
The conveyance turned out of view and Giulia spun in a full circle slowly taking in the vast expanse of empty land that seemed to continue in every direction without end. The sun brushed the edge of the sky, already dipping behind the horizon. Looming darkness nipped at her heels and she picked up the rope Ames had tied to her trunk. Gripping her valise over her shoulder, she pivoted away from the declining sun and walked in the opposite direction.
According to the stage driver, this road would end at Halstead Manor. The long, empty lane looked daunting, and Giulia’s stomach complained as she began her trek. Or, rather, continued the rather long and tedious journey that had begun eight months prior when her father took his final breath on Africa’s soil. Or any soil, for that matter. It was not entirely possible to take a breath anywhere when one was dead.
Giulia moved as briskly as her trunk would allow and tried not to watch the distance for buildings, gates, or obvious signs that she was nearing her uncle’s home. That would only make the walk longer.
Uncle Robert. The elusive Uncle Robert. How had she come to be in a position where the only person she could turn to was the man who was single-handedly responsible for keeping her own father from his childhood home? She swallowed the apprehension that bubbled up into her throat and shook her head.
Uncle Robert had written to her. She had proof. He had invited her to come. She dropped the rope tethered to her trunk and opened her valise, feeling the folded missive tucked into the pocket and absorbing the calming balm of hope. She would not be turned away, she reminded herself. She was invited.
The sun continued its descent and Giulia felt the lack of warmth on her back as it fell behind her. She trudged down the lane, pulling her trunk and readjusting the valise on her shoulder. The luggage was heavy and beginning to slow her down. She was tempted to hide it away on the side of the road, but there was no bush or ditch sufficient to lend coverage. Sighing, she pulled harder. What else could she do? In it was every earthly possession she owned.
Ames had seen to that.
A smile tugged at her lips at the memory. His dark hair falling over his brow and the half-smile that tilted his mouth up. The footman-turned-valet-turned-man-of-all-work had been in Giulia’s life since before she could remember. As her lifestyle had altered, his job had altered with it. He was eight years her senior, but that had never stopped her from fantasizing over a future shared with the man. She hardly cared if marriage to Ames would lower her alleged station in life, for she had lived like a servant for half of it anyway. At least, she had done so after her mother left.
Giulia pushed thoughts of Ames from her mind. Dwelling on the man would do her no good, at present. He was in London starting his business, and she would make do with clandestine letters until they could be reunited again.
She had devised a plan. Ames would address his letters to her father, which would naturally be passed on to her. It was foolproof. No one need know she was corresponding with a man whom she was not yet engaged to and Ames’s notes would fall in with the rest of them easily enough. Letters addressed to her father were bound to pour into Halstead Manor since she had given her new direction to her father’s publisher. Adventurers of the world seemed unlikely to give up on Patrick Pepper and his assistant, Jules, anytime soon.
Giulia’s foot collided with an object and she pitched forward, sprawling on the rough dirt road. Pushing up onto her knees, she looked behind her to find a heap lying prostrate in the lane. Shadows fell behind the dark figure, blending it into the road.
The heap shifted slightly, and a low groan emanated from one end—the end which had snagged her foot. It was a person.
No, it was a man.
Giulia quietly got to her feet and rounded the edge of the crumpled form toward her discarded luggage. He groaned once more, causing her to jump. Shaking herself, Giulia focused. Father had taught her to be cautious, but he had also taught her to be kind. And this man was clearly hurt. Squaring her shoulders, Giulia straightened her spine and looked in unabashed courage toward the fallen man.
“Sir?”
Nothing.
She stepped closer and bent slightly, hoping to ascertain the man’s status from his clothing. The near darkness made that an impossible feat. But what sort of man would find himself in this position? Could he be a ruffian? Or perhaps a drunken workman fallen on his way home from the pub? Giulia glanced around her again. Unlikely. There was no building in sight, let alone a pub. And according to the stage driver, this lane led to one place, and one place only. Halstead Manor.
Giulia bent lower and raised her voice slightly. “Sir? Are you alert?”
A mumble came from the man. It was as easy to discern as his clothing in the fading light. So, not at all.
She stood, hesitating. It was growing far too dark to see what she was dealing with.
A hand shot out and grabbed her ankle before she could move away. A heart wrenching cry escaped the man and his grip immediately slackened.
Worry moved into Giulia’s gut and churned. The sudden and inappropriate feeling of the man’s hand on her ankle was instantly overshadowed by the pain in his voice. This was no drunken farmer; he was hurt.
Giulia dropped to her knees and did not hesitate as her nursing instincts kicked in. She felt up and down each arm before moving to his neck. He lay face down, his head bent away from her. Her eyes were adjusted to the dim lighting and she took notice of his clothing. Even if the dark made it utterly impossible to see, she would have known who he was by the feel of the fine wool that made his coat. The high-quality neckcloth circling his throat. The polished shine of his hessians caught out of the corner of her eye.
This man was a gentleman.
His neck and head fully examined, Giulia moved lower, feeling along his broad shoulders. Part of her hoped not to find injury, but she knew it was a fruitless wish and waited in anticipation for the recoil that would show her exactly where he hurt. Hopefully before she had to move much lower.
Her fingers kneaded the muscle of his far shoulder and worked their way inward. She reached the shoulder blade closest to herself and he cried out again, a split second before her fingertips landed in something wet.
Wet, warm, and gooey.
