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Chapter One
Lady Grizelda Tizsaawoke in the warmth of delightful dreams. Still half-asleep, she rolled over in search of her husband—and found only a cold pillow and empty space.
Christmas Eve, and still, he was not home.
Missing Dragan was like an ache. She had never expected to spend their first Christmas as a married couple apart. Or with child, if she was honest, but both appeared to be her fate.
However, she refused to dwell on her difficulties. Since it was almost daylight, she reached for her spectacles and rose from her cozy bed into the freezing air of a winter’s morning. Driven by cold and the slightly sick hunger of pregnancy, she sped through the motions of washing and dressing in her warmest old gown and several shawls before she bolted for the warmth of the kitchen to forage for breakfast.
Here, she was greeted with delight by Vicky, her affectionate yet haughty little greyhound whom she had named after the queen. Thanks to the stove, the kitchen was the warmest room in the house, so she fed the fire, set water to boil, and cut herself two thick slices of bread, which she slathered with butter and jam.
Before they had known Dragan would be trapped in Edinburgh by snowstorms, they had granted their maid and cook leave to spend Christmas with their own families, and both servants had left as planned yesterday. The idea of being completely alone together and looking after themselves had seemed fun at the time. But Dragan was a lot more practical than she, who had been brought up in a ducal household with maids and footmen so thick on the ground that she had purposely avoided them.
For the first time, she began to wish she had gone to the country with her family. She had to admit, it was lonely here, with just Vicky and the tiny creature growing within her.
But it was only Christmas Eve, and there was still time for Dragan to come home today. In the meantime, she sang to herself to keep her spirits up while she made tea and let Vicky into the pleasant, enclosed garden at the back of the house.
Theirs was an odd house for Mayfair. Neither as large nor as tall as its neighbors, it sprawled across a piece of land that had once belonged to the house behind them on Half Moon Street. There was something about freezing air at Christmas that set off a hundred pleasant memories. She inhaled deeply and kept singing.
God rest ye merry, gentlemen,
Let nothing you dismay.
For Jesus Christ our Savior was born on Christmas Day,
To save us all from Satan’s power when we had gone astray.
Oh, tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy.
Oh, tidings of comfort and joy.
Vicky bolted back inside, and Griz closed the door and poured herself another cup of tea. She had a busy day ahead of her, but it was still early, and a bracing walk to the park with Vicky would be a good start.
And when I come home, Dragan might be here waiting for me.On that happy, if unlikely, hope, she donned her hat and warm wool cape, put Vicky on the leash, and unlocked the front door.
For once, the dog hung back as she opened it. Rather than darting enthusiastically through the smallest crack, she pulled back into the house. And Griz soon saw why.
A man sat on the ground against the wall, his silk hat beside him. But it was not Dragan. This man was older, his hair white with frost.
After her first start, she wondered why Vicky wasn’t barking.
“Sir?” she asked in alarm. “Sir, can I help you?”
The man did not reply. Letting Vicky cower back into the house, she stepped outside and was relieved to see the man was smiling, a full, happy curve of the lips.
But the smile did not reach his eyes, which were open and staring.
Her belly stung, and she flung one comforting arm over it. “Oh, dear God,” she whispered. She did not recognize the man. She had never seen him before in her life, but she was very afraid…
Crouching down, she forced herself to feel, as Dragan would, for the pulse in his neck. She could feel nothing but cold. There was frost on his hair, on his clothing. The man was dead, but from his smile had died very happy.
“God rest you, merry gentleman,” she murmured irreverently, even while pity caught in her throat. “But what in the world are you doing at my front door? And what thedevilam I supposed to do about you?”
The man was well to do. Beneath the frost, his clothes and his hat were of the finest quality, his overcoat, a fine, thick grey wool, with a fur collar. Something caught her eye, clinging to his coat, just behind the hand curled in his lap. It was small and white, and when she lifted it, it came easily. A single, white flower petal.
Without thought, she dropped it into her pocket and rose. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the front door closed and sped down the path, through the gate, and down the lane. She saw no one until she came on to Half Moon Street, where, toward Piccadilly, she saw Jake, the boy who swept the crossing and often ran messages for her and Dragan.
