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CHAPTER1
CHESTERFIELD, ENGLAND, 1820
Everything was silent in the house when Percy Wellington leaned out the formidable window of his library. His hands were chilled against the polished marble. He breathed the smells he had become familiar with and increasingly aware of—morning dew, flower petals, and newly cut grass. He heard the trill of birdsong. It echoed through the air like an intricate composition, intent to fill everything but his heart with happiness. He assumed the sun was not out, for he didn’t feel any warmth on his skin.
Turning away from the window, Percy walked across the room and found a chair by the dying fire. He shivered. How had he come to this? Would the misery never end? It had been months, and he still missed everything that had once belonged to him.
Perhaps it was for the best. He could no longer be a bother to anyone. He could stay here, alone and broken. He didn’t need compassion. It wouldn’t matter that much of his staff had deserted his home. The servants would be happy to be free of him, and he would no longer be required to endure their pity. No one in the world cared for him anyway.
Frustrated, Percy stood and returned to the window. He slammed his hands down on the windowsill, leaning forward once again. He heard the sound of his hands striking the marble, he felt the sting of pain on his palms, and he smelled the morning breezes and flower petals.
But Percy did not see. He would never see again.
* * *
“Miss Clarke! Come down here immediately!” It was the voice of Molly, the housekeeper. Fanny recognized the frantic tone, and it made her jump.
“One moment!” she answered hastily, leaping from her chair. The book she had been reading skittered across the floor, slamming against the far wall. Fanny ran for the door and bounded down the stairs in a most unladylike manner. It was a fortunate thing indeed that her grandmother was so ill, otherwise the woman might have throttled her. Fanny scolded herself for having such thoughts and met Molly at the door to her grandmother’s bedchamber.
“What is the matter?” Fanny asked, freezing at Molly’s solemn expression.
“Right terrible, it is.” Molly fanned her face with one hand and pressed the other to her ample chest. “I’ll fetch the doctor straight away. Lady Caldwell wished to see you.” She bustled around the corner and Fanny heard the front door slam shut a few seconds later.
Her heart dropped. Her grandmother’s health had been steadily declining. She had insisted that Fanny refrain from seeing her these past weeks unless she was called upon. Fanny hadn’t tried to contradict her. What could be so urgent now? Fanny was afraid to know, and she wasn’t often afraid. Her hands shook as she reached for the handle of the door to Lady Caldwell’s bedchamber. Taking a deep breath, she pushed it open just a crack.
She was greeted by the musty smell of discarded air, and she squinted under the dim light. Heavily curtained windows covered the long wall. In the far corner of the room, Lady Caldwell’s tiny frame was engulfed by the large bed.
Fanny moved quickly toward her. The closer Fanny came, the more horrid her grandmother appeared. Her eyelids drooped halfway down, and her lip quivered as she tried to speak. The reality of her pending death settled over Fanny’s shoulders like bricks. Oh, how Lady Caldwell had changed. When Fanny had first come to live with her nearly three years earlier, she had been so feisty and quick-witted; she had been so alive. She had provided for Fanny when no one else would.
“Come closer.” Lady Caldwell pushed the words past her quivering lips.
Fanny knelt beside her bed and reached for her hand. Fanny’s eyes froze there, on the gnarled knuckles and protruding veins.
“There is something I must speak with you about, something urgent.” Lady Caldwell’s voice was a rasped whisper.
Fanny nodded, too afraid to ask why it couldn’t wait until tomorrow. She knew why. Her eyes stung with tears.
“I know you hate listening to my ramblings, child, but please pay attention. Due to my late husband’s will, this house and our holdings are due to be inherited by my nephew. I have tried,” she took a labored breath, “I have dearly tried to pass the inheritance to you, but the will is quite direct and final.”
Fanny’s eyes widened and fear crept under her skin. Where would she live? What was she to do? If the house were to be passed on to her grandmother’s nephew immediately after her death, Fanny would be left destitute.
For a moment Lady Caldwell’s eyes rolled back, and she gave a wheezing cough. Fanny scrambled for her handkerchief and held it by Lady Caldwell’s mouth. Lady Caldwell licked her lips and continued, “I have arranged something. Please know that I have done this with your best interest in mind.”
Fanny’s heart plummeted.Arrangement? It couldn’t possibly be…
“Marriage,” her grandmother confirmed. “To a man just a short distance from here in the east of Derbyshire.”
Fanny dropped her handkerchief and stared at her. “What?” She could hardly believe what her grandmother had just proposed.
Lady Caldwell gripped Fanny’s hand with a strength she wouldn’t have thought possible. “Please listen.”
“I cannot wed a stranger! Or any man for that matter..” Fanny shook her head. “No man will ever have me. I won’t face rejection again. I won’t be jilted again, Grandmama! There must be another way.” Panic edged her words.
“The arrangements have already been made.”
Lady Caldwell’s voice was so firm that it wrenched a tear from Fanny’s eye. She pressed her lips together. “No, Grandmama. I will not do it.”
“Fanny. Listen to me.” Her grandmother’s tone grew even harder, recalling her attention. “When I am gone you will have no place to go. I will not have a grandchild of mine running about becoming a maid or servant of some sort. Do you understand? You shall marry this man, Percy Wellington. I have corresponded with his cousin who is seeking a wife for Mr. Wellington to look after him. His home is beautiful, among the loveliest in the county in my opinion.” Her voice grew quiet again. “You shall be well taken care of, and that will put my spirit at ease. The wedding will transpire in a fortnight.”
