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May 1806
Twelve-year-old Ellen moved her fingers up and down as if playing an invisible pianoforte that only she could hear. She hummed softly to herself, halted mid-arpeggio and started over until she got the correct sequence of notes. Once she was satisfied with the new melody, she nodded with satisfaction and scribbled the notes onto a sheet of music in the blank staves. However, soon they would be filled with a beautiful and original new piece of music to honour her mother on her upcoming birthday.
She was oblivious to the world around her, despite the warm golden sunshine and chirping birds as she sat in the midst of her father’s garden. Indeed, she could have spent every waking hour in the garden composing new melodies or practising for hours upon hours behind the pianoforte. If her mother would have allowed it, that is. However, as of late, her life seemed to be taken up more and more with preparations for her coming out, even though it was still several years away.
Ellen halted for a moment, biting her lower lip. Growing up was such a distasteful business. Her mother reminded her at least twenty times a day that she was no longer a child but a young girl on the cusp of womanhood. She could not start her preparation for entering that strange world of adults a minute too soon.
Sighing heavily, she turned her attention back to her music sheet. Her brow knit into a frown, another infraction for which her mother would have scolded her.“You will make wrinkles, Ellen,”her mother would have chided her if she could have seen her face.
Ellen shook her head, trying to focus on the task at hand. She brushed her long, blonde curls over her shoulder, peering at the music sheet. However, she had not been able to write two notes into their place when a loud whizzing swept past her, and a gale-force wind blew her hair into her eyes. She gasped, holding her music sheets down so they, too, would not be swept away. She looked up only to see Lord Simon riding past her at break-neck speed on his new steed. She rolled her eyes, turned away from him slightly, and did her best to ignore him.
Lord Simon Grant, the heir to the Earldom of Danbridge, had been a thorn in her side for as long as she could remember. At two years her junior, he was the bane of her existence, always hanging about playing tricks on her or being a general nuisance. She glanced up and saw his blonde hair bouncing as he rode away. He turned his horse to face her, and she caught a glimpse of his chubby, freckle-covered face. She rolled her eyes and looked away.
Simon sat atop the gelding proudly, patting its neck and smiling an impish grin. She quickly turned around when she saw that he was looking in her direction. “Best not to encourage him,” she mumbled. She uttered a growl of frustration and began humming the tune again, plotting out the notes in her mind before she jotted them onto the paper.
Ellen heard the thunder of hooves once more but was determined to ignore the ten-year-old nuisance. He was just like her younger sisters, always buzzing around, asking questions and driving her mad. She frowned, trying to concentrate. The hoofbeats grew louder, and her heart began to race. Surely he did not mean to run her down, did he?
Ellen turned just as the horse reared a few feet away from her. Mud sprayed up as the horse abruptly stopped, waving its front hooves dangerously over her head. Ellen screamed and tried to back away.
A few seconds later, Simon loosened his hold on the reins, and the horse went back down on all fours. His laughter filled the air, echoing around her—mocking her.
Her face grew flush with anger, and she gasped as she looked down at the little marble bench she had been occupying. An ugly black ink splotch was quickly spreading over her music sheets, erasing her newly penned melody in its wake.
Ellen stood up, furious. “Simon Grant, now look at what you’ve done!” she yelled. She snatched the inkwell up, the black ink staining her hands. Her mother would be incensed when she saw the state she was in.
She looked down at her once-pristine white dress. “Oh, I do not know why we women put up with you boys at all!” she muttered as she began gathering her music.
Snickering sounded behind her, and she swung around. Simon covered his mouth with a fist, trying to hold back his laughter. He dismounted with one fluid movement and came to her side, allowing his horse to graze nearby. “I am ever so sorry, Ellen. I had no idea Prince would rear up like that.”
Ellen shot him a suspicious scowl. “I know how well you ride, Simon, and that was no accident. You made him spray mud all over me on purpose. And now look what your trick has cost me! A whole afternoon’s work—gone,” she said in dismay. All three music sheets she had penned for her mother’s birthday song were marred by ink stains. She would have to start all over now.
“It is not my fault you knocked over the inkwell. You really should have seen your face—” Simon began, but something within Ellen snapped before he had a chance to finish. He had bent over to help her retrieve some of the pages that had drifted to the grass after his little prank, and she snatched them away from his hands.
“I would not have spilt the ink if you would not have frightened me!” She walked around the bench and started toward the house. “You are the most wicked boy I have ever met. I hate you, Simon Grant! I never want to see you again!”
She stalked toward the patio, hurrying as fast as possible to escape him. This was more than she could bear. For years, she had been forced to put up with his tricks and pranks, but no more. She would go to her mother and tell her what had happened, and with any luck, she would not force her to be in the same room, let alone the same house, with Simon. His immaturity was a blight on his father’s name to be sure.
When she came to the patio steps, she turned momentarily to see what Simon was doing. All she could see was his hunched back as he retreated to his family’s estate just a few miles away. A pinprick of guilt assailed her heart. Her parents repeatedly tried to explain that he was young and would someday grow out of this phase. All boys went through it, and Simon was no different than all the other “red-blooded” young men. He would learn to control himself in time.
Ellen turned her nose up and swung around on her heel. She did not want to wait until he learned some self-control.
When she entered the parlour, her mother’s mouth dropped open, and she stood, her embroidery forgotten as it slid to the floor. “Ellen! What on earth has happened?”
“Simon Grant. That is what happened,” she said. She deposited her mass of ruined papers on one of the side tables, and a maid appeared immediately to clean it up so that the ink would not drip onto the expensive oriental rugs. “I really do think he was trying to kill me this time, Mama,” Ellen complained.
Her mother took her by the elbow and led her out of the room. “Oh, you are always so dramatic about these things, dearest,” she replied. She led her out into the foyer and up the grand staircase, helping her to her room.
“I am not being dramatic, Mama. I tell you, Simon has crossed the line one too many times. I do not want to see him ever again,” she whined.
“Well, that will not be easily attained, Ellen. You know that your father and Lord Grant wish you two to wed someday,” her mother argued. Ellen rolled her eyes.
“I would rather be run down by runaway horses.”
“Watch your tongue, young lady,” her mother chided. She opened the door to Ellen’s room and called the maid to go and fetch a basin and towels. “Simon will grow out of his tricks, Ellen. I assure you, all boys are like this at his age.”
“I do not want to hear it, Mama. Simon is the worst boy I have ever met. He is rude and wild and disrespectful.”
Her mother sighed and helped her climb out of her ruined white dress. “Well, perhaps school will help mellow him. His father has told us that he will be off to boarding school in a few weeks.”
