Chapter One

May 5, 1812

The Honorable Miss Alice Fox-Edwards—as she had once been—was not going to cry. Most definitely. Probably.

It was this brisk early morning air, Alice told herself as she strode purposefully through Hyde Park, carefully examining every gentleman that passed. That was all.

Not him.

Not him.

Not that one was walking arm in arm with a woman. Not worth the risk.

Her pulse was hammering painfully and her fingers felt numb, but Alice had made the decision and there was no going back. Mr. Shenton had been very clear about the money required, and there was no other option. She had to get it back.

She would simply have to find a husband at the swiftest opportunity, and that was that.

The handle of her reticule dug into her palm as she walked, the bag swinging by her side and knocking into the elegant muslin gown she had chosen for that day's efforts. A light blue, perfectly suiting her pale coloring and the almost white-blonde hair her lady's maid had piled upon her head that morning.

A little pink for the cheeks, a smile that hid her panic, and she was ready.

Alice swallowed as she passed a gaggle of ladies. Try as she might, it was impossible not to lower her head, ever so slightly.

It had been so long ago. Surely no one would remember—

"Dear Lord—is that Miss Fox-Edwards?"

"Who?"

"Miss Alice Fox-Edwards—you remember, there was that hint of scandal, four years past. You must have heard..."

Whatever it was the woman assumed her friend would have heard, Alice could not tell. Her pace had quickened just enough to end the possibility of hearing. Her escape, however, did not prevent her cheeks from reddening and a most discomforting twist in her stomach.

Botheration!

Staying away from London these last years had been not choice but necessity. And Alice had presumed enough time had passed, enough other ladies had come out into Society, that some had to have made more impressive mistakes than she had.

But apparently not. Her name was still known, spoken in such terms—

The sight of a woman just a few yards away, strolling along Hyde Park with what appeared to be her husband, made Alice's heart soften.

Miss Marnion.

Not the Miss Marnion, of course. The elder sister was still unmarried and, according to the scandal sheets Alice had managed to get her hands on the prior evening, was causing a bit of a rumpus by attracting the attention of two gentlemen who had already threatened a duel.

But this was the younger—Alice's friend.

Pulse thumping wildly, relief soaring through her veins, Alice made for her. Henrietta Marnion would understand—they had been bosom friends for the first Season of their coming out.

She was saved.

Trying desperately not to think just how close she had come to ruin, Alice stepped into the path of the woman who had been Miss Marnion and the person who was presumably her husband, and she smiled.

"My dear," she said, with as much friendliness as possible. "It seems ridiculous I do not know how to address you, it has been so long. You must introduce me to—"

Alice's voice broke. It was not the only part of her to shatter.

Without meeting her eyes, without speaking to her or nodding her head, without giving any indication whatsoever that Alice was even there, the former Miss Marnion strode on by, arm in arm with the gentleman who looked bewilderedly back at Alice over his shoulder.

Alice halted, her torso ice, her feet stone.

The Cut Direct.

She had only ever heard about it. Her mother had been most attentive to her education and ensured that she was well versed in the most disgracing way to behave to another person in public.

"You completely ignore them," her mother had said in a whisper, as though guilt could be attached merely by speaking of the wretched move. "To ignore a person after they have so publicly addressed you... it is the end of good Society. A woman who receives the Cut Direct is a fallen woman indeed."

Hot, prickling tears throbbed at the corners of her eyes. Alice tried desperately to prevent them falling.

This was not happening. It could not be. No one knew the full truth of her disgrace—she had been very careful about that. Even the gossips at the time had not quite understood the full depth of her mistake.

And yet Miss Marnion—or whatever her name was now—evidently no longer wished to court the friendship of the Honorable Miss Alice Fox-Edwards.

There was a strange ringing in her ears, a painful pitch which did not disappear when Alice swallowed.

What was she going to do?

"Did you see that? The Cut Direct—"

"Never would have believed it! She must have done something terrible—"

"Yes, the Miss Fox-Edwards, and she's back in London!"

Almost without thinking Alice raised a hand to her forehead, which was beading perspiration, but the early May day was hardly temperate enough for such a response. It was the shame, the burning shame within her that was sparking such fervor through her head. Such heat she could not think, could not consider what to do.

She was right in the middle of Hyde Park. No matter how she attempted to retreat, she would have to pass innumerable people. People who would surely have heard of the scandal, gossip moving faster than the light spring breeze rustling the budding trees.

Alice's head spun.

Oh, this was intolerable. What had she been thinking, returning to London?

And then the reason why, the reason she had burdened herself with the decision she had made last night, swam back into her mind. Resolve steadied her and her head stopped spinning.

She had to do this. There was no other choice, and it was not just she who was depending on her plan's success.

Holding her head high and plastering a smile across her lips that Alice hoped no one would examine too closely, she shifted the chain of her blue velvet reticule farther up her arm and turned in a random direction.

Keep moving, that was it, Alice told herself. She couldn't hear the disgraceful comments about her personage, her character, her reputation if she kept moving.

The thought was, sadly, most incorrect.

"Oh, my goodness, it's you!"

Alice halted. She had not intended to, but there is something about a shriek like that which will stop anyone in their tracks.

Turning, she saw a matronly woman approaching her with an astonished expression in her eyes.

Alice sighed. Hungry for gossip, no doubt. Well, she should have expected this. Her mother, God rest her soul, had attempted to connect her with every respectable mama in London when Alice had come out into Society just five years ago. It was impossible to hope they had all forgotten about her.

When the woman finally reached her, panting from exertion, Alice tried to incline her head pleasantly. "Mrs. Howarth. How agreeable to see you."

"I would suppose it is, you coming here to London without a friend in the world, I'll be bound!" said Mrs. Howarth with a raised eyebrow.

Alice's smile faltered only slightly before she regained control. "I must say I don't know what you mean."

She knew precisely what the woman meant. Of course she did. But there appeared to be no way to extricate herself. Although perhaps it was not such a bad idea, having a civilized conversation with a woman of Society.

The civility departed rapidly.

"You should not be back in polite Society, you know," said Mrs. Howarth, a beady eye sweeping up and down Alice's attire. "Did you not know your reputation was quite ruined?"

Alice swallowed.

Reputation ruined. Two words any young lady in Society trembled to even consider.

When she had been but twenty . . .

Well, it had been the sort of thing that happened to other young ladies. Silly young ladies. Young ladies who did not take care of their person, who made wild decisions with most unsuitable men, and had to pay the consequences.

The thought that it could happen to someone she knew . . . to her . . .

"I do not believe anyone has anything to accuse me of," Alice said, as though they were discussing a particularly interesting recital.

But Mrs. Howarth did not appear convinced. "You can attempt to smile at me, young lady, but it won't wash! I heard that you were... well"—her cheeks reddened—"taken up, you see. By... by a gentleman."

Alice's pulse skipped a beat. "Yet here I am, perfectly respectable, without a gentleman."

More's the pity.

Mrs. Howarth did not seem to agree either. "But the outrage! Miss Fox-Edwards, you must remember—"

"I recall nothing of note," Alice lied, highly conscious of the glances sweeping her way.

If Mrs. Howarth were not careful, she would soon be tied to a woman whose reputation was loose at best.

"But you left London so suddenly all those years ago," Mrs. Howarth persisted, apparently deciding the opportunity to obtain gossip was worth the risk to her own reputation by associating with such a woman as Miss Alice Fox-Edwards. "There was such talk, rushing away halfway through the Season, something must have—"

"I was forced to return to Brighton due to my father's ill health," said Alice smoothly, trotting out the lie which had been given out at the time. A most convenient lie, if convenient was the right word. Her father had died not three months later. "He left us that summer, if you recall."

If she had hoped Mrs. Howarth would be cowed by the reminder of her loss, Alice was sorely disappointed.

The older woman waved a hand, as though wafting away the inconvenient truth of a deceased father. "Yes, yes, but why so suddenly? The rumors that circulated afterward—"

"I do not think I can be held accountable for the tittle-tattle of others," Alice said, in her best attempt at sternness. "Really, Mrs. Howarth, indulging in such rumormongering!"

And she saw immediately that she had gone too far.

Mrs. Howarth raised herself up with a snort of derision and fixed Alice with the beady gaze she remembered all too well from the last time she was in London. "Mark my words, Miss Fox-Edwards, you will not make many new friends in London with that attitude—and I say new friends, for I believe you are sorely in want of them. No one else will own you, will they? No, for all your fine words, I know something happened that Season, and your fallen reputation is, in my opinion, well deserved!"

And with that she flounced away, bonnet wobbling with the effort of retreating as far from the offending young miss as possible.

Alice swallowed. Well, that could have gone worse, she supposed. Though she wasn't sure precisely how.

Perhaps she should not have returned to London without greater preparations. She should have found... oh, an ally. A friend. A protector, an elderly woman perhaps that she could be a companion to.

But no. Alice had considered that, and it simply would not work. Being a companion to an elderly lady was all very well, but she needed ready money now. Mr. Shenton had been most clear in his latest letter. His patience would not continue forever, and the small shillings she had sent were simply not enough.

Blackmail.

It was not a word Alice had managed to speak aloud, but that was it, was it not? Blackmail. Or bribery, she was not totally sure. He had the document, and he refused to give it to her until she paid.

She needed a protector who was going to live for many years, give her the respectability that she so craved, and most importantly, who had money. Money she could access. She needed someone who could adore her enough not to ask difficult questions about the past. Someone who was besotted enough to overlook any hint of scandal, any whispers of wrongdoing.

Alice blinked away the tears and focused hard on what she knew had to happen. She had to find one.

A husband.

Or a man, at any rate. A man who was alone, a man who looked as though he was fortunate enough to be able to afford a wife and children. A man who looked kind, who appeared to have a great deal of sympathy for—

Alice shook her head with a wry expression and settled on the end of a bench in the dappled shade of a large oak tree. The two ladies at the other end took one look, noticed how everyone else was staring, and promptly rose from the bench.

Oh, it was going to be like that, was it?

Keeping her head resolutely high, Alice slowed her breathing, hoping the thrum of her pulse was not audible to anyone else.

So. A husband. All she had to do was find one.

There were not actually, as she quickly discovered, that many gentlemen walking alone. Almost all of them were accompanying ladies, which made it rather difficult.

The gentle spring breeze rustled the hem of her skirt, but Alice did not bother attempting to adjust it. Her attention had become fixed on a gentleman of great height and severe look. He marched past Alice, a scowl darkening his features.

No. A man like that would surely be most unsuitable.

Another man caught her eye, mostly because of the bright bottle green of his greatcoat. He caught the eye of a great many ladies, as far as Alice could see, and could therefore be discounted. She did not wish to argue over a man like a ribbon in a haberdasher's.

What felt like hours later, Alice was almost ready to give up and return to the lodgings she had taken with what little funds she had left. This had been a ridiculous idea. Wander Hyde Park and find a husband, as though she were choosing to have a gown made to order at the modiste?

What had she been thinking?

It was because she was brushing her skirts in distraction, removing a few errant leaves and annoyed at the waste of the day, that she did not immediately spot them.

A trio of men.

True gentlemen. One only had to look at their comportment to see they were entirely respectable. All were wearing jackets of what appeared to be the latest fashion—Alice had only been in London a few days and was still acclimatizing to style's changes—and one was holding a cane which appeared to be topped by a sphere of marble.

They were brothers. Alice did not need to examine their calling cards to know that. The same dark brown hair appeared on all three of their heads, though one's brightened slightly in the sunlight. And they all had the same sharp jaws, the same glittering eyes.

Standing just far enough from her to be examined without reproach, and sadly too far for Alice to hear their conversation, she watched them through her eyelashes, pretending she was searching for something in her reticule.

They appeared to be arguing.

Well, that's what it looked like. One appeared to be remonstrating with the other two, neither of whom were taking his words seriously, as far as she could make out.

Alice's gaze drifted over the one trying to keep the others under control.

He was... handsome. Charming, even. There was something intriguing about the sparkling sky-blue eyes that were at such odds with his dark hair. He held himself well, though his shoulders were slumping with defeat as his two companions spoke over him.

Alice swallowed, trying her best to be as mercenary as possible.

He was wealthy. At least, he was wearing a twill jacket with an impressive gold silk waistcoat catching the sun. His cravat was tied in an impressive Sentimentale knot, so he must have a valet of skill and style.

And he seemed . . . caring.

Alice straightened up as the man she had been observing separated from the other two and started to stride along the path.

Handsome, wealthy, and caring. That was enough.

Trying not to make it too noticeable precisely what she was about, Alice started to follow him. Not too closely, obviously. It would never do for anyone to guess what she was doing. Not that anyone would be likely to guess at her intentions even if they did notice her. No one would be so foolish as to think one could just select a husband in Hyde Park.

He was walking sedately, thank goodness, so Alice was not forced into breathlessness to keep behind him. The trouble was, how to make the introduction? How, in short, to guarantee that he would have to marry her?

The gentleman took a turn to the left, making for a shortcut only gentlemen ever took through a small woodland to the Lancaster Gate.

Yes, that was it.

Falling back, she turned left also but quickened her pace. It was imperative she met with him within the wooded area itself. Yes, that would be perfect.

Her heart hammered as trickles of doubt started to seep into her mind.

Was this truly the only way she could rescue herself? Was she so desperate that she would forgo all manner of civility, and give up all hope of true happiness?

"You're being a fool, Alice Fox-Edwards," she muttered to herself.

Then immediately regretted it. It was all very well muttering to no one in particular when she had been living in her parents' old home. But debts had to be repaid, and Mr. Shenton had made it perfectly clear what he would do if she were not forthcoming. And now she was out in the world. She couldn't just talk to herself!

And that was precisely why she had to find a husband, wasn't it? There was no more money—at least, precious little. When that ran out, she would not be the only one who was doomed.

Her resolve hardened. She would make an excellent wife for someone. All she had to do was find that someone.

She had to hope it was the gentleman she was following.

His footsteps were increasing in pace and Alice sturdied herself to do what must be done. It was hardly ladylike, but then, perhaps true ladies did not find themselves in this desperate position.

The shape of the gentleman started to grow clearer through the trees.

This was it.

Alice barreled forward, forcing her feet into a pace she knew she could not maintain, and managed to crash right into the unsuspecting gentleman.

"Oh!"

Her cry had not been planned, but it had been impossible to keep it inside the moment her body struck his.

And what a body it was. Alice had expected the gentleman's chest to give way, for her to sink into it, perhaps softening the blow of the collision.

She could not have been more wrong. As the gentleman's hands came around her to catch her, preventing her from falling to the ground, there was nothing but hard muscle under the jacket and waistcoat she had already espied.

And that wasn't all. A scent filled her lungs that was quite heady and most unexpected. Sandalwood, and the musk of a man driven to irritation, and a darkness of something else. Cinnamon, perhaps, or another spice. It made her head giddy and her heart flutter, and something wasn't quite working in her lungs. Every breath seemed to make her dizzier.

Alice could feel, could hear, the man's pulse thumping. Pressed up against him as she was, there was nothing she could do but feel him—feel his touch, the warmth of his fingertips on her arms, the way her body quivered to be so close to that of a gentleman's.

Of a stranger.

Alice blinked up into the sky-blue eyes of a gentleman she would never, no matter what happened now, be able to forget.

"Dear God," said the man in a surprised voice.

She blinked again, then remembered precisely why she had concocted this charade in the first place.

"Dear me!" Alice cried loudly, desperately hoping someone would hear. "Now you'll have to marry me!"