Chapter 1

Chapter One

Aurelia Beswick carried the letter, clasped within a gloved fist, like it was the key to her entire future. It was, in fact. Complete with employment, a roof that did not leak, and hot meals twice daily. After waking in the middle of the night to cold moisture dripping on her forehead, Aurelia would have accepted a post as kitchen maid in Prinny's exacting palace to be out of her brother's musty attic. A governess to a young boy in the beautiful Hampshire countryside was more than acceptable.

It was a miracle and a godsend.

Her post chaise rolled to a stop in the dusty inn yard and, with it, Aurelia released an anxious breath. She tucked the letter snugly into her reticule and cinched it tight. Her seatmate's portly arm dug into her side, pressing her into the leather-lined wall of the carriage. She looked through the window, marking the ostler while he scurried to the horses' heads, his bristly side whiskers dusty from the animals he kept company with.

Aurelia's stomach rumbled louder than the horn that had heralded their arrival. She pressed a hand to it, hoping to silence the noise.

"Can't say the food here is any good, luv," the gentleman said beside her. "Best not to waste good coin on it."

She had little coin to waste, in truth, but that would not stop her from exiting the carriage for a reprieve, however short it might be. She'd smelled nothing but cheese and onions since the man had taken the seat beside her.

"Thank you," she said politely. Ever the lady, despite her dramatic fall in status six months ago.

Her new position would require such behavior of her, but that was not her chief motive for retaining her manners. Mrs. Hoskins had vouched for Aurelia when supplying this position and a reference. Aurelia would do nothing to embarrass her old governess.

The door was opened and the step let down, permitting a wave of cool autumn air to permeate the stale carriage. Aurelia took the servant's offered hand and climbed out, glad her bonnet shielded her face from the harsh afternoon sun. If Mother were here, she would have considered a bonnet insufficient and recommended a parasol be added. Aurelia banished the thought. Mother was in Ireland, seeking refuge and safety away from England's watchful eye, thus excusing herself from carrying an opinion on Aurelia's actions any longer. Besides, Aurelia was a well-bred lady in her own right. She was about to be entrusted with the instruction and guidance of a young boy. Surely she could manage her own sun exposure.

Giving the carriage and horses a wide berth, Aurelia crossed the yard toward the inn. A weathered board swung above the door with a red lion painted across it, chipped and worn with age. She did not wish to waste money on distasteful food, but surely they would not charge her for a glass of water.

The door burst open. "Careful, ma'am," a groom said, side-stepping in time to avoid colliding with her. His arms went up in frustration. "We've a rowdy party indoors."

She paused at the threshold, considering the implications of such a statement. As an unattached woman of six-and-twenty, she had long since been the overseer of her own safety. Which meant avoiding things like raucous inns full of men who had imbibed too much.

But, oh, her throat was parched. Travel from London to Hampshire was not of terribly long duration, but it was wearying all the same.

The door swung open again, revealing a dim taproom and a decided lack of rowdy men. People milled about the tables, ordering meals from the serving girl or digging into savory bowls of soup, buttery pies, and chunks of warm, yeasty bread.

Aurelia's stomach rumbled as she stepped inside, the hearty smell of roasting meat tantalizing her, making her mouth water.

Water. She was only here for water. Though temptation nipped at her to spend her last bit of money on a meal, she was halfway to Tilton Manor, where she could eat free of charge.

It would be enough.

"Can I help ‘ee, miss?" a serving girl asked, brushing a wayward curl from her face. Her cheeks were mottled, her eyes bright from running about the stuffy room bracketed by large fires.

Aurelia glanced at the dusty tables and the floor that had not been swept in some days. A small, niggling voice told her not to risk illness. One never did know the state of an inn's water supply. If she was to arrive at her new employer's home with a bout of stomach upset, that would not endear her to the household. Tea was safer than water.

She smiled at the serving girl. "A cup of tea, please."

Aurelia feared the ramifications of parting with her final coin, but it was far better than arriving at Tilton Manor with illness.

The serving girl left to procure the tea. Aurelia brushed her gloved hand over the bench before lowering herself to take a seat and await her drink. The men dotting the room would have given her pause, but they were caught up in various conversations and paid her no mind beyond the occasional lingering glance. She could not identify which of the groups was the rowdy crowd the groom had mentioned.

It was no matter. Unpredictable strangers were the reason Aurelia traveled with an exceptionally small pistol in her reticule, courtesy of her brother, Nathaniel—though in fairness, he was unaware she had claimed the item for herself after he was carted off to Newgate Prison for stealing and gambling debts. If things had gone according to plan, she would have Nathaniel by her side instead of just his gun.

She had never intended to desert her brother after their parents had abandoned them for Aunt Kennedy's home on the other side of the Irish Sea. But now Aurelia was entirely on her own. A lone island on the sea. A single apple left behind on a gnarly branch. A woman with no one to rely upon. Her fingers pressed against the hard steel of the pistol through the soft fabric of her reticule, and it sent a wave of relief through her.

Aurelia had always leaned toward independence of mind. So much so that her governess had taken to including lessons about pride, humility, and the benefits of being moldable around her typical French, Latin, and Greek Mythology. But now that she was faced with solitude, she missed her family all the more.

Her parents had written and offered her a place with them in Aunt Kennedy's home when they learned of Nathaniel's trial, but there wasn't room enough as it was. Aurelia did the proper thing and refused, stating her desire to find a post in England, close to Nathaniel.

Thanks to her old governess, Mrs. Hoskins, she had done so. Just in time, too, for Nathaniel's creditors had come to his house and taken everything, leaving her with nothing but a raggedy bed in an attic room that leaked rainwater.

Had she known Nathaniel was being chased by moneylenders as well for his excessive gambling, she might have formed a different plan from the outset. Alas, her brother's arrest had been a shock, and Mrs. Hoskins had rescued her with a governess position. All was well now.

Or she hoped it would be once she arrived at Tilton Manor.

"Your tea, ma'am," the serving girl said, tugging Aurelia from her dark mood and returning her attention to the scarred tabletop and steaming cup in front of her.

She delivered a smile of gratitude and paid for the tea, praying it was worth the money. She lifted the cup to her lips.

It scalded.

She placed the cup on the table and waited, her gaze sweeping over the people gathered in the inn's taproom. Men were seated in groups, most wearing clothes that belied their trades, except for a pair in the corner dressed as though they were on their way to attend the House of Lords and had stopped in for a pie to break their journey. One of the men had his back to her, and she tore her eyes away from his broad shoulders and well-cut coat. His companion—and father, perhaps, judging by the graying hair at his temples—sent her a polite smile that she ignored.

No attention was good attention in an establishment such as this.

A horn sounded outside, providing a warning that the post chaise would be soon leaving.

Drat. She needed to hurry.

A man glanced her way from his table against the wall. He was dressed like a gentleman farmer, in clothing that proved he spent money when he needed to, but nothing so fine as the Town-bronzed pair on the other side of the room.

Aurelia dragged her gaze away from the farmer and blew on the tea, sipping carefully. It soothed her parched throat and provided the relief she'd been looking for. She had two minutes, which was enough time to finish her drink and make her way outside again, where her seatmate was waiting to dig his elbow into her side and reek of cheese and onions for the final few hours of their journey.

The farmer pushed his chair away from his table slowly, the legs dragging across the wooden planks. He ambled to her table and lowered himself on the bench opposite, building her pulse into a steady beat, his friends watching all the while.

"You look lonely," the man said. His eyes were dark, sluggishly raking over her seated form. She felt a bath was now in order.

Also, the man must be ignored at all costs.

He glanced over his shoulder at his friends, and she wondered briefly if this was the rowdy party the groom had attempted to warn her about. Where was her portly seatmate? The carriage driver? Anyone to lend her gravitas.

Aurelia did not want to be forced to retrieve her pistol.

"Maybe she can't hear," he said loudly, though it was unclear whom he directed it to. He cleared his throat and leaned forward on the table, bracing his arms on the edge, his hand dangerously close to her teacup. "I told you I think you look lonely. I can fix that."

Aurelia forced her hand not to tremble when she lifted the cup and finished the remainder of her tea in one burning swallow. Anxiously, her heart pounding in her ears, she pushed away from the table and got to her feet.

"Oy," the man said. "I'm speaking to you."

She did not spare him a glance. To engage would only elongate the meeting, and her chaise was leaving any moment now. What would Nathaniel do? He would ignore the eejit and keep walking—no, that was too generous of her. He would break the man's nose. But he would advise her to ignore the man and keep walking.

Aurelia stepped away, toward the door, her heart in her throat. She focused on the dim doorway like a beacon, listening to ensure the final horn did not sound.

The man's hand shot out and grabbed her around the wrist, spinning her back to face his angry, dark eyes. She stepped back until her shoulder blade bumped into the wall. Her pistol was hidden in the reticule hanging from the wrist he held. All she needed to do was free that hand and she could use its weight to deliver a blow across the man's brow.

But how to extricate?—

A throat cleared behind her assailant. He was hidden by the farmer's wide girth and shiny, balding head. "There you are," the voice said, deep and smooth. "I was beginning to wonder where you were."

Aurelia was lost for words. Was he speaking to her or the farmer? The navy blue sleeve she could see was finely made. Her gaze flicked to the lordly pair seated across the room, but the broad-shouldered man was no longer there. His seatmate watched her with concern.

She swallowed, hoping she was making the correct choice by playing along. "I was drinking tea."

"I expect you to unhand her immediately," the man said, his voice more dangerous than the useless pistol in Aurelia's reticule. It made her stomach dip.

The farmer stepped to the side but did not lessen his grip on her wrist.

He revealed the gentleman behind him, and Aurelia sucked in a faint breath of surprise. This wasn't just any man; it was someone she had known in her previous life. An earl, in fact, which proved that her initial taking of his character was precise. Lord Ryland, her brother's sworn enemy in school. They'd only met one time, and it hadn't been under the best of circumstances. She'd fallen madly in love with him—or so her seventeen-year-old heart had believed—and wished he would notice her as well. Until he had married another, of course.

By the lack of recognition in his eyes, he hadn't the faintest idea who she was.

That stung, though he could not be blamed. She could not hold him to account from one meeting, though it felt bitter to be so wholly forgettable.

"How do I know you aren't playing me for a fool?" the farmer asked, his fingers tightening on her intake of breath. "You weren't sitting with the lady."

Lord Ryland took the smallest step forward. He towered with impressive stature, looking down his nose as only an earl could who had accepted the mantle at a young age. "Release my wife," Lord Ryland said, his voice a sharp steel that cut through the tension in the room as if it was made of butter.

The farmer released her immediately, stepping back with his hands up in surrender.

My wife .

Aurelia had once hoped this man would provide that title for her, but that dream was almost a decade old and buried. She wasn't fooling herself into believing Lord Ryland meant anything by it except to save her from an uncomfortable situation with an uncouth man. He was already married. He had likely noticed she was alone and stepped in to help. This way was the quickest to dispel the threat with minimal injury to persons or the establishment.

Logic filed through her mind in a neatly arranged list. That did not stop his words from ringing through her head again and again like a bell tolling midday.

My wife. My wife. My wife .

He waited for the farmer to leave before stepping close enough to whisper, his hands remaining clasped behind his back. "Are you well?" he asked quietly.

Well? She was far from well, but that hardly mattered with a carriage to catch and a schedule to keep. "I must go."

"But are you well enough to travel?" he asked, his dark brown eyes roaming over her face. There was a flicker of something in their depths, but she did not believe it to be recognition. If he knew who she was, he likely would have turned away at once.

She pressed her lips into a thin line. It had been a long time since someone had asked after her state of health, but now was not the time for melancholy thoughts. She took a step toward the door.

"You will not find what you are looking for out there, I'm afraid," Lord Ryland said, a grimace marring his otherwise handsome face. His dark hair—it used to be tinted copper, she recalled, but now seemed more brown than red—was styled away from his face, pomaded in place, not a hair out of line. His coat was refined, his cravat impeccably tied. He appeared dressed for a day outdoors, though his clothing was far nicer than the rest of the inn's patrons.

He emitted an aura of refinement and confidence she wanted to borrow from. But she needed to be on her way, and he was not making any sense.

Perhaps he did not understand where she was going. "I am taking the post chaise."

"Again," he said gently, his chocolate eyes full of apology—so different from her assailant, yet they belonged to the same color family. His were warm, kind, rich. "You will not find what you are looking for outside."

She did not understand. The first horn had blown, but not the second.

"Your chaise has left."

Cold foreboding ran through her body. Aurelia broke away from Ryland and crossed to the door, throwing it open and stepping outside. There, in the center of the dusty inn yard, sat her lone portmanteau.

Penniless and without aid, Aurelia had been abandoned.