Chapter One

The winds whipped the ocean waves, causing them to break with even greater fierceness. Temperance paused for a moment, her hand still holding tight to the paintbrush before she swept it across the canvas.

My heart is like the waves. Unsettled and never finding stillness.

Tears came to her eyes and one dripped to her cheek. Hastily, Temperance wiped it away, only for her fingers to trace the scar there.

Shame burned through her and she closed her eyes, swallowing hard as she shook her head to herself. It had been two years since that dreadful day, two years since she had not only been broken in body but also in spirit. Two years since she had felt any sort of happiness.

Blinking back her tears, Temperance took in a long, steadying breath and once more, looked out at the tempestuous waves. The artwork was beginning to take shape, the waves and the shore clearly depicted but yet, she was still not contented with it. There was so much more she had to do, so many fine details she had to paint in. There was the froth of the waves as they crashed against the coastal cliffs, the fury of the wind as it whipped up the sea and the shadows of the gulls as they flew overhead. She wanted to capture all of it. Every single last moment. It was the only way she could forget about her past, the only way she could set aside all of her pain and her sorrow. Focusing solely on her artwork, thinking only about the scene before her, that was the only course she had for a little relief.

"Do come and sit down for a while, my dear."

Temperance turned to see her aunt smiling gently at her from the door of the parlor.

"I have a tea tray set out for us in the drawing room. Will you not come and sit with me for even a few minutes?" Lady Hartford offered Temperance a small, slightly wry smile. "I have received a letter from your mother and she did beg of me to speak of some things with you. "

Temperance's stomach twisted. "I have not quite yet finished my painting, Aunt."

"But you will stand there and paint until it is too dark for you to see the scene before you and by that time, it will be too late for tea," came the reply, though Temperance could tell that her aunt was doing her best to encourage her away from what she was doing simply because she wished her to take a little rest, rather than because of the hour. Aunt Matilda had always been very concerned and considerate when it came to Temperance and though she was grateful for that, Temperance wished that, on occasions such as this, she would leave her to paint rather than encourage her to take tea instead. Taking tea would mean conversation and discussion about her present situation and Temperance did not want that.

"Please, Temperance."

The softness of her aunt's voice made Temperance's heart squeeze. "Very well, Aunt."

Lady Matilda smiled. "I thank you. The tea will warm your hands, I am sure. This parlor is rather cold today. I will have a fire set for you and then when you return, the room will be a little warmer."

"By then, I fear that the sky will have darkened and I will not be able to paint."

Her aunt laughed softly. "My dear girl, it is only mid-morning! You will have plenty of time to paint today. I will have the maid set the fire so it is a little warmer for you. Now please, do come and sit down. You need to take a short respite, I am sure."

Temperance followed her aunt through, pausing only for a moment as her aunt instructed a maid to set a fire in the parlor for Temperance's return. Once seated in the drawing room, she accepted the cup of tea from her aunt and settled back a little more into her chair. Her body softened, a few aches in her neck and back becoming a little more prominent and she let out a slow breath.

Perhaps I did need this.

"You said you had a letter from my mother?" Temperance asked, seeing Lady Hartford nod. It was not something that she wished to discuss but, knowing that her aunt wanted to say something to her about it, Temperance considered it was best to bring it to the fore rather than hide it away. "What is it that she wishes you to say to me?"

Her aunt set down her tea cup and then reached for a letter which was sitting quietly on the table beside her. "Do you wish to read it yourself?"

Temperance shook her head. "No, I thank you."

"There is nothing personal within it. But given that she writes a letter to you every sennight, I suppose that there is nothing written within this that she has not already said to you." Her aunt offered her a small, wry smile. "Aside from the grave concern that she is expressing about your continued residence here."

Temperance's eyebrows lifted. "My mother does not wish me to reside here with you any longer? For what purpose?"

Her aunt let out a small sigh. "It is not that she does not want you to reside here, Temperance. It is only that she is concerned about your absence from London."

Temperance closed her eyes, her heart dropping low. "She wants me to return to society?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"But why?" Opening her eyes, Temperance shook her head. "There is no purpose in my return to society! It is not as though any gentleman will look at me – will look at my scarred face – and consider me worthy of courtship!" Seeing the way her aunt's gaze darted away, Temperance closed her eyes again. "She wants me to make a match, does she not?"

Lady Hartford nodded just as Temperance opened her eyes. "Yes, I believe that that is her desire for you."

Temperance took a sip of her tea, trying to calm the upset which grew up within her. "My mother is thinking foolishly. I cannot make a good match! It has been two Seasons since I was last in society and it is not as though my face has changed in any way. If anything, despite the doctor's best efforts, my scar remains just as prominent as it has always been."

"That is not so." Lady Hartford smiled encouragingly but Temperance did not even permit it to enter her heart. She knew all too well the long, jagged scar which ran from the side of her eye all the way to her jawline. She saw it every time she glanced at herself in the looking glass. Her lady's maid had, at times, attempted to conceal it by permitting some of Temperance's golden tresses to fall lightly to one side of her face but even that had not hidden it completely. Temperance was certain a return to London and to society would only make her the topic of every conversation and, what was worse, no gentleman would even so much as glance at her for a second time.

"Your sisters are both married and settled," her aunt murmured, gently. "It is only right that your mother should now consider you."

"My sisters both have perfect complexions, Aunt." A seed of bitterness entered into Temperance's heart. Her sisters had cared very little about what had happened to Temperance, seemingly to be nothing but relieved that they had been spared such a thing. They had barely spoken to Temperance as she had recovered from the accident and in the two years that Temperance had lived here with her aunt and uncle, neither of them had written to her to see how she fared. The only way Temperance had heard of their marriage was through a letter from her mother. She had not even been invited to their weddings. Evidently, her sisters had not wanted to have their beautiful ceremonies spoiled by her presence.

"You must not let your injury – and the scar which lingers – define who you are. And certainly you must not let yourself believe that every gentleman in London will look at you and see only your scar!" Lady Hartford leaned forward in her chair, a gentle gleam of encouragement in her eye but Temperance only shook her head. "Come now, Temperance," Lady Hartford continued, gently. "You are intelligent, talented – your paintings are beautiful – and you have excellent conversation, poise and elegance. Your heart is compassionate and kind. There is more to you than your outward appearance, is there not? And the right gentleman will see that."

"I do not think I can believe that, Aunt." Temperance sipped her tea so that she could hide her tears from her aunt. In the last two years, she had done nothing but consider what had happened at the time of her accident and, thereafter, considered just how bleak her future might be.

"Do not think that every gentleman is like Edmund, Temperance."

A harsh note entered her aunt's voice and, a little surprised, Temperance blinked back her tears as she looked to the lady. Lady Hartford was scowling, a shadow flickering over her expression as she looked away from Temperance and to the window instead.

"I fear, Aunt, that most – if not every – gentleman in London is like Edmund," Temperance admitted, in a half whisper. Edmund, the Marquess of Barlington, had been her betrothed at one time. He had declared his devotion to her, had stated how much he adored her and how much joy there was waiting for them and Temperance had believed every word. In fact, she had been swept away by him, overcome with hope and excitement as to what their future as man and wife would be – and then the accident had happened. They had been out riding with some other friends and acquaintances at his estate, when her horse had shied suddenly. Temperance had been thrown from it, pain lacing through her body and her head – and her face also. She had been injured, yes, but those injuries had healed. It was the scars they had left behind which had pushed Edmund away.

Her eyes closed, a slight tremble running through her. The moment Edmund had told her that their engagement had come to an end, she had felt her world shrink. He had not been able to look at her, had not been able to keep her gaze and that had told her everything she had needed to know about him. The gentleman was a coward, yes, but he had broken her heart regardless. Too late, she had realized that there was nothing genuine about his supposed affections. He had been nothing but a fraud, pretending that he felt more than he truly did and she had accepted every word from him as truth.

Darkness had overtaken her, then, and even now, it had not left her. She was torn apart, broken by his betrayal, shunned by the injuries she had endured. Her beauty was marred, her heart shattered and all that had been left for her was to retreat.

"You will not return to London, then? You will not go back to society for the Season?"

Her aunt's quiet question whispered to Temperance and she quickly shook her head, blinking back the tears which returned to her all too quickly.

"I do not think I can, Aunt," she whispered, honestly. "It is already too much for me even to think of it."

Lady Hartford smiled and nodded gently. "I understand," she said, softly. "I will write to your mother and tell her that we have spoken of it. That will satisfy her, I am sure. "

Temperance managed a slightly wobbly smile but then excused herself to go back to her painting. The room was already a little warmer thanks to the fire which had been lit but Temperance's turbulent emotions were more unsettled than ever. She picked up her paintbrush, ready to begin again, but her vision was quickly blurred with tears. Temperance sniffed and closed her eyes tightly to press them back but they refused to listen and instead, continued to come. Setting her paintbrush down, Temperance dropped her head and let the tears fall. There was still so much pain within her heart, a pain which never seemed to fade or disappear. It was all she could do to bear it.