Chapter One

Dearest V.—My father had another apoplectic fit—we think—so I must return to Chaumbers. Leaving tonight. The devil—I dashed out of Lady Andini’s ball like some sort of reverse Cinderella. I’ll write as soon as I know more.—J.T.

Darling—I am so, so sorry. I pray it isn’t that. Or if it is, that he recovers quickly. The earl is a good and gracious man. Is Reginald with you? Have you sent for Crispin? Oh, I don’t mean to fire questions at you. I’m concerned is all, and I feel so for your worry. God bless.—V.

Dearest V.—The earl is very ill. Reginald is here, thank God. Crispin has been sent for. The physician is being very guarded. Father fooled him last time, so he doesn’t want to say. I’m afraid I won’t be back to London anytime soon—I’m sorry to abandon you—again—with the social Season getting underway. I know how uncomfortable it is for you.— I wish I’ll write more soon. Father has left a devil of a mess.—J.T.

Jasper, dear—Don’t worry about me. For Heaven’s sake. I’m fine. I’m sorry your father is suffering. Surely Reginald is a comfort? What do you mean by a mess?—V.

Dearest V.—Reginald tries. God—I mean, yes, he’s a great help—more practically than spiritually, but in truth, I need the practical more. The mess is my fault, not my father’s. I thought him better recovered from his last attack than he was. Moreover, the steward was ill and now has passed. The accounts are a jumble. There are stacks of correspondence my father never even opened—the tenants rightly have been feeling neglected—this must all sound so cold. I’ll write a better letter when I can think straight. I am missing you so.—J.T.

Dear Jasper—I miss you too. You don’t sound cold. You sound overwhelmed. Please remember that you don’t have to fix everything all at once. Cherish this time with your family. And please don’t worry about me, about writing “better” letters to me. Darling, I know how your mind works. Don’t put writing to me in that “duty” pile. This is a terrible time for you, and you know I understand that. All my love, V.

Mrs. Vanessa Wardrip handed her coat to the butler, took a deep breath, and joined Mrs. Lowry’s party’s receiving line—a sad collection of almost-acceptable ladies of gentle birth and cast-off once-acceptable ladies. They were the unchosen and their desperation was palpable. This ill-furnished townhouse, leased for the Season by the widowed Mrs. Lowry, depressed Vanessa as much as the guest list. She wouldn’t have come, except that she wanted to be able to tell Lord Jasper Taverston that she was not hiding away like a hermitess. Last year, after the earl’s previous attack, when Jasper had spent so much time at Chaumbers, she had done just that. Jasper had enough to worry about without guiltily envisioning her sitting at home lonely and bored. An invitation to Mrs. Lowry’s musicale might not be anything to boast about, but Jasper would see she was still being included, at least on the fringes.

Naturally, Vanessa could never attend high Society’s more exclusive balls and parties. Held during the height of the Season, those events were meant to bring out debutantes and to reinforce connections between aristocratic families by facilitating advantageous marriages. Vanessa didn’t care that she was excluded. She had never wanted to claw her way into places where she did not belong. The trouble was that Jasper did belong. He enjoyed the company of his peers. And when the debutantes and their mamas surveyed those exclusive balls and parties seeking out eligible gentlemen, they saw Lord Jasper Taverston, heir to the Earl of Iversley—a very eligible gentleman indeed.

Mrs. Lowry, a lowly second cousin to someone important, was trying to scale society’s ladder and had no doubt invited Vanessa in order to weasel her way into Lord Taverston’s good graces. Vanessa did not like the woman, a conniving gossip, but with Jasper away, invitations were few and far between. She had hoped at least one of her London friends would be attending, but saw none in the reception hall.

She reached the front of the line.

“Mrs. Wardrip,” Mrs. Lowry said, opening her eyes wide. The woman did not only powder her face but painted it. “I am surprised you’ve come!”

“Did you not receive my card? I’m so sorry.” How awkward . Her invitation had only arrived that morning, but she’d sent a response at once.

Now other ladies were staring. Vanessa heard a few giggles. A few snickers. Just like this afternoon at the milliners, though she had convinced herself then that she was imagining things. She forced a smile. She was here now; she would have to make the best of it.

“I’ve heard a great deal about the harpist you’ve hired.”

Mrs. Lowry lifted her chin and looked down her nose. “Hmm, well, do take some refreshment before going to the music room. The program will begin in a quarter hour.” She turned to the next woman in line. “Lady Grayson! I’m honored you’ve chosen to attend.”

Vanessa moved on. She didn’t know Lady Grayson. She recognized several of the others—she’d seen their faces in shops and occasional drawing rooms. She could put names to a few of the faces. She ought to approach someone. She wasn’t afraid to do so, not exactly. After all, it had been more than three years since anyone had given her the cut direct. But it was not her imagination to think ladies were sliding their eyes toward her and whispering behind their hands.

Too uneasy to eat, Vanessa avoided the refreshments and went straight to the music room. Several rows of rosewood saber-legged chairs, five to a row, had been arranged facing a large bay window, in front of which sat a harp and a pianoforte. There were other guests, but no one with whom Vanessa could claim an acquaintance. She chose a seat alone in the middle row.

Almost at once, three overdressed matrons entered the room, dragging daughters. The girls wore pale-colored frocks and insipid expressions. Debutantes. They sat in the row behind Vanessa.

“Oh!” one of the women exclaimed. “For pity’s sake. Adela, come.”

Startled, Vanessa glanced over her shoulder to see the plumpest matron rise, clench her daughter’s shoulder, and move another two rows back.

“What is it, Mrs. Greaves?” A second woman stood, hand on her fleshy neck, to look around in confusion. “Are we…?”

She looked so confused and so out of place that Vanessa was ready to pity her. Until the first woman said, in a whisper that could have been heard across the room, “That is Lord Taverston’s lightskirt.”

“Good Heavens!” the woman cried, aghast.

Vanessa’s face flushed hot. She looked forward and sat rigidly while the women and their daughters scrambled to distance themselves from her, gabbling all the while.

“She must know, don’t you think?”

“What will she do now, do you suppose?”

“What do you mean, Mama? Who is it?”

“Hush. Hush. Go get some cakes, dear.”

“But—”

“Get along with you.”

When the debutantes scampered away, the whispers flared again.

“Someone else will take her. That’s how it works. Until she loses her looks altogether.”

At that moment, a shadow fell across Vanessa, then Lady Rose Posonby sat down beside her. A friend, thank God. Her no-nonsense blue broadcloth day dress matched the businesslike expression on her face.

“Mrs. Wardrip,” Rose said. Loudly. “How good it is to see you.”

Vanessa gave her a nod. Lady Rose’s pedigree was impeccable, which saved her from the ostracism that her bookishness and disdain for convention would otherwise condemn her to.

“Have you had any ratafia? Oh, you must,” Rose continued, touching Vanessa’s arm. “The music won’t start for a while. Come with me. I’m about to expire of thirst.”

Vanessa stood and followed Rose from the room. As they walked down the narrow hallway toward the refreshments, Rose leaned closer and said, “You haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?”

Rose’s face sagged. “Then you haven’t. About Lord Taverston. Leave it to Jane Lowry to stoop to something like this. She wants her little party to be the talk of London. Vanessa, I will spill on my gown, and we will leave together.”

“Leave?” Vanessa felt sick. Had the earl died? Her letter must be in the post, such a difficult letter to write. “Oh, poor Lord Taverston.”

“ Poor Lord Taverston?”

“To lose his father—”

“His father is not lost. Not yet.” Rose tossed her head and scowled. “Honestly, I don’t know what Lord Taverston is thinking. His haste is very bad form.”

They stepped into the refreshment room. Conversation ceased. Hands holding glasses or pastries stopped before reaching mouths. All eyes focused on Vanessa. Little ripples of laughter started, then stopped. Mrs. Lowry spoke up. “We were only saying it all makes sense now. Lady Georgiana was waiting for him.”

Lady Georgiana? Vanessa scoured her brain for half-forgotten gossip; Lady Georgiana, the Duke of Hovington’s daughter, had taken the ton by storm last year when she made her debut. Vanessa had never met her, of course, but she was said to be exquisite in every way. A diamond of the first water. She had received—oh, more than a dozen proposals and turned them all down, to the amusement and then the consternation of the ton.

Rose gave her a small nudge. Then, quietly, she said, “Lord Taverston is courting her.”

Vanessa froze. She felt lightheaded. The room began to spin.

No. She would not faint in front of these women. She stiffened her spine and stretched a smile across her face.

“How lovely.”

And how ridiculous. Jasper was not even in London. He was out at the family’s country estate, tending his sick father, just as he had been nearly all of last Season while Lady Georgiana was making such a splash. If the lady had been waiting for Jasper, she would just have to wait longer.

Vanessa fetched a glass of ratafia, did not spill it on Rose, and made her way back to the music room, Rose right behind. She sat and took a gulp, wishing it were brandy.

Rose squeezed her arm. “That was brave,” she whispered.

“Oh, not so very. How do these silly rumors start?”

“Rumors?” Rose squeezed again. “Vanessa, I’m afraid it is the truth.”

“Lord Taverston is at Chaumbers.”

“And so is Lady Georgiana. Or she will be by nightfall. Lord Taverston invited her.” Rose bit her lip. “I am so sorry. Lady Georgiana and her mother left for Chaumbers this morning. Everyone knows. We’ve all been expecting this, something like this, ever since he danced with her to open Lady Andini’s ball.”

Vanessa curled her hands into fists and blinked rapidly. Jasper wrote that he fled that ball. He said nothing about dancing the first set with the exquisite Lady Georgiana.

More guests filtered into the music room. Filling seats. Murmuring. Cutting their eyes toward Vanessa. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be.

But she was one hundred percent certain that it was.

J.—Did I miss a letter?—V.

Dear V.—Sorry. No, I’ve been so ungodly busy— I’ve been trying to write for a week now—Father is improving, slightly—Crispin just arrived. It’s all so very hectic. I need to write I want to steal home for a few days to see you. I don’t know when I can get away. The devi—if I can’t get away in a day or two, I will write the . Please I will write as soon as I can.—J.T.

J.—Do not bother.—V.

Dearest V.—Don’t be like this— you I meant to tell you. I tried But this is not something one puts in a letter. You must see that I needed to tell you in person. You deserve that much. And my letters are terrible—I know that. He’s dying and I have responsibilities—but you know this.—J.T.

J.—You may not dictate how I can “be.” Nor may you decide what I “must see.” You have broken every other promise you made to me. I don’t know why I expected you to keep this one. I don’t deserve “that much,” I deserve better.

V.— I’m so sorry

V.— I never meant to hurt you

V.— Please wait for me to explain. I’ll come home as soon as

V.—You know how much you mean to me. I don’t want to lose you. Tell me what you want from me.—J.T.

J.—How dare you? We both knew you would eventually court someone respectable. And then you would lose me. You cannot change the terms of our agreement. I asked one thing from you. One. You promised me that. And reneged. You, who pride yourself on your honor. You have none, Jasper. None.

V.—And you pride yourself on being sensible. Where is that sense? For God’s sake. I am a full day’s ride away, up to my neck in neglected duty. If I could have come back to London, you know that I would have. And you cannot tell me that if I had written to say that I must needs begin courting my countess, all would be fine. You would not have accepted that either. You would have wrung my neck for cowardice for putting it in a letter. You cannot say you were blind-sided. The earl is dying, Vanessa. Dying. I’ve put off marrying as long as I could. Too long. I’m sorry you see me as dishonorable. I have always tried to be honest with you.—J.

J.—Do you even care how I found out? Do you know who told me?

V.—Does it matter? It was not me. It should have been. I know that. I suppose Hazard told you. I’m sorry. I wish it had been me. I swear to you, I wish it had been me.—J.

J.—Doesn’t it matter? It was not Hazard. Common gossip, that is all. But according to you, I cannot say I was blind-sided. I suppose I should not have been.

V.— I’m so sorry. This is killing me, Vanessa. I can’t bear to think

V.— I never wanted things to end this way

V.— Rose Posonby wrote to me. The devil. I’m sorry. But I cannot stop the mouths of gossips

V.—Can you not grant me a little grace? I would never intentionally hurt you. I’ve dreaded this—God knows how I’ve dreaded this. I would have told you that I had decided to court Hovington’s daughter, but I received word of my father’s relapse and I had to race away. Everything has happened so quickly. Too quickly. Can you not forgive me?—J.T.

J.—You decided to court Hovington’s daughter and then you were called away? Jasper, you were with me the morning before Lady Andini’s ball. Are you telling me you danced with the girl once and decided she would be your wife? Or are you telling me that you held me in your arms, you made love to me, AFTER you had decided to woo someone else? We both know the answer. And no, I cannot forgive you.

V.—Just let me come speak with you. LETTER RETURNED UNOPENED.

V.—We can’t end like this. Not after all we’ve had. Darling, I’m wrong. I know. But you misunderstand. This is nothing I ever wanted. We both knew we would have to part, but we can’t part like this. LETTER RETURNED UNOPENED.

Damn it, Vanessa. Answer me. You’re being childish. We have to speak. We have too much to discuss. Practical things. If you can’t forgive me, fine. I don’t deserve forgiveness. But you must let me see you. At least to say goodbye. And to be sure you are taken care of. Vanessa, answer me. LETTER RETURNED UNOPENED.