Chapter 1

March 1814

I t had been an exceedingly difficult winter, and Lady Anna Clifton was grateful it was coming to an end. Papa’s injured hip and leg had ached terribly from the cold all winter long. He also seemed to be growing weaker, especially after they’d received the terrible news that her eldest brother, John, had died of pneumonia while visiting his in-laws with his wife, Sarah, and their little daughter, Betty, for the Christmas holidays.

“I must write to Avery,” Papa had said at the time. “Avery must return home immediately. I must have my heir here at Clifton Hall. Not in the military. Here .”

Ever since that dreadful news, Papa had spent most of each day seated in his favorite chair next to the fireplace in the parlor, a blanket over his lap and a shawl around his shoulders, napping on and off throughout the day, waiting for Anna’s only other brother, Avery, to write or return.

But now it was March, and spring seemed to have arrived at last, and today’s sunny weather gave Anna hope—hope that Papa’s health would improve despite his not having received any word from Avery. She would try to convince Papa to take a turn about the garden with her; it would undoubtedly do them both good. She hadn’t seen him since luncheon and had noticed he hadn’t eaten much again today, which had become a common thing as of late and was another source of worry for her.

Anna rapped on the closed door of the parlor. “Papa?” she said softly. If he was napping, she didn’t want to awaken him. “Papa?” She opened the door to peek inside when she again received no answer.

He sat quietly facing the fireplace in his chair, draped in his shawl, his hands resting on the lap blanket. His head rested against the back of the chair, and his eyes were closed.

“Papa?” Anna said again, approaching him.

He didn’t move.

The mail must have arrived while she’d been in her room reading after luncheon, for there were a few letters on the small table that stood next to Papa’s chair. In fact, there was a letter on Papa’s lap, under one of his hands ... and then Papa’s stillness hit Anna like a bolt of lightning.

“Hastings!” she cried out. “Come quickly! Sparks! Oh, Papa!” She collapsed to her knees before her father and clutched his hands. They were cold.

“No, Papa!” she breathed. “Don’t leave me!” She lowered her head into his lap, and her entire body shook with sobs.

“What is it? Oh dear!” Hastings, Papa’s steward, said behind her. “I shall call for the doctor immediately, Lady Anna.”

“It’s too late,” she cried. “It’s too late.”

She barely remembered the next few hours—the arrival of the doctor and the vicar, her personal maid, Mary, urging her to drink tea, the undertaker speaking with Papa’s valet, Sparks. It was all a blur.

Except one notable thing was not a blur. The letter that had been on Papa’s lap, trapped there by his hand, had apparently been the last thing he’d seen, and Anna was convinced it was the cause of his death. She read the missive once more.

To the Right Honorable Earl of Westbury,

It grieves me to inform you that your son, the Honorable Lieutenant Avery Clifton of the 61st Regiment of Foot, was wounded in battle near Orthez, France, while serving his country in the war against Napoleon and is currently listed as missing. We shall inform you should any further information reach our local headquarters. Our men of the 1/61st Regiment do honor to us all. May God be with your son and with you.

Yours, Major Jonathan Wilde, retired

Over the next few days, Anna went through the motions as others asked for advice regarding how she wished to have Papa laid out for viewing by their neighbors and friends in the village, choosing hymns for the funeral, and what the menu for luncheon should be following his burial next to Mama in the churchyard at Clifton Cross. Meanwhile, Mary set about adding more black to the wardrobe Anna had been wearing since John’s passing.

Anna’s grief was a heavy dullness in her heart; she felt detached from everything and everyone around her. She had lost her entire family, except, perhaps, by the slightest of chances, her brother Avery.

She had no one.

“I’m sorry to bother you on the day of Lord Westbury’s funeral,” Hastings said after the last of the guests had finally left.

“What is it?” Anna said. She was so exhausted she could barely move from her seat at the table, where Mary had brought her a fresh cup of tea. Right now, she was only staring at the cup, unable to garner the strength to pick it up.

“Mr. Wheeler, your father’s solicitor in Bristol, has just arrived,” Hastings said. “I felt it my responsibility to inform him of Lord Westbury’s death. I hope you don’t feel that was presumptuous of me, but as his steward—”

“Of course I don’t believe it was presumptuous,” Anna said. “Please have Mr. Wheeler shown to the parlor, and see that tea is arranged.”

“Certainly, but as he is your father’s solicitor, perhaps meeting in your father’s study may be more appropriate?”

“Whatever you think best, Hastings,” she said dully.

She took a few minutes to collect herself before going to Papa’s study. Both Mr. Wheeler and Hastings were already there and rose from their chairs when she entered the room.

“Lady Anna,” Mr. Wheeler said, bowing over her hand. He was a sturdy man with graying temples and florid cheeks. “A pleasure to make you acquaintance, albeit under such sad circumstances.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wheeler,” Anna said.

Hastings then gestured that she should sit in Papa’s chair across the desk from the two gentlemen. How could sitting in Papa’s chair feel both soothing and agonizing at the same time?

“First, Lady Anna, I should like to offer my condolences on the passing of your esteemed father, Lord Westbury,” Mr. Wheeler said. “He was the finest of gentlemen, and we enjoyed a long association. Forgive me for not arriving in time for the services today and then imposing upon you this afternoon. I’m afraid I had urgent business to attend to before leaving Bristol, and must also leave as soon as our meeting is completed, for the same reason. I am sure you understand.”

“I’m sure you are exceedingly busy,” Anna managed to say.

“It is the way of things,” Mr. Wheeler said. “But when Mr. Hastings wrote, informing me of Lord Westbury’s death, combined with the passing of your brother John, I felt it imperative that I speak to you in person as soon as possible.” He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his forehead before setting a folder upon Papa’s desk and opening it.

“You understand, Lady Anna, that I must consider the fact that as your brother Avery has been reported wounded and missing, I must contact the individual to whom your father’s properties are next entailed, in the event of his and your brothers’ passing. Neither your father nor I, for that matter, could have conceived of a situation wherein he and both of his sons would perish in such an untimely manner. Adding a third party to the entail was merely an additional precaution taken by your father when Avery purchased his commission and John had no son of his own to inherit. But as such is now the unfortunate case, I have sent word to your cousin, Mr. Ambrose Harcourt-Clifton, that the entail is passing to him. I expect he will arrive within a fortnight and will be staying as the new owner.”

Anna’s heart leaped into her throat. Lose Clifton Hall? To Ambrose , her horrid, distant cousin? But what of Avery? “Mr. Wheeler, forgive me,” Anna said, surprised she could speak at all. “But isn’t it rather hasty to presume that Avery is dead? That was not what the letter from the regiment said.”

“My dear girl,” Mr. Wheeler said, shaking his head and looking sorrowful. “After receiving Mr. Hastings’s letter, I called in at the regiment’s Gloucester headquarters before traveling here, which was partly why my arrival was so poorly timed. They have no further information on your brother or his whereabouts. You cannot know, Lady Anna, at your young age, what I know about life and the ravages of war. If your brother Avery has been wounded and reported missing, it must be a foregone conclusion that he is dead. Medical aid on the battleground is meager. Death from infection to wounds and illness is rampant. I’m sorry to be so blunt, but I recommend you set your hopes aside and look to the future.”

“But we can’t be sure ...” Anna trailed off, shaken by Mr. Wheeler’s frank comments.

“I’ve dealt with several of these cases during my career,” Mr. Wheeler said. “I’m as sure as I can be.” He closed his folder of documents and rose from his seat, right as tea arrived. “I wish I could stay for tea, but I fear I must be on my way. Good day, Lady Anna, Mr. Hastings. I shall see my way out.”

And then he was gone.

“I suppose we might as well not let the tea go to waste,” Hastings said.

“Yes,” was all Anna managed to say. She felt as though she’d turned to stone, but she mustered her strength and served the tea as she thought about Mr. Wheeler’s words regarding looking to the future.

Whatever the future was, right now, it appeared only bleak.

“ Glad to see you’re in fine fettle this morning, my impetuous friend,” James Jennings said when he met up with his associate Phillip Osbourne at Whitehall at ten o’clock in the morning. They had just returned from a diplomatic mission to Paris with their third colleague, the Duke of Aylesham, and were due to report at the Foreign Office to update the prime minister. Aylesham, blast him, had gotten ill on their way home and couldn’t join them today.

“Naturally I’m in fine fettle,” Osbourne replied. “I did not overindulge when we were out with friends last evening, and meeting with Lord Liverpool will be an easy undertaking after all we’ve experienced. We’ve met with enough of the royalty of Europe that I am well trained in decorum. You know that.”

“Yes, but you do have a rather impulsive side, as you demonstrated only too well last evening,” James said. “I am only looking out for the good of Britain.” He grinned at his companion.

Osbourne laughed and patted James rather forcefully on the back, which made James laugh too. “Dancing with barmaids is hardly what I’d call impulsive. You could do with a bit more impetuousness in your life, Jennings,” Osbourne said.

“I think not,” James replied. “Especially while I’m saddled with you.”

They both laughed again as they entered the eminently dignified Foreign Office building.

“The prime minister will see you now,” Lord Liverpool’s secretary said to them, his eyebrow raised, indicating he’d heard the lighthearted exchange between James and Osbourne. He directed them to Lord Liverpool’s private office.

Osbourne cleared his throat and took on a more serious mien, which relieved James to no end. Osbourne could truly be impulsive at times, and now was not the time for that to occur.

“Gentlemen, please be seated,” Lord Liverpool said. “I am most interested to learn what you have to tell me.”

James removed a stack of documents from his satchel and set them on the desk in front of the prime minister. Lord Liverpool began skimming through them. “I take it you both realize how confidential these are,” he said as he continued his reading.

“Absolutely, my lord,” Osbourne said.

“It is a delicate balance, my lord, knowing what to say to whom and what to keep to oneself when discussing matters of war and unity among those fighting Napoleon,” James said. “We err on the side of caution, always.” He shot a look at Osbourne.

“Excellent,” Lord Liverpool said. He remained silent as he perused the rest of the documents, so James and Osbourne stayed silent too. “This is all excellent news,” Lord Liverpool said at last. “But there is still much to be done. And it appears many of the minor principalities, et cetera, et cetera, are still deciding which members of the Coalition will best see to their interests, including Great Britain.”

“Precisely, my lord,” James said.

“Which is why we are returning to Paris to rejoin Castle-reagh as soon as possible,” Osbourne said.

“Whatever information you wish us to take with us to the foreign secretary, we are your humble servants,” James said.

“Excellent,” Lord Liverpool said. He thumbed through some of the documents again. “I shall keep these safely stored in the Foreign Office, should they be needed further. In the meantime, I will outline my thoughts and send them in your personal care back to Castlereagh. When, precisely, do you expect to leave for Paris? I recognize that you have only just arrived.”

“Within the week,” Osbourne said.

“Very well,” Lord Liverpool said. “I shall have my letters ready for you day after tomorrow. Will that suffice?”

“Yes, my lord,” Osbourne said.

“I shall expect you in two days at this same time, then.” Lord Liverpool rose to his feet, indicating that their meeting was at an end.

James and Osbourne offered bows of farewell and then left Lord Liverpool’s office. They remained silent as they exited the Foreign Office and continued in silence until they were well away from Whitehall.

“You were expecting us to return to France so soon?” James said. “I promised to bring my youngest sister, Rebecca, to Town for her first come-out. And my other sister, Susan, is to be her companion.”

“I shall return alone, then, as long as you follow as soon as you can,” Osbourne said. “Especially with Aylesham so ill, it behooves us both to do what we can to assist Castlereagh through these initial stages of diplomacy.”

“Very well,” James said. “You make an excellent point. Now, how does a fine English breakfast at White’s sound?”

“It sounds perfect,” Osbourne said.

They hailed a hackney and headed straight to White’s.

Anna awakened the morning following Papa’s funeral having had a fitful night’s sleep, and rang for Mary, who bustled immediately into her bedroom.

“Mary, some hot tea would be just the thing,” Anna said, trying to adjust herself into a sitting position. “I’ve such a headache already, and the day has only begun.”

Mary hurried over and assisted her and then plumped up her pillows. “I shall have Cook send up willow bark tea along with the regular,” she said. “And some biscuits, which will settle nicely in the stomach.”

“That would be perfect, thank you,” Anna said.

After Mary left, Anna closed her eyes and, for the hundredth time, reflected on Mr. Wheeler’s declarations. She could see nothing good in any of them.

Ambrose Harcourt-Clifton was next in line after Avery now, and Anna had no doubt the awful man had kept his eye upon the proceedings at Clifton Hall ever since word of John’s passing had spread. He had probably watched them all like a hawk ever since Papa’s accident eight years earlier, truth be told. Ambrose had made no secret of the fact that he desired the Westbury earldom and Clifton Hall and its assets, and the vile man was undoubtedly rubbing his hands together in glee that both John and Papa had passed. And now Mr. Wheeler had written to him that Avery was among the missing in France, too, and was even presumed to be dead.

“We cannot refuse him entry,” Hastings had said. “Your father’s entail dictates that Mr. Harcourt-Clifton inherits after John and Avery, so until proven otherwise, he is now the Earl of Westbury and owner of your father’s estate.”

“Cousin Ambrose,” Anna said, nearly choking on his name. Their associations with this distant Clifton cousin were rare, thankfully, for her last encounter with him three summers ago had been particularly upsetting.

“What I would do with Clifton Hall, were it mine,” Ambrose murmured as he intentionally walked closer to Anna as she sat reading in the dayroom. He picked up a small sculpture to inspect it before setting it back down.

“You would mortgage it to the hilt, I’ve no doubt, so it is a good thing it shall never be yours,” Anna replied, not bothering to look up from her book. Her cousin, older than John and Avery by a handful of years, was a wastrel who had accrued great gambling debts, if what Anna had overheard Papa say to Hastings was correct.

“You’re an impudent one, aren’t you?” Cousin Ambrose said, sneering at her. He grabbed her face with one hand and then brought his own face close to hers, his foul breath unavoidable. “Such passion in a young lady,” he purred. “And your sapphire eyes and blonde hair aren’t hard on the eyes either. Perhaps I should marry you. That would at least secure your inheritance for me. I’m sure your dear papa has been generous to his only daughter.”

“How flattering you are,” she replied, trying to free herself from his grasp. She would have bruises along her jaw, she was sure of it. “No decent lady would have you, least of all me.”

“I believe I could tame you easily enough, you little chit,” he murmured. “The ladies find me pleasing, I’ll have you know. I am not called Ambrosia for nothing.” He pressed his lips firmly to hers in a forced kiss that felt an eternity before he released her.

Anna fled, staying as far away from him as she could throughout the remainder of his visit, not daring to tell Papa what Ambrose had done.

Anna couldn’t stay in her beloved home with Ambrose taking ownership; it was abhorrent to think about. Yet leaving Clifton Hall, its memories, and its good people was also abhorrent. Mr. Wheeler was obviously not going to help, and Hastings’s loyalty was to Clifton Hall’s owner, not her, even if he wished it were otherwise.

She truly had no one.

“Here’s yer tea,” Mary said, arriving just when Anna felt beyond despair. “Hopefully this will lift yer spirits a bit, and then ye can tell me when ye wish to dress.”

“I feel so alone, Mary,” Anna said as Mary poured tea into a cup and added a lump of sugar before she handed the cup and saucer to Anna.

“That’s understandable, me lady,” Mary said. “Ye’ve lost yer family just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “But ye’re not alone, ye know. Ye’ve got me. Ye’ve got the entire staff—Sparks—”

It was true that Sparks seemed more like an uncle than a servant most days.

“And that whatsit lady in London ... Lady ...”

“Bledsoe. Lady Bledsoe,” Anna replied, a small light dawning in her head.

“That’s the one,” Mary said. “The lady what sponsored yer come-out a few years back.”

Lady Bledsoe. She’d been a good friend of Mama’s, which was why she’d sponsored Anna. Perhaps Anna could travel to London to seek the advice of Lady Bledsoe. She set her tea aside. “Mary, I wish to dress quickly. And please tell Hastings I wish to speak with him.”

She would travel to London. She had no home and no family unless she was able to discover what had happened to Avery. It all hinged on finding Avery. Beyond making that decision, she had no idea what her plans would be—but she must do what she could for her sake, for Avery’s, and for the loyal people of Clifton Hall.

She hurriedly dressed with Mary’s assistance once the maid had returned from informing Hastings, and it wasn’t long before Anna was in the sitting room with him. Sparks, her father’s valet, stood by the doorway, looking worried. Mary must have said something to him.

That was something to address after her meeting with Hastings. She turned her attention to the steward. “I have decided to travel to London to seek the advice of Mama’s friends Lord and Lady Bledsoe, who will have more current news as to the state of affairs in France and who, perhaps, can offer sources who can help me learn what has truly happened to Avery.”

“Are you certain, Lady Anna?” Hastings asked, looking both concerned and a bit guilty.

“I am,” she replied. “I feel this journey is imperative, after what Mr. Wheeler told us.”

“I’m sorry about that, Lady Anna. Truly, I am. There are some household funds I can set aside for your travel, if you’re certain about it,” Hastings said.

“Thank you, Hastings,” Anna said. She had pin money she’d saved over the last few years, but the additional funds from Hastings would go a long way to seeing to her needs. “I do understand your role as steward at Clifton Hall and your need to contact Mr. Wheeler. Please just pray that we find Avery.”

“I certainly will do that, Lady Anna,” he said.

“Thank you, Hastings,” she said.

As they left the sitting room, Sparks drew her aside. “I confess, I were listening at the door, after what Mary told me. And I intend to go with ye,” he said. “Yer papa would never forgive me if I let ye travel alone, a single lady such as yerself.”

Anna was touched by his offer. “I’m grateful to hear you say that, Sparks,” she said. Having Papa’s beloved valet with her would give her the courage she needed to take this first step toward a solution to this awful set of circumstances. “Perhaps Mary might be willing to travel with us, too, for propriety’s sake—and for my own personal vanity.” She smiled, hoping she looked confident.

“What is that I just heard?” Mary said from behind Anna. Anna turned to see her, not realizing that Mary had been standing behind her all this time. “Ye’re hoping I would travel with ye? I would have insisted on it, me lady.”

It was settled, then, and Anna felt her burdens ease just a bit. They were to travel to London with the hopes that Lord and Lady Bledsoe could shed insight—or know someone who could—on where to go for information about Avery and his regiment.

Anna would add Lord and Lady Bledsoe to her prayers tonight.