Chapter 1

Maeve

Sussex, 1813.

" M aeve? Put down your ink and quill for a minute, please, we must speak with you."

Maeve looked up from the writing bureau she was working at. It was her favorite position in which to write, flooded with the early morning light. She sat at the desk with the quill in her hands as she turned to greet the bearer of that familiar voice.

Her mother was hastening into the room rather nervously, repeatedly pushing back the brown tendrils of hair behind her ears. Maeve had seen this action often enough over the years to recognize it. Usually, it meant her mother wished to speak of something she did not find it easy to talk of.

Maeve lowered the quill as her father followed her mother into the room. Peter closed the door tightly and glanced to the windows, clearly checking that what few servants they could still afford to keep at the house were not near enough to overhear them.

"What is wrong?" Maeve asked, pushing away from her desk and standing to her feet.

Gwen pushed her hair back behind her ears another time before fiddling with the skirt of her empire gown as she took her seat. She looked to her husband, clearly eager for him to be the one to do the talking.

"Someone say something, please," Maeve said quietly. "You are scaring me."

"It is nothing to be fearful of," Peter assured her, moving toward her with outstretched hands. He took one of her hands in his own and steered her to sit on the settee beside her mother. "We merely wish to talk about our situation."

"We talk enough of it as it is," Maeve said miserably, looking back at her writing bureau thoughtfully.

The dwindling finances of the Earl of Nightburn after his rather odd investments was much talked of at present. Her father was suffering from these whispers, but their finances were suffering more.

Maeve rather hoped she could do something to help her father and mother, but what could she do? She longed to make money through her writing. There were great publishing successes, after all, but who would want to publish her? Few ladies ever saw their names in print.

"Your mother and I have agreed on a course of action we think could be for the best." Peter sat in the chair opposite them, steepling his hands together as he peered at Maeve. Those cinnamon-colored eyes were so like her own, and Maeve found herself staring at her father, waiting for him to say more. "We think it best that you go to London."

"L-London?" Maeve stammered, sitting so far forward that she nearly fell off the settee. Her mother reached for her arm, urging her to sit back again.

"Hear us out, sweetheart," she pleaded kindly, trying to smile, though it did not last long. "Were we able to afford it, we would all go, but it is not possible. You could go and stay with your brother. His training is complete as a lawyer now, and he has the finances to look after you under his own roof."

"You mean . . ." Maeve glanced around the room. Even from where she was sitting, she could see the signs of disrepair in Nightburn Manor. The floorboards were starting to fracture, and the windows let in the slightest of breezes, but she had not realized the situation was so dire.

They wish to send me away.

"Can we not afford to keep me here?" Maeve asked quietly, looking between her parents.

"It is not that," Peter said softly, his smile genuine. "We want the best for you, and a good marriage is the best for you. What is more, if it was a very good marriage, then it could certainly help to increase our standing once again."

"Oh . . ." Maeve stared back at her father as the realization clicked into place.

They are putting their hopes on me to rescue their fortunes, but not through writing and publishing my work, through selling my soul to a man, to be married.

She swallowed hard around a lump in her throat, startled by the sudden feeling that lodged there.

"It would be a joyous time for you, sweetheart," her mother said eagerly, reaching for her another time. "Don't you see? You could attend grand assemblies and balls. What excitement! You can go to the theater, and concerts too."

Maeve found herself smiling a little. Her mother certainly painted an exciting picture. And such an eclectic place as London could certainly be inspiring for her writing.

I might even meet publishers in London.

"Well, it does sound rather exciting," Maeve said, thankful when that lump softened in her throat.

"I am relieved you think so," Peter said with a sigh and sat back in his chair. "We have talked to Leo too, and he approves heartily."

"He does?" Maeve said, feeling her happiness begin to grow. If her brother had already approved such an idea, then it would surely not be long before she could go to live in London.

What an exciting world it would be! She wouldn't have to worry about picking herbs from the garden to help the one maid they still had in the mornings, ready for cooking supper that night. Neither would she have to worry about hiding her writing away from prying eyes. In London, she could attempt to find a new life. One where she could be a writer.

If publishers accept the fact that I am a lady.

"This is wonderful news indeed," Gwen said, clutching Maeve's hand. Maeve smiled as she looked at her mother clinging onto her in such a way, seeing her relief. "I was worried you would not wish to go."

"Of course, I wish to. It will be a thrilling time."

"Thank goodness," Gwen said with a sigh. "It is important you have a life in the social Season, Maeve. There is nothing quite like it, and if you are fortunate enough to catch the eye of a wealthy man . . ."

"Who will accept you with a small dowry, I might add," Peter said distractedly.

"Not now dear." Gwen waved his words away with a swipe of her hand, making Peter smile and shrug.

"Then everything will be well. You will be secure and have a comfortable life ahead of you," Gwen said with glee, still holding onto Maeve's hand.

Secure indeed.

Yet Maeve wasn't thinking about catching the eye of a possible husband. She was trying to think about how she could orchestrate meetings with great writers and publishers when a thought struck her.

Leo is a lawyer.

Her brother was certainly welcome at ton events, being the son of the Earl of Nightburn, but he would hardly be free to attend every event, nor would he always be available to chaperone her.

"Mama." Maeve turned fully to face her mother. "What of a chaperone?"

Gwen's excitement instantly dwindled.

"Oh, well . . ." She turned to Peter, evidently looking for an answer. "We cannot afford to send a maid, can we?"

"No," he said morosely, steepling his hands together another time. "We cannot."

Maeve's shoulders slumped as she turned back to face her writing bureau. The brief taste of excitement had been wonderful, but it was about to be left unsatisfied. Then, the sight of those papers blotted with writing and notes put an idea in her head. There was only one person she ever let read her writing, and that person certainly would be excited by the prospect of living in London for the Season.

"What of Chloe?" Maeve asked quickly, turning back to face her parents.

"The daughter of Baron Maywood?" Peter said, sitting forward a little.

"Yes. What would be better than going to London with my closest friend? She and I could chaperone one another. What do you think?"

"It could work perfectly." Gwen nodded in thought, speaking slowly. "But could it be done? Would Baron Maywood let her go?"

Peter stood to his feet and began to pace across the room.

"I do not know," Peter said after a minute. "Maywood's finances are hardly better than my own at present. He may like the idea, but then again, he never seems in a hurry to let his daughter wander far."

"But I could ask, could I not?" Maeve said, moving to her feet. Her father turned around, revealing a smile.

"I confess, it thrills me to see how excited you are by this idea, Maeve," he said, clasping his hands together.

Not for the reasons you think, Father.

Maeve stopped her eyes from turning back to the desk another time. It was a secret she would have to keep. Her parents hardly thought highly of her efforts to be published. After all, had they not said again and again that few ladies were ever thought good enough to be published?

"I am very excited," Maeve declared, barely able to stand still. "May I go to ask Chloe today what she thinks of the proposal?"

"You may." Peter nodded in approval. "If she says yes and her father consents, then we have an accord. You and Miss Green will be going to London."

"Good lord, Maeve. Is all well? You have run into my house so wildly you would think the path to my door was on fire!" Chloe giggled as Maeve hurried into the room.

She caught sight of her reflection in the hall mirror as she hastened inside, noting just how her excitement had transformed her appearance. Beneath her bonnet, brunette tendrils were beginning to escape their pins, and her normally pale cheeks were flushed pink from the excursion of racing to Chloe's house. Her tall frame was tipping so far forward in her attempt to reach Chloe, that her shawl kept slipping from her shoulders.

"Nothing is wrong, Chloe. I have wonderful news! At least, I hope you will agree it is wonderful." As Maeve reached her friend, the two of them clasped hands warmly, holding onto each other. They always greeted each other in such a way.

"Come this way, then, let me hear it away from listening ears," Chloe whispered, nodding her head at the butler, who was closing the front door after Maeve's arrival. With the movement, the black curls that framed her face bobbed.

They hastened into a sitting room where Chloe's father the baron sat by the fireplace, reading his paper at such an inclined angle that his boots were propped on a nearby stool, with a greyhound by his side resting his head on his master's knee.

"Ah, Lady Felton," the baron said, sitting up a little and lowering his paper. "How do you fare today?"

"Well, indeed, my lord," she said, hurrying to curtsy to him before turning back to Chloe. "I have news. Great news, I hope. Chloe," she said, keeping her focus on her friend, "my mother and father are to send me to London for the Season. I am to keep house with my brother, in Gracechurch Street, and it is my dearest hope that you will come too."

"Me?" Chloe said in amazement, her jaw-dropping. "You wish me to come?"

"I do. If it is agreeable to you, and, of course, you too, my lord," Maeve said, hurrying to turn her focus on the baron. "I would dearly love you to come, Chloe. We can chaperone each other at events and attend occasions of the Season that we could not do here. What do you think?" Maeve had spoken so quickly in her excitement that she barely noticed Chloe and her father glancing at each other across the room.

"Father? What do you think?" Chloe asked, wringing her hands with nerves as she stepped toward him. The man smiled a little, lowering his paper further.

"I'm intrigued to hear what you think first, Chloe."

"What do I think?" Chloe laughed, placing her hands on her hips. "What lady would not want to live in London for a few months?"

"Just this morning you were saying what delightful music the birdsong was in the country," the baron said with a laugh, gesturing to the windows with his paper.

"I may have said so," Chloe agreed, "yet I'd wager a good concert would have equal merit. Plus, I have heard enough birdsong to last a lifetime, but I have not been to a concert before."

Maeve giggled at her friend's wit, beginning to see that her plan was just possible. Maeve could escape to London, and Chloe could come with her.

"You wish to go then?" the baron asked Chloe.

"I'd love to! It is a dream of mine." She fell silent, shifting her weight between her feet nervously as she waited for her father's answer. Maeve found herself doing the same thing, fiddling with the gloves around her wrists, impatient to have an answer.

At last, the baron smiled, looking between the two of them.

"If you wish for it, Chloe, then how can I say no?" He opened the paper up again. "We'll make the arrangements, and you can enjoy your time in London. I can enjoy some peace here too," he added the latter statement as a tease, making Chloe wave a hand in her father's direction.

"I do not talk over much, Father."

Even Maeve lifted her eyebrows, questioning such a statement, urging Chloe to turn a playfully narrowed glare on her before she relented.

"Maybe I talk a little too much," she said, following the words with a giggle. "Where are we to stay?"

"My brother's rooms. He has lodgings in the city, and the rooms are certainly large enough to accommodate the three of us," Maeve said excitedly. "What do you think?"

"We would be staying with Lord Felton?" Chloe asked, her eyes lighting up for a second before her smile faltered. "Do you think he will be able to put up with the two of us talking for hours on end?"

"He'll need a strong constitution," the baron's wit was heard across the room, earning glares from the two of them.

"We are not so very bad, Father," Chloe said pointedly.

"You were the one who brought it up." He laughed as he turned his focus to his paper.

"What shall we do when we are in London?" Chloe asked, turning back to Maeve. "Will there be balls and assemblies every night?"

I hope not.

Maeve kept the thought to herself. She wished she could tell Chloe her true thoughts, but with the baron sitting so close, it was impossible just then.

I hope there will be time to meet people, other than just those who frequent assemblies every night. I wish to meet writers! Great names of great talent, and, of course, publishers.

"We'll see," she said eventually, watching as Chloe practically bounced on the balls of her feet with delight. "Only one question remains, then," Maeve said, clasping her gloved hands together. "When shall we go?"