Chapter 1

Chapter One

England, 1813

Lord Winston Lockwood was not in a jovial type of mood. He sat at the long, rectangular table in the dining room of Brockhall Manor as a luncheon was being held in honor of his brother’s marriage to Delphine. He was truly happy for them, despite feeling a pang of jealousy at the love that they so clearly had for one another.

Winston knew that he had every reason to be happy, but he wasn’t. And that was what irked him the most. Why couldn’t he just be content with his blasted life? He had established himself as a barrister in London, and he owned a sheep farm. However, no matter what he did, he still felt like an utter failure.

What was worse was that he knew nothing about sheep, but when the opportunity had presented itself, he had decided to take the risk. He wanted to prove to others—and himself—that he could do more than what was expected of him.

His eyes drifted towards Miss Bawden, the fiery red-haired young woman who irritated him to no end. She was undeniably beautiful, but she was far too opinionated for his tastes. She seemed to have an opinion on everything and anything. It was rather vexing. He had learned that he could only take her in small doses or else he would go mad.

It had been this way for many years. Their interactions were a series of endless debates and squabbles, each one trying to outdo the other. As they grew older, they found it was best to avoid one another altogether, despite her always being underfoot when she visited his sisters.

Miss Bawden turned her head and met his gaze. Rather than look away or show any hint of embarrassment at being caught staring, he tipped his head in acknowledgement. Her eyes sparkled with annoyance, as they always did when she looked upon him. At least she was consistent.

His mother clinked her fork against her glass, drawing everyone’s attention. “We are most fortunate to come together to celebrate Bennett and Delphine’s wedding, but it is time for them to depart for Scotland,” she announced. “Let us gather outside to say our final goodbyes.”

Winston shoved back his chair and rose. He couldn’t wait until this was over so he could retreat to the solitude of his bedchamber. He wanted to be alone. It was much more comfortable than being surrounded by happy people who seemed to have no idea of the burdens he carried.

As he walked towards the entry hall, his sister, Melody, came to walk next to him. “You were remarkably quiet during the luncheon,” she said. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything is fine,” he responded in a short, dismissive tone, hoping to end this line of questioning.

She gave him a look that implied she didn’t believe him. “What troubles you? And I would prefer the truth, if you don’t mind.”

Winston should have known that his sister would see right through him. She was remarkably astute for being eight and ten years. “We can discuss it later,” he replied. This was not a conversation that he wanted to have in passing.

“Very well,” Melody said, “but do not think I will forget. I have the memory of a hawk.”

Feeling an overwhelming need to tease her, he asked, “How do you know that hawks have a good memory?”

“Hawks have been used as messengers for hundreds of years,” Melody replied.

“No, you are thinking of carrier pigeons,” Winston said. “Typically, falcons are trained to retrieve prey.”

Melody grinned. “Perhaps, but hawks are much more intimidating than pigeons. So, I contend I am more like a hawk.”

He chuckled. “You, my dear sister, are anything but intimidating, at least to me.” With her blonde hair, blue eyes and fair skin, he had no doubt that she would cause a stir amongst the ton . But there was a quiet strength she possessed that set her apart. It was what she wasn’t saying that had always given him pause. There was a world of unspoken thoughts and feelings behind those blue eyes, and it made him wonder how much she kept to herself.

Elodie, Melody’s twin, chimed in from behind them. “What are you two discussing?”

“The kind of bird that Melody would be if she were a bird,” Winston replied, glancing back at her.

Elodie joined them, wearing a pensive expression. “She would definitely be a nightingale since she has such a beautiful singing voice.”

“But I am clever like a hawk,” Melody contended.

“Are hawks clever?” Elodie asked with a lifted brow.

Melody nodded firmly. “They have to be, being predators and all.”

“Not all predators are smart,” Winston contested. “Look at cats, for instance.”

Elodie’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Cats are incredibly clever and make the best pets,” she declared. “They have so for thousands of years.”

Winston smirked. “They mostly lounge around, sleeping and grooming themselves,” he said. “Occasionally catching a mouse does not prove their intelligence.”

“You just don’t like cats,” Elodie accused.

“It is true,” Winston replied. “I never quite understood why our grandmother kept so many in her manor. I think I counted ten at one point.”

“The cats kept her company, especially in her later days,” Elodie remarked. She didn’t appear to be bothered by the fact that their grandmother’s manor had been overrun with cats, but it had greatly bothered him. He couldn’t explain why, but perhaps it had something to do with his belief that cats belonged in a barn rather than an elegantly furnished manor.

As they followed the line of guests outside, Winston watched as Bennett and Delphine said their final farewells.

Bennett caught his eyes and approached, speaking in a low voice, “Are you certain my absence won’t be noticed for a fortnight?”

Winston understood his unspoken concern. Bennett was worried about their Aunt Sarah’s safety since her husband was still searching for her.

Placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder, Winston assured him, “Enjoy your time with your wife. All will be well here. I promise.”

“If you are sure…” Bennett’s words trailed off.

Winston flashed a confident smile. “I am,” he insisted, casting a glance at Grady, the Bow Street Runner posing as a footman.

Delphine came to stand next to her husband, placing a hand on his back. “We should depart soon so we can arrive before dark.”

“Yes, Dearest,” Bennett said, exchanging a look full of love with his wife, before leading her to the coach .

While the coach drove off, Winston felt immense relief that he could now retreat to his bedchamber. To be alone.

Turning, he found himself face to face with Miss Bawden. Not bothering to muster up a smile, he greeted her with a curt, “Miss Bawden.” There was no need for pretenses. They both knew they detested each other.

Miss Bawden pursed her lips together, as if she had just eaten something that had disagreed with her. “Lord Winston,” she replied tersely.

They stood in an uncomfortable silence, their mutual animosity palpable. Winston could not help but wonder how someone so beautiful could be so utterly disagreeable. He even suspected that Miss Bawden’s steely gaze was capable of frightening small children.

Winston had no desire to spend another moment in Miss Bawden’s presence. “Excuse me?—”

His words were interrupted when his mother approached, gracefully inserting herself into the conversation. “Mattie, it is always a pleasure to see you,” she greeted warmly. “I was hoping that you might join us for dinner this evening.”

Miss Bawden’s eyes flickered towards Winston, uncertainty evident in her expression. He suspected she had as little desire to dine with him as he did with her. “That is most kind of you, Lady Dallington, but I… uh…”

Looping arms with her, Elodie pleaded, “You must come to dine with us.”

“I suppose I can,” Miss Bawden responded, shifting her gaze to Elodie. “But I do not wish to be a bother.”

Elodie smiled broadly. “Do not be ridiculous. We all enjoy spending time with you. Isn’t that right, Winston?”

Botheration.

His sister was goading him.

Fortunately, Winston was a trained barrister and no stranger to such social maneuverings. With practiced ease, he maintained his polite facade. “Indeed, Elodie,” he replied smoothly, “Miss Bawden is always welcome in our home.”

He could practically hear Miss Bawden roll her eyes at his words. But she was too much of a genteel woman to let her emotions lay bare. Instead, she returned his smile. “That is most kind of you to say, my lord.”

To the neutral observer, it looked as if they were having a pleasant conversation, but they both knew better. It was a delicate dance of civility they were performing for the sake of others.

Winston’s mother spoke up. “Did you not bring a coach?” she asked, addressing Miss Bawden.

“I did, but my father had to depart from the luncheon early. No doubt someone needed him from the parish,” Miss Bawden said, taking a step back from the group.

“Perhaps you could even join us for games afterwards,” Elodie suggested cheerfully.

Miss Bawden briefly smiled. “I shall see if I am able,” she said before dropping into a graceful curtsy.

As Winston watched Miss Bawden walk away, he couldn’t help but mutter under his breath, “Games? Truly, Elodie?”

Elodie feigned innocence. “Is there a problem, Brother?”

Winston couldn’t resist a wry smile. “No, but I fear Miss Bawden might cast a spell of darkness over our manor.”

His mother let out a soft sigh. “I have never understood the animosity that you have towards Mattie. She is a delightful young woman, and I do so enjoy having her in our home.”

“We shall have to agree to disagree, Mother,” Winston said, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have work that I must see to.”

“In your bedchamber, with a bottle of whiskey?” she asked knowingly.

Winston did not want to have this conversation. He was tired and he wanted to be alone. “Goodbye, Mother.”

His mother’s expression hinted at disappointment, but she refrained from pushing further. “Promise me that you will join us for dinner,” she implored.

Winston had no desire to spend the evening with Miss Bawden. Her voice grated on his ears, rendering every conversation with her unbearable. Nonetheless, he relented with a resigned nod.

“Very well, you may go now,” his mother said. “But I shall see you tonight.”

Spinning on his heel, he retreated inside before his mother changed her mind. Why couldn’t his family see the true nature of Miss Bawden? Despite their praises, he alone glimpsed the darkness within her heart. It had changed him, and not for the better.

As Miss Mattie Bawden walked away from Brockhall Manor, she was grateful for every step that distanced her from the infuriating Lord Winston. He was someone she wished to spend as little time as possible with. Never had she met a man so vexing.

She still couldn’t quite believe they had kissed once. It had been a sheer moment of madness on her part, and she wondered if Lord Winston ever thought about that kiss. Because she most certainly did not. Nor did she remember how he had gently held her in his arms, as if he’d cherished her.

It had been entirely unexpected. Winston’s usual stern demeanor had softened for that brief moment, and she had glimpsed a side of him she hadn’t thought existed. It was a side she both loathed and longed to see again.

Mattie shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She had more important matters to attend to than pondering the complexities of a kiss that never should have happened.

In the distance, she caught sight of her grandfather’s crested coach parked in front of their modest cottage. Which was odd, given that last she had heard he was in India with her uncle and aunt, overseeing their business dealings.

But she was not about to complain. It had been far too long since she had seen her grandfather, and she welcomed the visit.

She quickened her steps until she reached the cottage, where she found her younger cousin sitting on a bench under the covered porch. Francesca’s expression was downcast, her eyes tinged with red, indicating she had been crying.

What was her cousin doing here? She had never come unannounced to visit them before.

A feeling of dread washed over her.

Something had happened.

Mattie sat down next to her cousin and nudged the girl’s shoulder with hers. “Why are you here, Franny?”

Franny continued to stare at the ground, a tear rolling down her cheek, but she made no effort to wipe it away.

Unsure of what was causing Franny such pain, Mattie wrapped her arms around the girl and her cousin crumpled into the embrace.

“Will you not tell me what is wrong so I may fix it?” Mattie asked, hoping her cousin trusted her enough to confide in her.

In response, Franny let out a loud cry, sobbing into her arms.

Mattie could not remember a time when Franny had ever cried in front of her. Despite her age of five and ten years, Franny had always held herself with remarkable grace and decorum. What could have happened to cause such a heart-wrenching reaction?

The door opened, and their white-haired housekeeper, Mrs. Watson, let out a sigh of relief at the sight of her. “Your father is requesting to speak to you,” she informed Mattie .

Mattie hesitated, torn between comforting her cousin and going to speak to her father. “Can it not wait?” she asked.

Mrs. Watson shook her head. “I’m afraid not. He seemed rather adamant,” she responded. “Go. I will see to your cousin.”

Reluctantly, Mattie dropped her arms and said, “Franny, I have to see what my father needs. I will return shortly.”

Franny sniffled in response, but still she said nothing.

Rising, Mattie offered a look of appreciation to Mrs. Watson before she headed into the cottage. Her father’s study was in the front and was a small, square room barely able to fit a desk and two chairs. Despite its size, he had managed to fill it with piles of books in nearly every corner.

Mattie approached the study and saw the door was partially closed. She could hear hushed voices coming from within.

She stopped just outside the door and knocked, making her presence known.

The voices stopped.

“Enter,” her father ordered.

Mattie pushed the door open and stepped inside. Her father, a stout figure behind the desk, seemed worn down, burdened by the weight of responsibilities. His slumped shoulders betrayed his fatigue, his weariness evident in every line of his face.

A tall, lanky man stood near the window, his expression solemn as he watched Mattie enter the room.

“You wished to see me, Father?” Mattie said, feeling a palpable tension in the room.

With a gentle sweep of his hand, her father gestured towards one of the chairs that faced his cluttered desk. “Yes, please sit. We have much to discuss.” His voice was cordial, but a slight inflection at the end of his words gave her pause.

Mattie did as she was told and sat down, giving her father an expectant look.

Her father returned to his seat and sighed. “I’m afraid I have some awful news to share with you.” He hesitated. “Your uncle and aunt have succumbed to the fever while visiting India.”

She sucked in a breath at that horrific news. “They are dead?” she asked. “What of Grandfather? Was he not with them?”

A pained look came into her father’s eyes. “He is still alive, for now,” he shared, “but he has grown increasingly weak from the effects of the fever. The doctors are worried if he attempts to travel home, he will die on the ship.”

The tears started flooding her eyes as she attempted to blink them back. She had heard her father’s words, but they seemed so wrong. So unbelievable. Her uncle was the strongest man that she knew. How had he succumbed to the fever?

Her father’s eyes were moist, and she had little doubt he was trying to be strong for her sake. “I know this is a shock, but I think it is best that we give Franny some time to recover before we travel to Darlington Abbey. Furthermore, it will give the parish some time to find a new vicar. I do not wish to leave them without one.”

Mattie’s gaze remained fixed on her father as he delivered the unexpected news. “We are leaving our home?” she inquired, her words heavy with disbelief. This had been the only home she had ever known.

His eyes softened with understanding. “I am now my father’s heir, and I am expected to ensure the estate is profitable in his absence. This is not what I had envisioned for us, but it is my duty,” he explained, his voice resigned.

The weight of his words settled heavily on Mattie’s shoulders, her chest tightening with the realization of the implications. She was no longer just a vicar’s daughter. Her father was a viscount and heir to an earldom. One day she would become a titled lady .

Mattie didn’t know what to feel at this precise moment. It most definitely wasn’t joy for her elevation in status. She cared little about that. All she could think about was how devastated her cousin must be at losing her parents.

Her father continued, “I have sent for Emma at her boarding school, and I do hope she will return shortly.”

Mattie’s mind started racing with all of the things that needed to be done. “We should go into mourning at once.”

“Yes, we should,” her father agreed. “As the lady of the house, I will expect you to handle such things.”

This wasn’t the first time that her father had called her that. Her mother had died during childbirth and Mattie had been taking care of the household from a young age. Although it was not overly complicated since her father was a vicar and they lived in a modest cottage next to the chapel.

Mattie rose and clasped her hands together. She was determined to remain strong and not fall apart. Her whole life had just been upended but her father needed her now more than ever. “Do we have the funds to purchase new gowns?”

The tall man, who had been quiet the entire time, spoke up. “Lord Wythburn will have access to whatever funds he deems necessary.”

Her father gestured towards the man. “Forgive me, but I failed to mention that Mr. Johnson is your grandfather’s solicitor. He traveled with Francesca since I am now her appointed guardian.”

Mr. Johnson nodded respectfully at her father. “I was instructed to assist in any way that I could during this difficult time, my lord.”

“Thank you,” her father acknowledged before redirecting his attention to Mattie. “I know I am asking a lot from you…”

Mattie put her hand up, halting his words. “I am more than capable, Father.”

“I have no doubt, but that doesn’t mean I do not feel remorse for it,” he admitted. “I am saddened by the fact that you were forced to grow up far too early after your mother’s passing.”

There was some truth to her father’s words. She had taken on more responsibilities at the young age of two and ten years old, but she did not resent it.

Squaring her shoulders, she assured him, “You need not worry about me. I am prepared to take on whatever responsibilities come our way, just as Mother would have wanted.”

As her father’s gaze lingered on her, Mattie sensed his unspoken worry but remained determined to reassure him of her strength and resolve.

Mattie offered him a faint smile. She could do this. She had to do this. But first, she needed a moment alone to collect her thoughts. “Excuse me for a moment,” she said before she swiftly departed from the study.

Alone in the corridor, she rested her back against the wall and allowed the tears to come freely. Her heart ached for the loss of her aunt and uncle, who had always treated her with such kindness. Now, she was in a position to return the favor by ensuring Franny was always loved and cared for.

Mattie reached up and swiped at the tears streaming down her face. She didn’t have time for this. She needed to speak to the dressmaker about commissioning mourning gowns. Until then, she could dye a few of her gowns black.

A thought occurred to her.

Lady Dallington would be able to assist Mattie since she had only recently stopped mourning her brother-in-law, the late Lord Dallington. Mattie knew calling upon others was discouraged during the mourning period, but she hoped Lady Dallington wouldn’t chide her for it. She doubted she would, as she almost considered the marchioness a second mother, having spent so much time around her and her family.

Mattie thought about Franny, wondering if she should go to her instead of escaping to Brockhall Manor. But what was the point? She couldn’t fix this, no matter how hard she tried. And she needed advice on how to best help herself and Franny.

Coming to a decision, Mattie resolved to seek Lady Dallington’s counsel. She needed guidance and support, not just for herself but for Franny as well. She departed from the rear of the cottage and, with purposeful strides, approached Brockhall Manor. She stepped up to the door and knocked.

The door promptly opened and the solemn butler greeted her. “Good afternoon, Miss Bawden,” White said, standing to the side to allow her entry. “Do come in.”

“Is Lady Dallington available to receive callers?” Mattie asked.

White’s eyes crinkled around the edges. “Wait here, Miss,” he replied.

As the butler walked off, Mattie caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Red-rimmed eyes stared back at her and stray locks of red hair had escaped her carefully arranged coiffure, framing her face in disarray.

Taking a moment to compose herself, Mattie inhaled deeply, her chest rising and falling with the effort to steady her nerves. Lady Dallington had always been a pillar of strength and wisdom, and Mattie found solace in the thought of seeking her counsel. The weight of her newfound responsibilities bore down on her, but she was determined to bear it with grace.

Did she even have a choice not to?