Chapter One

London 1818

Clarissa Studley sat in the summerhouse, gazing out through windows blurry with rain. It had been raining all night and the garden was soaked, the air filled with the fragrance of rich earth and drenched flowers. If only she could make a perfume as magical as that…

She sighed. The paper in front of her was still blank. She’d come out to the summerhouse in the garden, intending to pen her regular weekly letter to her old nanny, who lived retired in the country, but her mind simply wouldn’t settle to it.

It was the morning after her sister’s wedding to Leo, Lord Salcott, and Clarissa had passed a sleepless night.

She and her sister would no longer be together—not in the same way—ever again. Of course, they’d see each other frequently: when she returned from her honeymoon, Izzy would live in Leo’s house, which was just across the garden.

But at the end of the season, Izzy and Leo would go to live on Leo’s country estate in Hampshire, and then who knew how often Clarissa would see her sister? Oh, she was sure they would invite her to come with them, but Clarissa had no intention of playing gooseberry in her beloved sister’s marriage.

No, face facts. From now on she was essentially on her own. Of course there was old Lady Scattergood, Leo’s aunt, with whom she currently lived, and Mrs. Price-Jones, the chaperone Leo had hired for her, and Betty, her maidservant, whom she’d known from childhood. But fond as she was of them, they weren’t the same as a sister.

So, her old life was over and a new way of going forward had to be embraced.

Embraced?Accepted, anyway.

No, she told herself firmly, embraced was the word. If she had learned one thing in her life it was that if you wanted something to happen, there was no point in sitting around wishing and hoping and dreaming. Because nobody would do it for you. You had to make things happen yourself.

She had made Papa accept, however reluctantly and resentfully, that Izzy was her sister and would live with her. And it had changed her life.

And when they’d come to London after Papa’s death, she and Izzy had made Leo, her guardian, accept Izzy’s entry into society along with Clarissa, despite Izzy’s illegitimacy and his vigorous opposition. And look how well that had turned out—Leo had fallen in love with Izzy and had married her. So now Clarissa needed to work out what she wanted and try to make it happen.

But what did she want? She twirled her pen meditatively and gazed out of the rain-spattered window and the saturated garden.

First and foremost she wanted a family—children. Not just one child, either. She didn’t want any child of hers to be as lonely as she’d been before she’d found Izzy. That had been providential, but purely accidental.

And of course, to have children she needed a husband. Up to now, she’d been waiting for a desirable husband to present himself—but so far no likely candidates had. The fortune hunters kept coming. So she needed to take a more active role.

The idea of husband-hunting repelled her slightly—she’d cringed, observing the blatant tactics used by some of the pushy, matchmaking mamas and their ambitious daughters. She wasn’t ambitious in that way: she just wanted her own chance at happiness.

But what sort of husband did she want? She thought for a minute, dipped her pen into the ink and wrote a heading—Desirable Husbandly Qualities—and underlined it.

Then she drew a decorative border around the heading.

Then some flowers along the border.

Stop procrastinating, she told herself sternly. She dipped her pen in the inkwell again and added the first criterion: 1) A man as unlike Papa as possible.

That went without saying. But she needed to be more positive. Qualities. What next?

2) Handsome.She looked at it, then crossed it out. She wasn’t even pretty, so it would be rather hypocritical to demand good looks in a husband. Besides, Papa had been handsome, dangerously so. So…2) Handsome.Attractive. And then she added to me, and then added, and interesting.

3) Fidelity.Really, that should be number one—she wanted a man who would be faithful to her. Unlike Papa, who had repeatedly broken Mama’s heart with his blatant affairs. But the list was in no particular order.

She glanced out at the wind tossing the branches of the trees, and considered their neighbor, Lord Tarrant, and how he adored his three little tree-climbing daughters. Yes, that was another really important quality.

4) Kindness, especially to children.Because she dearly wanted children and wanted them to have a kind and affectionate father. Which was, when she thought about it, covered in number one. But this was a specific quality, whereas number one was general.

And then she thought of Lady Scattergood’s little dogs and how the first time she’d seen the first chink in her brother-in-law’s hard exterior was when he’d been so gentle with little Biddy, who’d been abused and injured and was so frightened. To number four she added, and animals.

What else? A gust of wind sent a flurry of raindrops spattering against the glass of the summerhouse. She snuggled back in her chair. It was so cozy in here when it rained. She and Izzy had spent many happy hours here, reading, writing letters or just talking. Perhaps she could have a summerhouse of her own after she was married. Assuming she married a man who paid attention to her, who listened to her views and respected them.

5) Respects me.

Paid attention to her, not her fortune.

That thought prompted the next on her list. 6) No fortune hunters. That was crucial. Papa had married Mama for her money, and the minute they were married he stopped being charming and attentive—and later, once he realized her fortune came with strings and trustees and was not wholly his to spend as he liked, he had become downright nasty.

Clarissa had inherited that same fortune. Grandfather Iverley had set it up that way—from mother to child, with only a limited amount going to the husband—and her trustees would control it until she married.

What happened after that? Would it be the same for her as it was for Mama? She had no idea. She made a mental note to find out exactly what the terms of her inheritance were. She wouldn’t deceive any potential husband. And if the conditions put off someone then it would show they cared more about the money than her.

Thinking of Papa, she made a seventh notation: 7) No rakes. It really should have gone under Fidelity, but rakes were the kind of men who were habitually unfaithful, and she doubted one could change.

Was that all? She regarded her list critically.

There was one quality missing, the most important one. But it wasn’t something you could put on a shopping list like this. Nevertheless it was what she wanted in a husband, so she wrote it down: 8) Love.

Then she crossed it off. 8) Love.

It wasn’t possible to make love happen. And as long as she could remember, Mama had told her that her life would be easier if she never expected love, that women like them—plain and plump and dull, and of undistinguished birth—weren’t the kind of women that a gentleman could love.

Papa, too, had said the same—repeatedly—and though Clarissa tried hard not to believe him, a small niggling voice deep inside her kept popping up to remind her: Plain as a stick. Ugly and useless. If it wasn’t for the money…

She stared out through the gray blur of the windows, feeling blue. She knew how that ended: If it wasn’t for the money…no man would want her. And Mama had agreed.

A spurt of anger made her straighten her back. Mama and Papa were wrong. Everybody deserved to have the chance to be loved and though she could not make it happen, she would not deny herself even the possibility. She picked up the pen again and wrote it down in big black letters. And now number eight read: 8) Love.Love.

Horatio, Lord Randall, known to his friends as Race, ran a finger around his stock, which suddenly felt so tight about his neck it was near to strangling him.

It was ridiculous.

He was merely doing a favor for a friend. Leo was, after all, Miss Studley’s guardian, and Leo was Race’s closest friend. He’d been best man at Leo’s wedding.

“It needn’t be a hardship,” Leo had assured him. “I know Clarissa’s devilish shy and not much of a conversationalist—not your type at all—but you can’t deny, the girl can ride. Just take her out on the heath from time to time—you know how she loves a good gallop, and her chaperone doesn’t ride.”

Race had promised. It wouldn’t be a chore to take Clarissa Studley riding—far from it. Besides, she was an excellent horsewoman.

“And I know how much you dislike society events,” Leo had continued, “so I won’t expect anything of you there. I’ve told her chaperone, Mrs. Price-Jones, to be especially vigilant for any lurking fortune hunters. I’ll deal with them when I return from my honeymoon. Clarissa’s fortune makes her a target and according to her sister, she’s too softhearted for her own good. I wouldn’t put it past some plausible rogue to persuade her into an elopement. So if there are any problems, I’ve told Mrs. Price-Jones she can call on you for assistance in my place. I hope that’s all right.”

Of course Race had agreed, and so now here he was, on the front step of Leo’s aunt’s home, where Clarissa lived, facing Lady Scattergood’s butler.

“I’m sorry, Lord Randall, but Lady Scattergood is not at home.” The ancient butler delivered the message in a sonorous, faintly smug voice.

Race frowned. “Dash it all, Treadwell, Lady Scattergood is always at home.” The old lady had been housebound for several years, and on the rare occasions she ventured out of her home it was inside a covered palanquin with all the curtains drawn—the very palanquin he could see sitting in the hall, unoccupied.

The butler repeated without a blink, “My lady is not at home.”

He made to shut the door, but Race shoved his boot in to prevent it. “Then be so good as to inform Miss Studley that Lord Randall is here and wishes to speak to her.”

“Miss Studley is not at home.”

“Her chaperone, then, Mrs.—” Race couldn’t recall the chaperone’s name, blast it: something Welsh and hyphenated.

“Mrs. Price-Jones is not at home.”

At that moment the sound of female voices followed by a gust of feminine laughter floated from somewhere behind the butler.

“Damn it, Treadwell, I can hear the ladies. They are at home.” It was too early for morning calls, which for some unknown reason invariably took place in the afternoon, so who else could it be but the ladies of the house?

Through the butler’s granitelike mien, a faint smirk was allowed to escape. “Perhaps, my lord, but not to you—ever.” He closed the door in Race’s face.

Race stared at the door, resisting the impulse to kick it. Not to be admitted, ever? Had the butler gone mad? Or was it Lady Scattergood? She was, and always had been, eccentric.

The morning had dawned fine and sunny, and he’d intended to take Clarissa for the first of many rides. But now, thanks to that wretched butler, he couldn’t even get past her front door.

Irritated, he returned to his lodgings and swiftly penned her a note, inviting her to come riding with him on Hampstead Heath.

“A note? From a man?” Lady Scattergood raised her lorgnette.

“Yes, from Lord Randall.” Clarissa looked down at the bold black handwriting. A note from Lord Randall. Personal and handwritten. A shiver of pleasure passed through her. Lord Randall!

Lady Scattergood snorted. “That rake! What does he want?”

“He’s invited me to go riding with him this morning,” Clarissa said breathlessly. It wasn’t the first time she’d gone riding with Lord Randall, but the other two times had been with Leo, her guardian, and her sister Izzy. This time it was an invitation just for her.

“How delightful,” Mrs. Price-Jones began, but Lady Scattergood cut her off.

“The rogue! Such cheek! Send the villain a curt refusal.”

“Oh, but there’s no harm in Lord Randall, surely,” Mrs. Price-Jones said.

The old lady snorted. “Have you forgotten his father? ‘Rake Randall’ they called him, and with good reason. The way that man behaved! Disgraceful. And I hear the son is just as bad.”

“Surely not,” Mrs. Price-Jones argued. “After all, he’s Lord Salcott’s best friend.”

“Be that as it may, Althea, you’ve been in the wilds of Wales for the last twenty years. You don’t know the dangers of the modern world as I do. And men have no judgment when it comes to suitability.”

“But Leo trusts him, and it’s such a beautiful morning. I’d love a ride,” Clarissa said in a coaxing voice. Hampstead Heath was one of her favorite places. The fresh air, the wide-open spaces. “You know I’ve been riding with him before.”

“Yes, with my nephew there to protect you. Never by himself.”

“I won’t be by myself. Naturally Addis will accompany us.” Addis was the groom Leo, her guardian and now her brother-in-law, had hired to escort them whenever she and her sister rode out.

Lady Scattergood shook her head emphatically. “Addis is also a man! No, Clarissa, before he left for his honeymoon, my nephew specifically asked me to take good care of you and I won’t let him down. I’ve barred that Lord Randall from the house.”

“Barred him?” Clarissa exclaimed.

“Of course. Let a fox into the chicken house? Over my dead body! So send the fellow to the right-about.”

Clarissa sighed. Leo had said to his aunt, Take good care of Clarissa, in a casual, farewelling sort of way, but Lady Scattergood had taken it to extremes. It was as if the old lady thought she should lock Clarissa away in a tower.

She’d already issued instructions that Clarissa was to have no single male callers, and was very strict about the events Clarissa was allowed to attend, even with Mrs. Price-Jones in attendance. The events she approved of seemed to depend entirely on what Lady Scattergood recalled of the hostesses involved. But to bar Lord Randall from visiting…

Clarissa and her chaperone, Mrs. Price-Jones, exchanged rueful glances. There was no gainsaying Lady Scattergood in this mood.

“Very well,” Clarissa said. “I’ll decline his invitation.” She fetched her little writing desk and wrote a short note, thanking Lord Randall for his kind invitation and explaining that Lady Scattergood felt that it was unseemly for Clarissa to ride out without a female chaperone in attendance, and Mrs. Price-Jones did not ride. She didn’t want him to think the refusal was her choice.

Half an hour later another note arrived, this time on lavender writing paper and written in an elegant, decidedly feminine hand. “Oh, how delightful.” Clarissa hid her surprise. “It’s from Margaret, Lady Frobisher, inviting me to ride out with her this morning.” She didn’t know Lady Frobisher very well; in fact she’d met her only once, in the company of Lord Randall. He was her cousin.

Clarissa turned a limpid gaze on Lady Scattergood. “I trust that’s an acceptable invitation. She says her husband will escort us—and of course, Addis will be with us.” Lord Randall must have read between the lines of her note and was trying again. A small thrill ran down her spine. He really did want to go riding with her.

“All these people suddenly wanting you to go riding with them?” Lady Scattergood pursed her lips, considering it. Clarissa held her breath.

“No doubt because it’s a beautiful day, and perfect for riding,” Mrs. Price-Jones declared. “And a married lady in the company of her husband? Perfectly unexceptional, wouldn’t you say, Olive? Lady Frobisher has an excellent reputation.”

“I don’t know,” Lady Scattergood began. “I don’t know the younger generation of Frobishers but—”

“Oh, they’re nothing like their grandfather. This generation is quite, quite dull. Staid and frightfully conventional,” Mrs. Price-Jones said, with a wink at Clarissa. “In fact, are you sure you’d want to go riding with her, Clarissa? It’s bound to be quite dull.”

Clarissa tried not to smile. Lady Frobisher and her husband, Oliver, had accompanied Lord Randall the night he’d escorted her and Izzy to Astley’s Amphitheatre. Lord Frobisher was indeed a quiet, steady sort of gentleman, but staid and conventional were the last words she’d use to describe Lady Frobisher. “Call me Maggie, everyone does,” the lively brunette had said and, under the indulgent eye of her husband, proceeded to laugh and flirt briefly with perfect strangers.

“I would like some exercise and fresh air,” Clarissa said hopefully. The preparations for her sister’s wedding and the grand ball that same evening had left very little time to go out, let alone to have an invigorating ride in the fresh air.

Lady Scattergood sighed. “Very well then, but be careful. Anything can happen when you venture out into the wilds.”

Hampstead Heath was hardly the wilds, but Clarissa appreciated the old lady’s concern. “Thank you, dear Lady Scattergood,” she said, giving her a kiss on her rouged and wrinkled cheek. “I’ll write a note of acceptance to Lady Frobisher right this minute.” Before Lady Scattergood changed her mind.

She sent off the note and hurried upstairs to change. Betty, her maid, set out her riding habit and helped her to dress.

“You haven’t forgotten, miss, have you?”

“Forgotten what?”

“That we told Miss Izzy—Lady Salcott, I mean—that we’d get a girl from the orphanage and train her up to be Miss Izzy’s personal maid.”

“I hadn’t forgotten,” Clarissa said, though it wasn’t quite true. She hadn’t forgotten, exactly, but Lord Randall’s invitation had driven all other thoughts from her mind. “We’ll go this afternoon,” she promised. “Now, where’s my hat?”

Twenty minutes later she’d changed into her riding habit and was waiting downstairs in the front room. Addis, the groom, waited in the street outside with her horse and his.

The restrictions Lady Scattergood had imposed on her were quite frustrating, and if her sister Izzy were here, there would be an explosion. But Clarissa knew the old lady was doing her best to protect her, and she couldn’t hold it against her. Lady Scattergood had her own fears about the world, and if they dominated her attitude to Clarissa’s social life, well, it would be for only a few weeks. Once Leo and Izzy returned from their honeymoon things would return to normal.

Besides, Clarissa didn’t crave social activity the way Izzy and Mrs. Price-Jones did. She did, however, love riding. And getting out of the city into the countryside.

She paced up and down in front of the window, peering out at the street from time to time. Riding with Lord Randall’s cousin and her husband. Would Lord Randall come, too?

The sound of hooves clattering on cobblestones brought her to the window again, and she saw Lord and Lady Frobisher approaching. Lady Frobisher looked very dashing in a habit of vivid cherry red with silver lacings à la hussar. Her hat was pale gray felt and vaguely military looking, too, rather like a shako. Worn at a rakish angle, it looked very feminine with a long cherry red scarf floating behind, while three matching ostrich feathers curled coquettishly over her left ear.

Clarissa’s bosom was filled with envy. She’d been perfectly happy with her own neat outfit five minutes before, but now it seemed quite dull by comparison. She instantly decided she needed a new, smarter riding habit. And hat.

She hurried outside to join them, greeted them and glanced around. There was no sign of Lord Randall. Oh well. Her spirits sank a little.

“Race is lurking around the corner, like a villain in a melodrama,” Lady Frobisher said from the side of her mouth as Addis helped Clarissa mount her horse. “I adore the intrigue—rescuing the maiden from the seraglio—such fun!” she added as they moved off, her eyes dancing.

Clarissa laughed. “It’s not as bad as that. Lady Scattergood is very good to me. She’s just a little bit overprotective, that’s all. I’m still allowed to go places with my chaperone, but she doesn’t ride.”

Lady Frobisher gave her a skeptical glance. “Race told us he was barred from the house.”

Clarissa nodded wryly. “As are all single male visitors.”

Lady Frobisher pulled a face. “Ridiculous. How are you ever going to find a husband?” She glanced at her husband and smiled at him.

Clarissa caught his answering look. It was clear that Lord Frobisher doted on his vivacious wife.

“Oh, it’s not all single males who are not granted entry,” she explained. “Lady Scattergood seems quite happy to welcome some single gentlemen, as long as they are accompanied by a respectable lady—preferably a relative. And I can go places with my chaperone, and we have plenty of invitations to balls and parties. Single gentlemen not being allowed to enter the house alone is but a small inconvenience.”

“Race didn’t think so.”

“No, I’m sorry about that. But my brother-in-law, who’s also my guardian, will be back from his honeymoon in a few weeks, and everything will return to normal.”

“Have you heard from your sister?”

“No, not yet, but they’ve only been gone a short while.” They turned the corner and she saw Lord Randall waiting on Storm, his beautiful smoke gray gelding.

“Ah, there’s Race now,” Lady Frobisher said.

“Mmm.” For a few moments, Clarissa couldn’t say a thing. The sight of Lord Randall always left her briefly breathless. He was not precisely handsome, but she found him very arresting with his bold nose, firm chin, chiseled features and casually elegant bearing. On foot, she found his tall, lean frame and loose-limbed, easygoing bearing very attractive, but on horseback, he was even more impressive.

His white cravat and shirt emphasized the faint tan of his skin. It might not be fashionable for a gentleman to be tanned, but to Clarissa it only emphasized his masculinity and his love of the outdoors. Loving the outdoors herself, she appreciated a man who made no attempt to be fashionably pale.

His buff-colored waistcoat and beautifully cut dark blue coat showcased his lean build and the breadth of his shoulders. Fawn buckskin breeches hugged long muscular thighs, and his tan-topped black leather high boots gleamed with polish. He wore fawn pigskin gloves, and a smart curly-brimmed beaver covered his thick dark locks.

His gray eyes lit with faint amusement as they approached. “Well met, Miss Studley. I’m delighted you could join us.”

Feeling her cheeks warm, Clarissa dropped her gaze and murmured a greeting. Somehow, whenever Lord Randall looked at her, she felt foolishly flustered. There was no reason for it, she knew. He didn’t mean to unsettle her—his behavior toward her was everything that was polite and gentlemanly—but for some reason his attention was…disconcerting.

It was his eyes, she thought. Gray eyes should be cold and hard, like her guardian Leo’s could be at times. But Lord Randall’s eyes seemed to dance with light and appeared—to her overactive imagination, at least—to contain an invitation, though to what she didn’t care to consider. And a man had no business having such long lashes.

He was a rake. Everybody said so, and she needed to take that to heart and stop these foolish fancies. Papa had been a rake, and he’d broken her mother’s heart with his callous infidelities. He’d made no attempt to hide them from her, but Mama had loved him anyway. Hopelessly.

Clarissa was a lot like her mother. Softhearted and susceptible, her sister Izzy often said, and Clarissa knew it was true.

And look at the damage Papa had caused to Izzy and her mother. Izzy was illegitimate—oh, it had turned out all right for her in the end, marrying Leo, but for a while they’d lived on a knife-edge. It could have turned out very differently. Illegitimacy was a slur that followed a person all their life. But did Papa care? No, he had carelessly seduced Izzy’s poor young mother—barely sixteen she’d been when he ruined, then abandoned her—shattering her life, and leaving a young girl and her baby daughter to face poverty and the condemnation of society.

A rake was a dangerous creature, no matter how charming and handsome he appeared. In fact, the more attractive he seemed, the more dangerous he must be. After all, the ability to charm foolish females was a rake’s stock-in-trade, and Clarissa needed to remember that.

Still, it had been thoughtful of him to invite her to go riding on this fine sunny morning, and then to go to the trouble of arranging for his cousin and her husband to collect her so Lady Scattergood would allow it. His unexpected consideration warmed her.