Chapter One

August 28th, 1832

T he library at Rosehaven Manor was awe-inspiring, filled to the brim with leather-bound volumes and priceless artifacts. Miss Louisa Jones's fingers itched to touch them. But, as per her training, she remained seated before the dark and somewhat brooding master of the house, her hands folded primly in her lap and her posture perfect. It was an interview for a position, after all. One that she had gotten entirely on her own, for that matter. She needed to know that she could manage her life without Effie's assistance. Oh, Effie would never withdraw her aid. But it was a matter of pride for Louisa to prove that she could do it without her mentor's influence.

"Your references are most excellent, Miss Jones," Mr. Blackwell mused. He seemed less than pleased about it, strangely.

She felt herself blushing under his regard. From her first sight of him, she'd felt strangely breathless and, while the phrase did not adequately convey her feelings, out of sorts. He was a ridiculously appealing man. His features, on the whole, were not what would be called handsome, and yet he was arresting. His face was all sharp planes and angles with deep obsidian eyes, and his dark hair that waved away from his face in a casual disarray implied he was not bothered by vanity. But then, he didn't need to be. He wasn't the sort who would have to put in very much effort to appeal to women. "Thank you, sir. You are very kind to say so."

He placed the letters back on the inlaid top of the desk. "You will not think me kind for very long, Miss Jones. Despite your excellent references, I'm afraid you have wasted your journey here."

Louisa's polite smile faltered. "I beg your pardon?"

He folded the papers all together, then bundled them back into the small folio before shoving them across the surface of the desk toward her. "I am terribly sorry that you've come all this way. You'll be compensated for your time and expense, and I shall arrange lodging for you at the local inn until transportation back to London can be obtained."

It was much more than simply choosing another candidate, Louisa thought. That was a very decisive dismissal. She had offended him somehow. It was the only possible explanation. But how? They'd barely spoken. "My apologies, Mr. Blackwell. I was under the impression that the position was already mine and this interview was simply a formality."

"I'm afraid my man of affairs, Mr. Hatton, was a bit presumptuous, but alas... we would not suit, Miss Jones," he answered firmly.

"Isn't it more important that your aunt and I suit one another?" she demanded. Her tone was no longer polite. There was a decided snap to it. But it couldn't be helped. The sting of humiliation, to be summed up and dismissed without even offering her a chance, was unbearable. Under the circumstances, she found her control of her behavior with such charged emotions quite impressive.

His dark eyebrows lifted with incredulity. "My aunt?"

"Yes. That is why I am here, after all—to be interviewed for the position of companion to your spinster aunt, Miss Mary Blackwell. Isn't it?"

His demeanor shifted instantly. She'd heard people refer to a man's expression as thunderous before, but she didn't believe she'd ever seen anything that actually fit the description so well. He was furious.

The words were bitten out, his jaw clenched tightly. "There appears to be some miscommunication, Miss Jones. I am not seeking a companion for my aunt."

"Then what is the position, Mr. Blackwell?"

He stared at her for a moment without speaking. He'd once more schooled his face into a mask of impassivity, and whatever he was thinking or feeling was simply unknown to her, hidden in the depths of that dark gaze. The silence, however, was grim. At long last, he ground out the words, "My wife, Miss Jones. Mr. Hatton was to find me a suitable candidate for marriage."

Louisa could not have been more shocked. "You cannot possibly be considering seeking a wife in such a fashion!"

"I am," he stated. "I gave Mr. Hatton very specific requirements, and he has chosen to ignore them all."

She didn't flinch. Even if everything inside her recoiled at that slight, she knew better than to allow any outward display of her misery. It wasn't as if she wanted to marry him. He was practically a Bedlamite, it seemed. But rather, his immediate dismissal of her, as if she didn't even warrant consideration, was a reminder of all the many times in her life when those around her found her lacking.

Oblivious, he continued, "Please wait here while I speak to Mr. Hatton and get to the bottom of this." Then he rose from his desk and stormed out.

Alone, Louisa deflated in the chair. Her posture was no longer rigidly straight as befitted the comportment of a graduate of the Darrow School. Instead, she slumped, her shoulders rounding with defeat and her chin dropping to her chest dejectedly. But that only lasted for a moment. She'd be going back to London with her proverbial tail tucked between her legs, but that didn't mean she would simply sulk like a spoiled child because she didn't get her way. Instead, she rose. With no need to worry about the sort of impression she was making, she gave free rein to her curiosity. Getting up, she strode toward the shelves and began to examine the ancient artifacts displayed there. Since she wasn't getting the job, there was no reason to worry about what he might think of her.

One item in particular piqued her interest. It was a bronze dagger. Lifting it, she marveled at the weight of it as she turned it over and over in her hand. It was a lovely piece, not Roman or Greek, but Norse, she imagined, based on the carvings.

She was just about to replace it on the shelf when she felt it. A mere whisper of wind moving across the back of her neck, ruffling the fine hairs that had slipped from her chignon despite her attempts to tame them.

A breeze , her mind insisted. But it was August. And in the wake of that current of air, her skin was ice cold.

*

"A companion?" Douglas demanded as he paced the drawing room. "That is what you told this poor girl who has traveled so far from her home?"

Mr. Hatton held up his hands in mock supplication. "I could hardly place an advertisement or contact an agency and ask them to send prospective brides to interview for the position of Mrs. Blackwell, could I? And the girl doesn't have a home. Not really. She's a graduate of the Darrow School and resides there until such time as she can obtain suitable employment... or another proper situation."

Douglas shoved his hands into his hair in frustration. The young woman currently in his library was a complication he had not counted on. Hatton had been entrusted with a simple task: find a plain woman with no prospects who would happily marry him and after their requisite year as husband and wife, live entirely separate from him. She would be able to content herself with the financial security their arrangement would afford her. Miss Louisa Jones was not the sort to be satisfied with such things. And if he married her, letting her entirely walk away would be an impossibility. Just seeing her as she'd entered the room had created an awareness in him that he knew could only be disastrous.

He'd lived his entire life with caution, with an awareness that when the men of the Blackwell family allowed their emotions to hold sway, only disaster and tragedy would follow. He could not afford any sort of entanglement, even an honorable one, with a woman who so thoroughly entranced him.

"Hatton, you know why I insisted on a plain and unassuming spinster for a bride! I will not damn some innocent young woman to the terrible fate that so many women meet when they have the misfortune to marry into this family!"

The older man's face flushed and he looked away, unable to meet Douglas's gaze. "That is superstitious nonsense, sir. You are not like your uncle. Not at all."

"Not yet," Douglas replied. "Not yet. But am I like my grandfather? Or my grandfather before him? It isn't just my uncle, as you well know! Historically speaking, there is only one way this will play out. I will not wager that young woman's life on it."

Hatton shook his head. "You haven't the time to be choosy. You had one year from the date of your uncle's death to take a wife or forfeit the fortune. With only a few short weeks remaining, finding another prospective bride will not be easy. In fact, it might well be impossible!"

Douglas paced the length of the drawing room. "There are local women—"

"Who know the history of this family and this place, or think they know it," Hatton pointed out. "They would never consent."

Douglas cursed under his breath. It was true enough. Half the people in the village wouldn't even look at him. Those that would did so with blatant hostility. His options were limited. "Damn it all."

"She is made of much sterner stuff than you imagine, sir. Miss Jones is no milk and water society miss. That young woman has a spine of forged steel and a character that is just as firm," Mr. Hatton stated. "Take a chance. It's your only option, really."

Douglas watched the older man walk away, victorious in his fait accompli. With the weight of the world on his shoulders, he turned and made his way back to his library where Miss Jones was no longer simply waiting patiently. Instead, she was holding an ancient bronze dagger, part of his uncle's extensive collection of antiquities, examining it as though she were the expert curator of a museum rather than a young woman trapped between the serving and upper class.

Her dark auburn hair was pulled back in a severe fashion, though strands of it were fighting her efforts admirably. For a moment, he let himself imagine the texture of it. Like silk, he thought. Like her hairstyle, her drab gray gown was intended to be functional only and not in the least flattering. None of that could disguise her beauty. He fervently prayed that he was not on the cusp of making a terrible mistake.

"Miss Jones, there is a matter of some confusion that must be cleared up prior to our discussing your future here at Rosehaven Manor," he said.

She looked back at him, startled. "I wasn't aware I had a future at Rosehaven Manor, sir. You had made that abundantly clear."

"What I made clear was that you would not be my aunt's companion. That remains true. But the other position, the more permanent one, upon reflection seems to be the best course of action. I realize you came here expecting to be hired as a companion, but I'd very much like to ask you to remain at Rosehaven... as my wife."