Chapter One

Mayfair, London, 1814

Madam Rouen withdrew her needle from the trim on the skirt and got to her feet. "Voila! What do you think, Miss Charlotte?"

Charlotte Rose turned to the mirror and admired the exquisite empire-cut dress, made from the finest silk and boasting a fashionable square neck, puffed sleeves, and a fitted bodice from which the skirt embroidered with delicate florals flowed. Its blush color complemented her creamy, pale skin and highlighted her naturally pink cheeks.

Charlotte let out a heavy sigh. It was all rather pointless. The beautiful dress just left her feeling hollow.

"Why do you sigh? You are not happy with the dress?"

"No, of course I am. It's beautiful. You're a genius, Madam Rouen. It's only that I am not looking forward to another season."

"Why? You are the Rose of Mayfair. Every man wants to marry you."

"How am I to find true love if I am looked upon as a man's trophy?" Charlotte shook her head. "It's the same group of men every year."

"I think you will find there are some new gentlemen available this season. Just the other day, Monsieur Rouen fitted a dashing young man for a new suit. What was his name?" The modiste frowned and put her finger to her chin. "Let me think…Ah, yes," she said, looking up with a smile. "Warsham—Mr. Hugh Warsham. He was a good sort—a real gentleman—trust me, when you have dressed as many ladies and gentlemen as my Claude and I have done, you learn very quickly how to assess a person's character. And he was a good one."

Charlotte smiled at the modiste's reassurance. Even if she didn't believe this Mr. Warsham was as good as Madam made out, she appreciated the woman's attempt to cheer her. "Well, let's hope there is such a gentleman and many more like him this season, or I shall resign myself to becoming an old maid."

"Tut! The Rose of Mayfair an old maid—madness! What nonsense you speak, Miss." Madam laughed.

"Oh, Charlotte!" Lady Rose strode into the dressing room and then stopped to admire her daughter's newest evening gown. "I think this one is my favorite. Madam Rouen, you have certainly outdone yourself."

"Thank you, my lady," the modiste said.

"Do let me see what it looks like with your hair up, darling." Lady Rose gathered Charlotte's long strawberry-blonde tresses in her hands and twisted the locks into a makeshift chignon. "Wonderful," Lady Rose said, still holding the chignon in place with her hand. "I think you can pair this with a string of white pearls. What say you, Madam Rouen?"

"That will be exquisite, my lady."

Charlotte fingered the delicate diamond rose that glistened on a chain around her neck. It had been a gift from her papa three years prior when she'd turned eighteen and first prepared to come out. But then her debut into society had been postponed due to her papa's illness.

The source of his illness remained a mystery to doctors, but it had been horrible to witness—attacking his lungs and leaving him struggling for each breath. Sometimes, his body would convulse—Charlotte shuddered at the memory—and he'd experienced chills so terrible that piles of blankets and a continuously blazing fire could not seem to keep his body warm.

Charlotte and her mama had spent a good portion of that time on their knees, praying—not knowing what else they could do. And then, one day, his fever broke, and the chills were gone. Soon, his breathing returned to normal, and the color reappeared on his cheeks.

That was when Charlotte began believing in miracles.

Consequently, Charlotte had come out in her nineteenth instead of her eighteenth year and did so to great acclaim, but her heart had not been invested in finding a husband. She'd not been ready or willing to leave her papa, who'd almost perished a year earlier and whose illness had left him with a weakened heart. The doctor had warned that any type of stress or even too much excitement might have dangerous consequences. As a result, Charlotte, who'd been dubbed "the Rose of Mayfair" by the ton for her beauty, had turned down eleven offers of marriage during her first season. The following season, she'd become a sort of prize to be caught and turned down an additional sixteen offers for her hand—not because she didn't want to marry, but because by then she'd decided to settle for nothing less than what her parents shared—true, everlasting love.

"Charlotte, what do you think? A string of pearls, yes?" Lady Rose interrupted Charlotte's thoughts.

"No, Mama, I prefer to wear Papa's rose. It will do perfectly well."

"But you've worn that same necklace for two seasons. I think it's time for a change, don't you?" Lady Rose let go of the makeshift chignon, and a cascade of tresses tumbled around Charlotte's shoulders.

"You have ordered me an entirely new wardrobe. That is change enough."

"You know what I'm talking about, so don't pretend otherwise." Lady Rose stepped aside as Madam Rouen started unfastening the dress from the back. "When gentlemen see that necklace, it will remind them you are the woman they call ‘the Rose of Mayfair'—the one who turned down every offer of marriage ever made to her and left seven-and-twenty rejected suitors in her wake! Seven and twenty, Charlotte! Do you think the offers will keep coming if you keep rejecting them? Men are fragile creatures, my dear. They don't do well with rejection. Isn't that right, Madam Rouen?"

"Indeed, my lady." The modiste helped Charlotte out of her dress and then carried it away.

"None of those gentlemen were sincere, Mama. They looked at me as though I was a thoroughbred mare to parade before their friends." She shuddered. A servant came forward to help Charlotte as she slipped back into her white afternoon dress. "I only want what you and Papa have. Don't you wish me to be as happy as you have been?"

"Of course I do, my sweet." Lady Rose linked arms with her daughter as they made for the drawing room. "But love doesn't always sail into a woman's path. Often, it is up to a woman to find love, secure it, and thereby ensure her own happiness."

"I don't know what you mean by that. How can a woman find love as though it were a lost marble?"

"By opening her heart and putting aside all her fears so she may be ready to receive it. Promise me you'll at least try to do that much this season."

"Fears? I'm not afraid of marriage. I want nothing more than to be a wife and mother."

"But you are so afraid of making a mistake that you've closed your heart to potential suitors. And that is a shame because you have so much love to give. No daughter could be more loving to her parents than you. And nothing would bring us more joy than to see you happily married with a babe in your arms."

Thinking again of her papa lying ill in his bed, Charlotte swallowed the lump in her throat. If something happened to him before he had the chance to know his grandchildren—no, she did not want to imagine such a scenario.

"Perhaps you are right, Mama!" Charlotte turned to embrace her mother. "I promise I will try my best," she said, even though the thought of enduring another season filled her with despair. If only there were alternative ways to find love that didn't involve endless balls and empty marriage proposals.

Tea was laidout in the alcove of the drawing room next to a bay window, which overlooked the Roses' small city garden. The sun had come out after a bout of rain, making for a cheerful atmosphere. Pleased that her fittings for the season had ended, Charlotte reached for a delectable sponge cake laden with fresh cream and strawberries. Just as she was about to take a long-awaited bite, her papa came staggering into the drawing room, wheezing, and pulling at his cravat as if it strangled him. His butler, Evans, fluttered beside his master like a confused butterfly.

"Papa!" Charlotte dropped the cake onto her plate and sprang to her feet.

"Benedict! Whatever is the matter?" Her mother, who'd been nursing a cup of tea, shoved her cup roughly away, not caring that the tea sloshed onto the table as she did so, and followed suit.

"Blackguard!" Sir Benedict spluttered, his face red as a beet as he continued to wrestle with his cravat.

"Sir, let me help you with that." Evans danced around his master helplessly.

Charlotte clutched her stomach as she watched her papa rip the cravat from his neck, throw it to the floor, and slump into his chair, breathing hard.

Lady Rose raced to her husband. "Send for the doctor, Evans. I fear it's his heart."

The butler scurried out of the room, no doubt grateful that he'd been given something productive to do. "Charlotte, fetch your papa a brandy. Quickly!"

Charlotte raced to the drinks cabinet and grabbed a crystal decanter of brandy. Her hand shook as the liquid splashed from the decanter into the snifter, splattering down the side of the glass and onto the table. Ignoring the spills, she hurried back to her papa, who sat in his chair making grunting noises between sputtering something inaudible. Lady Rose snatched the snifter from Charlotte's hand and gave it to her husband, who clutched hold of the stem as though it were a rope thrown out to a drowning man, and gulped the liquid down. It seemed to ease his breathing and clear his airways enough to allow him to speak.

"I'll kill him," he wheezed between breaths.

Kill?Charlotte blinked. Who could have made her normally jovial papa so upset that he talked of killing?

"Benedict, what on earth is all this about?" Lady Rose looked close to tears.

Papa squeezed the stem of the brandy snifter until his knuckles turned white. "Warsham!" he growled, looking up at his wife. His chocolate-brown eyes, usually filled with love and kindness, had turned black with rage.

"Warsham?' Lady Rose took a step back, and to Charlotte's surprise, her mother's voice turned acrid. "Is that what all this fuss is about? After all these years?"

Warsham—that is the name of the gentleman Madam Rouen mentioned. What can he possibly have to do with Papa?

"The blackguard has returned from India! And he had the gall to insert himself into my card game as though he belonged there."

"Your game? Really, Benedict!"

"He sat down at my table with a smug smile, but that was before I let everyone know that he—" Sir Benedict seemed to choke on his own rage, and another coughing fit ensued. He clutched his chest and wheezed.

"Fetch your papa more brandy," Lady Rose ordered.

Once again, her tone and demeanor alarmed Charlotte. She'd hardly ever seen her mama cross.

"Now, Charlotte!" Lady Rose snapped, jerking Charlotte out of her inertia. She raced back to the drinks cabinet, snatched the crystal decanter, and dashed back, shoving the decanter into her mama's waiting hand. Lady Rose poured a healthy dose of brandy into her husband's glass, and once again, he downed it like a man lost in the desert for a week. The liquid ran down his chin and onto his expensive shirt as he gulped, but he didn't seem to care. This behavior was so out of character for Papa that it made Charlotte grow cold with fear.

Just then, a calmer Evans returned and announced the arrival of Doctor Warner.

"Thank heavens!" Lady Rose said.

Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief. Doctor Warner had been the Rose family physician for all of Charlotte's one-and-twenty years. He was a tall man, at least six feet, with a healthy head of silver hair, round spectacles, and a bushy beard. He nodded his quick greeting to Lady Rose and Charlotte before turning in consternation to his patient. Sir Benedict seemed to be breathing more evenly, although his face still blazed scarlet, and his brows remained knitted together in a show of rage. Dr. Warner set down his black bag and leaned over his patient, who continued to clutch his chest.

"We'll wait for your report in the parlor, Doctor," Lady Rose said, gripping hold of Charlotte's arm. "Thank you for coming so promptly."

"Very good, my lady," Doctor Warner said.

Lady Rose made to leave, but Charlotte hesitated. She couldn't bear to leave her papa. The thought of him falling ill again made her nauseous.

Dear Lord, please let it not be his heart. Let it be nothing more than a bit of indigestion that a tonic will cure. If all is well, I promise to do my part and make Papa happy by marrying and giving him a grandbabe to bounce on his knee.

"Come along, dear." Lady Rose tugged Charlotte forward.

Charlotte stumbled along, still puzzled at the hint of anger she'd detected in her mother's voice as she followed her out of the drawing room.

"Preposterous!" Lady Roseexhaled her exclamation as though she'd been holding it at bay. "If your papa doesn't die, I might kill him myself!" She unhooked her arm from Charlotte's and strode toward the staircase.

"Mama! How can you say such a thing!" Charlotte raced after her mother.

"Quite easily!" Lady Rose stopped to face her daughter. "Your foolish papa has brought this attack on himself." Her voice trembled slightly. "I shall never forgive him if he—he makes himself ill over this nonsensical feud."

Fear washed over Charlotte in a cold wave. Feud? What feud? Her papa was beloved by everyone. He had no enemies. And why was Mama blaming him? Her parents never quarreled. She couldn't remember a time when she'd seen her mother so cross with her papa.

"Whatever do you mean?" Charlotte asked, trotting down the stairs behind her mother. "What was all that about? And who is this Mr. Warsham?"

But Lady Rose said nothing more until they stepped into the parlor, where she reached for the small silver bell on the tea table and gave it a quick shake before sinking onto her green velvet sofa. "If I am to rehash ancient history, then I'll need a fresh cup of tea."

Charlotte sat down, folded her hands on her lap, and looked at her mother expectantly.

Lady Rose sighed. "General Warsham, as he is called today, and your papa were once dear friends who'd attended Oxford together, but a falling out long before you were born left them bitter enemies. The only thing that has kept the peace is that Warsham removed himself to India, where he and his family have stayed these past five-and-twenty years."

"That explains why I've never heard his name mentioned before."

"No, you would not have. We do not speak of the man. It's forbidden. And today, you saw exactly why."

"But what is this all about? What was General Warsham's quarrel with Papa?"

Lady Rose sighed and threw up her hands. "What do men always quarrel about—money, women, or both."

"Women?" Charlotte raised her eyebrows, but before Lady Rose could respond, Jane entered the parlor.

"You rang for me, m'lady."

"Yes, Jane. We'd like a fresh pot of tea. Make it strong, please."

"Yes, m'lady," Jane said and exited the room. She couldn't have left fast enough for Charlotte.

"It all happened before we were married." Lady Rose turned back to Charlotte with a sigh. "Although I wasn't entirely uninvolved."

"You're not making any sense." Charlotte leaned closer to her mother as if that would help her better understand.

Lady Rose inhaled and looked her daughter in the eyes. "You are no longer a child Charlotte, so I suppose it permissible for me to tell you that your papa was betrothed to another woman before becoming engaged to me."

Charlotte drew back. She couldn't imagine her father in love with anyone other than her mama. Her parents weren't one of those distant couples but rather quite affectionate with one another and had always been so happy together. On more than one occasion, Charlotte had walked into the drawing room to find them laughing together over a game of cards or reading to each other. Once, she caught them dancing while Papa hummed a tune! Of course, Papa loved his club, and Mama enjoyed tea and shopping in town with her friends, but they seemed happiest when they were in one another's company. Papa betrothed to someone else. Impossible!

"Her name was Miss Georgiana Freemont, the daughter of a very wealthy baronet, just like you. And today, she is known as Mrs. Warsham."

Charlotte gasped. "What happened? Did Papa discard this Miss Freemont for you? Did this General Warsham decide to defend her honor? Is that why they quarreled?" Charlotte spoke without taking a breath, verbalizing the scenario as it played out in her mind.

"Not quite," Lady Rose said. "It was Miss Freemont who did the discarding. She abandoned your papa when she eloped with Warsham."

Charlotte's heart sank. Papa carried a grudge against Mr. Warsham over another woman who wasn't her mama. Why did he still care about a woman who'd left him when he had someone better? Everything she'd ever believed about true love and marriage was a direct result of her parents' happy union. Her mama was the love of Papa's life—she'd heard him say it many times. Was it all a lie?

"Don't look so forlorn, my dear. It doesn't diminish your father's love for me." Lady Rose said as though Charlotte's thoughts were written on her face. "He didn't choose Miss Freemont because he loved her. It was more of a business arrangement: two wealthy, titled families merging to make an even wealthier, more powerful, and influential family."

"Of course, it does not diminish his love for you, Mama. Such a thought never entered my mind." Charlotte forced a smile to reinforce her lie. "Papa didn't even know you at the time."

"Oh, he knew me well enough. Georgianna and I were dear friends."

Charlotte blinked back her shock. "Are you saying that your dearest friend eloped with Papa's dearest friend?"

"That's right!" Mama's green eyes, a mirror of Charlotte's own, twinkled. "I will forever be grateful to Georgianna for being brave enough to take charge of her own future because in doing so, she helped me take charge of mine. It took half a year and a great deal of patience on my part for your papa to open his heart and trust another woman, but once he did, he has never looked back."

"So that is what you meant earlier when you said that it is up to a woman to find love, secure it, and thereby ensure her own happiness?"

"Precisely, my sweet. A woman needs to take an active part in her future as you have done by refusing unsubstantial proposals, but it's equally important not to become jaded and to remain open to receiving love—as your papa eventually did—so as not to deny yourself happiness. Of course, he would never have had that opportunity if I had simply shrugged my shoulders and given up trying."

Charlotte gazed at her mother with renewed admiration. She'd always understood and appreciated her strength, but she'd never imagined that her mama had taken charge of her future in this way. She'd assumed that her parents had been blessed with luck finding each other. She didn't know exactly how love worked, but she'd always believed it occurred naturally, like something that was meant to be. It couldn't be forced—that much was still true in her mind—but now she understood that finding love could be a little more complicated, especially for a woman, whose happiness depended on making a good match.

"If everything turned out for the best, then why is Papa still so upset today? Why do these two men despise each other when they both ended up with exactly what they wanted?"

"Pride, my dear. Your papa felt betrayed by Warsham, a trusted friend whom he'd always taken care to protect. Your papa is a clever, cautious man who has increased his wealth by making sound investments over the years, whereas Warsham squandered his money and made several bad investments. He owed debts, and your papa helped him by making him a loan. Of course, your papa demanded immediate repayment of his loans after Warsham betrayed their friendship, and no doubt Warsham thought Georgianna's father would cover them, but her papa was furious she'd defied him, so he cut them off without a penny. Warsham eventually managed to raise the money elsewhere and paid Papa, but the scandal of his initial inability to cover his debts together with the elopement was too enormous to overcome, and he fled England."

"That sounds rather awful," Charlotte said.

"Not entirely. He didn't run away to live in poverty. Georgianna would never have allowed that. I believe it was her good sense that convinced her husband to join the military. And over the years, he has managed to redeem his reputation through a stellar career in the army. I believe he has distinguished himself in many battles and is now a well-respected, retired general. Moreover, Mrs. Warsham's papa, Sir Richard Freemont, recently died and left his entire unentailed fortune to his grandson, which is, I expect, why they have returned to London. Still, some continue to gossip. And I suppose General Warsham blames your papa for that. But more likely it is the current Sir Freemont, upset because he inherited the title without the fortune, who has enflamed the gossip."

"Poor, Papa!" Charlotte said, a sudden swell of protectiveness rising in her chest. "He is unfairly blamed."

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that. This feud—like all feuds—is not one-sided, nor is it rational. As much as I love your papa, I know him to be very pig-headed when it comes to Warsham." Lady Rose threw up her hands. "I don't know why these otherwise two reasonable men cannot let bygones be bygones after all these years. It's all ancient history and rather silly. I am furious with your father for getting himself into such a state. A quarrel that has no bearing on the present is not worth having heart failure over."

Jane reentered the parlor and set down the tea tray. She was followed by Dr. Warren.

Charlotte stood up immediately. "How is Papa?" she asked, wringing her hands.

The doctor waited for Jane to leave before answering. "He's well enough now that I have given him something to calm his nerves and sent him upstairs to rest." He glanced at Lady Rose. "But, there is more to discuss, I'm afraid."

"I imagine there is, Doctor. Won't you sit down and join us for tea?"

"I think I will, thank you." He sat, and Lady Rose poured three cups of tea and, after adding the requested sugar and cream, handed one to Dr. Warren.

The doctor sipped his tea before saying, "This resurfacing of ancient business with General Warsham isn't going to do Sir Benedict any good. He worked himself into a frenzy today, and I fear the stress will put unwanted pressure on his heart."

"The fool!" Lady Rose said. "Imagine getting worked up over a quarrel that occurred more than five-and-twenty years ago. Whatever happened then, both men have been blessed with good fortune since. Sir Benedict and I have been blissfully happy together." Lady Rose tutted. "To risk his health over something that matters so little when he has been so blessed. It's a shame!"

"Pride can be a terrible thing, Lady Rose. And it has caused the death of many men. These two men—once great friends—still feel the sting of betrayal, and that hurts a man's pride. Each man is masking his hurt with anger."

Lady Rose shook her head. "When will it end?"

"Now that Warsham has returned to London, the feud must be put to rest. I understand that you and Mrs. Warsham have no quarrel with each other."

"No, indeed, we have remained friends, writing to each other now and then over the years."

Charlotte cocked her head, once again taken by surprise. Her mother was fast becoming a woman of mystery.

"In that case, the two of you must work together to restore peace. If not, the consequences for your husband could be dire."

Charlotte clutched her stomach as it seized up at the thought of what these dire consequences could mean. Poor Papa had lost a friend and gained an enemy. But her mama could lose a husband, and she, her beloved father. The doctor was right. The feud had to end, and peace had to be restored. But what could she do to help? There had to be something. She would do anything to ensure her papa's health and happiness.