Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

November 1820

Falcon Hall, Suffolk

C hristiana, Countess of Winfield, considered the package on her grandfather’s large oak desk with a smile. Tomorrow was her birthday, and the package had arrived early—as it did every year. With slender fingers, she tugged at the string, then carefully opened the box. With a gasp, she withdrew the tiny china replica of a blue tit.

“It’s beautiful, my lady,” said her maid, Constance. “He never forgets, even after all these years.”

“No,” she murmured, rising from the desk and walking to the curio cabinet near the hearth. It held her most prized collectibles, though some of the contents were only precious to her. On the left were the porcelain vases her grandmother and mother had collected. One, a priceless Ming vase, was another sought-after possession. The Earl of Bentson had been pestering Christiana’s mother to sell the piece for as long as she could remember. Once he discovered her daughter had inherited the vase, he turned his attention on the young widow.

She opened the right side of the cabinet and set the little bird among the others, all gifts from Lucius. She’d received the first, a swan, on her sixteenth birthday just before he left for university. Besides the short notes—carefully tied together and stored away in her chest—he had sent a new aviary specimen each November.

The goldfinch and capercaillie had arrived while he was away at university. Upon his return, she had been introduced to Lucius’s friend, the Earl of Winfield. After a whirlwind romance, she’d agreed to marry him. Lucius had sent her a small wooden cuckoo that year.

A miserable year full of loneliness, tears, and regret. A husband who had lost interest once the prize had been won. A parade of lovers flaunted in her face. A score of mentions in the broadsheets. Humiliation, then the devastation of being a widow. A duel over another man’s wife. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—face the ton after that.

Christiana had fled to Falcon Hall and never regretted escaping the cruelty of London and its inhabitants. She didn’t care what others said about her once she was settled in the country. She was happy. Or reasonably so.

The following November, after coldly dismissing Lucius at Winfield’s funeral, a package arrived. She had expected the clever Lord Page to send a crow, representing death or bad luck. Instead, Lucius had sent a golden eagle. His note had been simple yet layered with all the words unsaid.

Dearest Christiana,

I send you this golden eagle in the hope you will soar with your newfound freedom. It also embodies courage and rebirth. One is a quality you have always possessed. The other is my wish for you.

Your servant,

Lucius

Returning to the desk, determined to push the handsome viscount from her mind, she flipped through the correspondence. “Sir Horace Franklin is still asking to purchase her slate mines in Wales. And the Duke of Scuttleton has upped his offer on Vengeance.”

“You crossed him when you outbid him on that horse. He won’t give up until one of them is dead.” The lady’s maid pushed a dark curl back into her bun, peeking over her mistress’s shoulder. “His Grace would offer a minor kingdom just to win him back.”

Christiana chuckled. “Yes, he would. And then he’d beat the poor animal when it disappointed him.” It had been an exhilarating day. Scuttleton had given his man a pouch and ordered him to use it all if necessary to buy the race horse. But she’d seen the scars on the duke’s mounts, knew he was heavy on the whip and light on patience. Vengeance already wore the proof of previous abuse, and when the beast looked at her… Well, it had all been worth the harassment of the past year.

“Will you ever race him, my lady?”

“I don’t know. He’s fit again, and Jack feels he’s ready to train. We’ll see.” Christiana drummed her fingers on the duke’s note. “It’s not about the money. It’s about the unyielding power men feel they have. It’s nice to thwart them when possible.”

“It’s become your life’s pursuit.” Constance shook her head as she picked up the letters ready to post. “You might try pursuing something else, something for pleasure instead of this vendetta.”

“Horsefeathers! Vexing an arrogant man is great amusement. And I’m quite content with my life.” She rested her chin on a fist and sighed. Was she, though? Yes, she supposed, most of the time. It was only the rare moments when alone in her room, or watching a couple dance a waltz with eyes only for each other, or gazing upon a brilliant sunset with no one to share its beauty. Those were the times she longed for a warm hand to join with hers, an arm around her shoulders to pull her close, soft lips…

Gracious, she was daydreaming. It had to be Lucius’s gift. It always reopened the vacant corner of her heart. She’d dream of him tonight. His brown hair streaked with gold, those laughing green eyes, the chiseled jaw. The only kiss that had stirred her blood and made her feel safe and loved at the same time.

Enough! Thoughts of Lord Page only reminded her of the monumental mistakes she’d made. She needed to focus. Her neighbor was still pestering her about a piece of land between their properties he wanted to buy. It was part of the woods that acted as a boundary, and Lord Elwood had always used it for hunting before Christiana had arrived. In fact, she was certain he’d only asked her permission to hunt there as a courtesy, never expecting her to deny him the privilege.

He'd hounded her—pun intended—for the past five years. Elwood had tried flattery, flirtation, and then male dominance. Christiana was a conundrum to the earl. She didn’t hunt, didn’t invite guests to hunt, yet refused to let him or even consider allowing him to purchase it.

Watching Constance walk down the drive with the letters for post, she wondered about her future. She’d brought a basket to one of the tenants who’d just delivered a healthy baby. The infant had stirred something in her, made her wonder what it would be like to have a child of her own, a faithful man who loved her, a life beyond this antagonistic lifestyle she’d so carefully created.

Could she give up this game that had become her existence? The hatred she’d held inside for so long had dimmed. Christiana had met men in the village who proved not all males were bombastic arses like her dead husband. She wandered to the curio cabinet and studied the collection of birds. No, not all men were the same.

Did she have the mettle to try again? Christiana shivered, remembering how she had pushed Lucius away at the funeral. Leaning into his strength would have been admitting he had been right about Edward, throwing away the little dignity she’d been able to retain after a horrendous marriage. Now…

Christiana shook her head to clear it of the memories. Enough melancholy, enough reminiscing. A new year would soon be upon them. If she could find a way to rid herself of these three niggling men after her properties, then she could think clearly about her future. But how could she eradicate them from her life without giving them what they want?

Returning to the desk, she took out a sheet of paper and dipped a fresh nib into the ink. The Widows League would have ideas. The members had come to her aid five years ago, assisting her with her widow’s pension so she could be independent. Later, they helped her with the legal issues to retain her mother’s estate. She still paid her quarterly dues, remaining a member to help other women who found themselves alone and without recourse except under another man’s thumb.

Dear Lady Wyndam,

I hope this finds you well. I am enclosing my annual donation toward the Christmas fund, which has done so much for the women and children struggling through the winter. In addition, I thought you might help me with a predicament I find myself in…

When Christiana finished, she sprinkled the ink, flapped it a bit as her smile grew, then folded it. If there was a way to take care of these annoying gentlemen, the widows would come up with it. Such clever, helpful women. She always called on a few of them when in London.

With a loud sigh, she leaned back into the soft leather chair, her eyes straying to the porcelain, glass, and wooden birds in their case. Yes, it was time to move on. She would never be that innocent, na?ve girl again, but she could find happiness, true happiness, couldn’t she?