Louisa had not told her best friend, Joyce, about the meeting with Felton, as she thought absolutely nothing would come of it. It was quite unlikely that Felton, the Marquess of Harwood, would deign to follow through on his promise to ask her for a ride in Stapleton Park.

However, Joyce had just given birth at home to a newborn baby girl and Louisa could not wait to see how she and the baby were doing. Louisa’s mother had knitted several pairs of booties for the new baby and Louisa had gathered a delightful bowl of fresh raspberries as a treat for the new mother.

Louisa took her basket with the berries, the booties, and a small baby’s blanket that she had embroidered, and set out to Joyce’s house which was within easy walking distance. Joyce and her husband, Donald, were living in Joyce’s family home until they could move into their new cottage. Louisa approached the very welcoming white-washed cottage with climbing roses growing on a trellis arched over the front door.

Surprised to see Joyce answering the door, Louisa said, “Oh, Joyce, you are up already?”

“And why should I not be?” she asked gaily, opening the door wide for Louisa to enter.

“But I heard it was such a difficult birth. I thought for certain you would be confined to bed for a while longer.”

“Nonsense. I am chipper as a lark and hearty as a bear. Do come in. And, oh, you have brought me something. Let us go to the kitchen where I have just instructed Cook to serve us some fresh morning tea cake.”

“How did you know I was coming?”

“I did not but I suspected as much.” Joyce peeked into the basket Louisa had handed her. “Oh, my. We shall have berries on the cake and new booties for the baby.”

“Does Baby have a name yet?” Louisa asked.

“Donald wants Hortensia, but I said no. It sounds way too much like someone’s wizened maiden aunt. I favor Joy, April, or even Barbara, but we are still in discussion. For now, we are calling the baby—It.”

“Can I see It?” Louisa asked with a giggle.

“Of course. Come.” Joyce put the basket on the kitchen table and instructed Cook to serve the raspberries with the cake.

Joyce led Louisa through the house to the back door that opened onto a small porch leading to a country garden. The nanny was seated next to a cradle under the broad branches of a beech tree.

Joyce went to her daughter who looked up, waving her arms and legs while cooing. Louisa followed, taking hold of the child’s tiny hand.

“Oh, she is definitely an April.”

“You think so?”

“No doubt at all. The name Hortensia must fly out the window.”

Joyce pulled up two lawn chairs next to the cradle and, just then, the kitchen maid came out with a tea tray and servings of cake.

After the tea was poured, the two friends relaxed against the backs of the lawn chairs as bees buzzed around them, exploring the nearby beds of varicolored penstemon.

Louisa had wanted to tell Joyce about Felton before but this was the first moment the two had been alone and able to speak privately.

“Joyce…” Louisa said, as she continued to relax against the chair with her eyes closed.

“Um?”

“Do you know the Marquess of Harwood?”

“I know of him.”

“Does he have a reputation?” Louisa asked.

Joyce opened her eyes and turned to her friend. “How do you mean?”

“Is he a ladies’ man? Does he gamble? Is he known to frequent the taverns?”

“Hmm. I have not heard anything against him. His family is very stand-offish. They entertain only those of their own class and rarely engage with us common folks. Why ever do you ask?”

Louisa described her coming upon the stricken Felton at the riverside.

“And you said nothing to me about this before now?” Joyce asked, sounding piqued.

“Well, there was nothing to tell, really. I have no expectation that he will ever call on me again. I think he was somewhat delirious after his broken leg. And I doubt that he even remembers me.”

“Well, you never know. Was he nice?”

Louisa blushed slightly. “He was very handsome. He smiled a great deal and he appeared to be very jolly even though he had had an accident. But I do expect that was due to the accident, as well.”

“But he is the eldest son and heir of a Duke, Louisa. And knowing that family, there is not a chance that he will ever have any serious interest in you.”

Louisa leaned back against the chair, closed her eyes again, and said lazily, “Yes, I expect you are right.” She swatted at a fly that had landed on her cheek without giving any further thought to Felton.

Evan and Arabella always met in secret. Evan was Felton’s best friend—Arabella had been selected by her family to marry Felton. It would have been grossly improper for Evan and Arabella to be seeing each other frequently, let alone to be courting. However, Arabella’s chaperone was sympathetic to Arabella’s plight and would allow the two to meet secretly—as long as she sat nearby.

When either of them wished to meet—which was often—one would smuggle a private note to the other, setting a time and place. They usually met by the old flour mill where they could sit by the bank or walk along the river in private, sheltered by the overhanging trees.

Today, however, it appeared that a storm might be brewing, so one of their alternative locations had been selected. The village bakery had a tea shop attached to it and no one of their acquaintance ever took tea there, so they could count on being unobserved. They always arrived separately and made certain there was no one they knew nearby before they entered.

“Dearest,” Evan said breathlessly, taking hold of Arabella’s gloved hands as she sat opposite him.

She looked at him with her seductive green eyes. Arabella was a beautiful red haired young woman. She dressed in the latest London fashions, as she visited there frequently.

She was breathless from her anticipation to see Evan and her smile was generously welcoming.

“My beloved, Evan, we meet again.”

Evan had arrived before her and had already ordered the tea service.

They continued to gaze at one another without speaking until the servers came with the tea.

“I suppose there has been no movement on your parents’ position,” Evan asked. Arabella teared slightly and shook her head—too overcome with emotion to be able to speak. “And I can report that Felton remains steadfast in his opposition to his parent’s wishes for him to marry you.

"So there is still hope for us, Precious One, but I fear it is a battle that cannot be won.”

“Please say that is not true. We must not give up hope, but what if Felton wavers? What if his parents are so insistent he cannot budge them? Then he must marry you and we shall be lost to each other forever. I could not bear that.”

The cups of tea the waitress had poured remained untouched before them. However, it was impossible for them to remain at such a heightened state of agitation, so Evan changed the subject and took a sip of his tea.

“I expect you have heard about Felton’s accident.”

“What? I have heard no such thing. Pray, tell me.”

Evan explained in heroic detail how he rescued Felton after his fall from his horse.

“And he will recover?” she asked, finally taking a sip of her own tea.

“He has a broken leg. But they have given him a monstrous thing around his leg to heal the break and he hobbles around like a drunken peg-legged pirate. I think he is secretly enjoying the whole show.”

Arabella laughed. “Yes, I can just imagine he might. I do like Felton, but not as a husband.”

“And he is my very best friend. We have always been inseparable.”

Arabella wandered off into her own thoughts. “I imagine as soon as he is recovered enough his parents will insist he visit me.”

“He did tell me he was to go to London with his Uncle Silas—although he has not informed his parents of that just yet. They will not be happy with him about that. His father loathes the uncle, you know.”

“Felton has told me how much he adores the man and says he is his only refuge from the storm of his family.”

“Yes, I can believe he said that.” Evan suddenly remembered something and pulled a small book out of his coat pocket. “My dear, as promised, I brought you this book to read. You remember, I told you about it when last we met.”

She took the book and looked at the title. “Oh, yes… The Perils of Lady Cavanaugh. How thoughtful of you. You are my very dearest man.” And she placed her hand on his.

He took her hand and held on to it tightly as he hung his head. “I do not know if I can bear this torture much longer, Arabella.”

“I know, my darling. But we must. We have no choice. And even if we were to marry, how would we live? You work with your father on the estate but he gives you no income.”

“But you have some.”

“Yes, but only if the marriage is sanctioned by my parents. Yet they have decided I must marry Felton. You know that.”

Evan smiled sadly, “I do but my mind keeps going in circles looking for an exception, an escape, or a way out of this dilemma.”

Arabella withdrew her hand from his and placed it on the book Evan had given her. “We might as well be living in the pages of this book for all the good it does us. I am afraid we will need to become fictional characters for us to have the life we yearn for.”

Louisa’s family lived in one of the finer houses in the village of Petworth. As one of the most prominent of the village merchants, Arthur Turner had turned a local enterprise into a thriving countywide business. Arthur owned a prime property at the edge of the village and, while the children were still young, had built a very handsome dwelling with four bedrooms, a large family sitting room, a study, a library, and an excellently outfitted kitchen area. Martha, the children’s mother, had worked diligently to create handsome front and back gardens and the property had become one of the most admired residences in not only Petworth, but throughout the entire county.

Louisa had been reading late. The rest of her family were already in bed when she left the sitting room with her single candle. As she passed by the small table in the entranceway she glanced to see if there had been any afternoon post. There was a single letter—addressed to her.

“Oh,” she said, picking up the envelope and turned it over to discover the embossed seal of the Duke of Stapleton.