Chapter One

London, October 1806

Daphne Lancaster stood hidden in the shadows of her brother-in-law’s terrace, spying on Society’s first introduction to a young lady of unparalleled beauty. The belle of the ball that night was none other than her own older sister. Athena had always been inexpressibly stunning. No one, however, had ever lacked the words to describe how very plain Daphne was.

The first such comments had come from a Mrs. Carter when Daphne was six. “Such a lovely looking family, the Lancasters,” Mrs. Carter had said to her sister. “Except for that little Daphne.”

“Yes,” had come the unwavering reply. “A little mouse of a thing. Has not a bit of her mother’s beauty, poor girl. She’ll not amount to much as far as looks, I’m afraid.”

After overhearing that conversation, Daphne had spent an entire month attempting to overcome her unfortunate plainness. She had worn ribbons in her hair and had shined her own shoes twice a day. No matter the strength of her desire to run and play, she had kept still and quiet and, therefore, pristinely clean and well turned-out.

Some months later, the vicar’s wife had told her how grateful she should be to not have her sisters’ beauty, as a bit of plainness tended to keep young ladies from becoming overly pert. Surely a vicar’s wife would know the truth of such a thing.

She hadn’t bothered with the bows after that but had secretly hoped someone would tell her she’d grown into a lovely girl. No one ever had.

Now, at twelve, she’d learned to accept that she would not receive the attention she’d once longed for. She was too short, too plain, too shy, and too unnecessary.

Athena, though, was none of those things.

The Duke of Kielder’s town house overflowed with fine gowns and glittering jewels. Voices slipped out through the open french doors, filling the night air. The crowd wove in and out amongst itself. Not a soul kept still.

Watching Athena’s ball was the closest Daphne would come to being loved by Society. It wasn’t the ton’s notice she wished for, truly. Though she had never told a single soul, she dreamed and wished and hoped, deep in the most hidden bits of herself, for someone to fall utterly in love with her.

Do not be such a sentimental gudgeon, Daphne silently chided herself. She’d known all her life she would likely end up a spinster. You aren’t pretty, but you are practical. That is something.

But watching Athena dazzle the gathering, the “something” Daphne had to offer felt far too much like “nothing.”

She turned away, feeling her spirits drop with every passing moment. She leaned against the railing that ran the length of the terrace and lifted her face to the skies, sighing more dramatically than she ever allowed herself to.

“Now, what could possibly have inspired such a sorrowful sound?”

She stiffened. The voice was unfamiliar. Who was this man who had found her alone on the balcony? She turned warily toward him.

“Have you been banished to the nursery and thus find yourself longing to join the party?” he asked.

She had in fact been told to remain in her bedchamber. Her eyes settled on his face and seemed to stick there. He was very young, likely as young as Athena, who had only just turned nineteen. He had the most wonderfully brown eyes lit by a lantern very near where he stood. Daphne’s eyes were brown as well but a pitiful, muddy brown. This stranger’s glowed a shade closer to copper than dirt.

She stepped into the shadowed corner of the empty terrace, feeling overwhelmingly plain and conspicuous. No one had ventured out but this gentleman. If she slipped away, no one else would know she’d disobeyed Adam’s orders about staying in her room.

“Do not fear, Little Sparrow, I’ll not tattle.” He offered her an almost commiserating smile. “Sometimes one simply must have a peek at all that one is missing.” He motioned toward the window, just distant enough for the activity within to be unseen.

It seemed he understood her need to look, to see what she had only been able to vaguely hear and frustratingly imagine.

The young gentleman strode casually closer to where she stood, and Daphne slipped farther into her corner. She’d learned very young how to make herself appear smaller.

“I am assuming, Little Sparrow, that you are a relation of either the duke or the duchess, seeing as you appear to be a guest in this house.” The gentleman’s expression remained kind, though it grew a bit conspiratorial. Daphne felt her nervousness ease by degrees. “I have heard it whispered about that all the Lancaster family are named for Greek mythological characters. I assume, though, that you were not christened Medusa.”

Daphne shook her head, recognizing that he was teasing her. It was a very unfamiliar experience.

“You do smile after all.” His brilliant eyes softened as he spoke. “A pretty young lady such as yourself ought to smile.”

A pretty young lady. Had he truly called her pretty? No one ever had before—not her father nor any of her siblings. Even her dear Adam, who’d become closer to her than she imagined any brother-in-law ever had to his wife’s sister, had never said as much. Though none of them had ever spoken unkindly or unflatteringly of her appearance, Daphne couldn’t remember any of them calling her pretty.

“Now, in exchange for allowing me to see that smile, which I am beginning to suspect is a rare sight, I shall provide you with what I am certain will prove a crucial piece of information.”

Her eyes had not left his face. She simply could not look away. Perhaps he would remain and talk with her for a while longer. If she smiled again, he might tell her once more that she was pretty. If she were really fortunate, he would call her Little Sparrow again. Though she could not say why, she very much liked the name he had fashioned for her.

“The Duke of Kielder is even now making his way toward the very window through which you have been spying on the ball,” the young gentleman told Daphne. “If it is his orders you are defying, you would be well advised to escape before His Dastardliness discovers your villainy. He does have a remarkably sinister reputation, as you are no doubt aware.”

Daphne nodded. She knew of Adam’s reputation and that he had earned every ounce of it. She further knew that he had a kind and caring heart beneath it all. He would not, however, be happy to find her on the terrace, at odds with his instructions. He was very accustomed to being obeyed in everything.

“Fly away, Little Sparrow,” the young gentleman instructed.

“Please do not tell the duke I am out here.” Her words did not reach above a whisper—they seldom did.

“You are not actually in danger, are you?” Genuine concern touched his words.

“No, but he will be very put out with me.”

“I give you my word not to reveal your secret. And I assure you, a promise from James Tilburn” —a tip of his head told her the name was his own—“is as good as gold.”

She sensed that about him—that he could be trusted. “Thank you, sir.”

“You are quite welcome.” He offered the very briefest of bows and one final smile before slowly making his way back toward the center of the terrace.

Daphne watched him for one drawn-out moment. James Tilburn. She committed the name to memory. James Tilburn, who thought her pretty and did not readily overlook her. James Tilburn, who called her Little Sparrow and spoke kindly to a young lady most dismissed on first glance.

He would not give her another thought. Indeed, he had probably already forgotten her. She, however, knew she would forever cherish the memory of him.

Daphne slipped into the empty book room and up the back staircase to her bedchamber, lost in her thoughts. She would likely find her mind wandering to him again and again over the days and weeks that stretched ahead of her. Perhaps she would see him again or hear of him in the passing comments of those around her.

“Someday,” she told herself, “I should very much like to marry a gentleman exactly like James Tilburn.”

* * *

James delayed his return to the ballroom as long as possible. At only eighteen years of age, he fit absolutely nowhere. He was too young to be a suitor, far too young to keep company with the matrons and seasoned gentlemen, and too old to be left at home, where he would much rather be.

His father, the Earl of Techney, had very strong opinions on the duties of his heir—attending Society’s most anticipated functions, studying at Oxford and not Cambridge, belonging to any gentlemen’s club that would accept an applicant from a family only two generations deep in the peerage, driving to an inch, being handy with his fives and deadly with a length of steel. Lord Techney permitted his son no say in his schedule nor his future.

Inside the Falstone House ballroom, the current set came to a close. James quickly glanced at the tiny, dark-haired girl he’d found spying on the balcony. She slipped nearly silently into an adjacent room, no doubt returning to the nursery. He hoped the poor child would escape the wrath of her host. How closely related was she to the Dangerous Duke? If she was forced into his company often, it was really no wonder she seemed so painfully shy. He felt certain very few people had been treated to the sight of her adorable dimpled smile.

He resignedly stepped back into the thick of the crowd. There were times when he wholeheartedly wished he could disappear as easily as that quiet little girl had, because he very much feared that eventually his father would find a way to control him completely.