Lady Elizabeth Chase held her head high, back straight as she’d been taught in finishing school. She could have balanced a tea cup upon the top of her head if the situation called for such. She might even be able to balance the basket of laundry she currently carried upon her hip, but it seemed foolish to try.

Her aunt had told her often that carrying herself in such a way only drew unwanted attention. As a woman without a male protector, it was foolish to catch the eye of a man. But she couldn’t help it. Years of being trained to walk with proper carriage was difficult to change.

She had taken to wearing a cape of sorts with the hood pulled over her golden tresses. She allowed the heavy fabric to fall well over her eyes so that she could only see a few paces in front of where she walked.

This diminished sight had developed her hearing in the most curious way. As she walked, she first noticed the quieting of the birds, then the crickets ceased their calls. Finally, the rumble of hooves caught her attention along with the distinct sound of carriage wheels.

She stepped well off the road and moved to the edge of the forest, common in this northern part of England. Her dark green cloak made her near impossible to see. It was early autumn and the trees still hung heavy with lush green foliage. She set the woven basket she carried behind a bush.

“Merciful saints,” she mumbled as the elegant coach went by. It was surprising that a carriage traveled down this particular road. She had nearly returned to her aunt’s cottage and few passed this way save those looking to visit with her aunt.

Turning her head, she took in the details of the carriage. It was gilded with gold leaf, its intricate patterns speaking of wealth she had not seen these two years past. Memories flooded her as the carriage rumbled on and she started toward her aunt’s cottage once again.

The memories were as sharp as if it had happened yesterday, though it could have been another life. It was so different from the one she now led. She recalled sitting in a line of carriages, each as beautiful as the last while she waited to attend her first ball.

That life had been a lie. A carefully crafted ruse designed to attain a husband in the hopes of leveraging her looks to save her father from financial ruin.

But it had been too late. When the debtors had taken everything, her father had ended his own life rather than go to prison and left his only daughter to fend for herself. The distant cousin who’d taken the title had no use for a ward.

Fortunately for Elizabeth, her aunt had taken pity on her, and taken her in. A spinster, she had cared for Elizabeth much of her childhood, and the two now survived by doing laundry for others. It was grueling work that had ruined Elizabeth’s once beautiful hands, not that she cared. She was lucky to have a roof over her head and food in her stomach.

Her aunt had encouraged Elizabeth to find a husband before it was too late. But Elizabeth had failed to see the point, that was until recently when Aunt Mary had fallen ill. She supposed becoming the butcher’s wife provided her with some measure of protection that her hood lacked, but it also opened her up to the same fate. While he seemed an honest man, and he’d made his intentions clear, she hesitated still. She’d already suffered once before. Betrayal by the man who was supposed to protect her. Unfortunately, her aunt needed more care than she could provide. Could Elizabeth risk her own future to help the woman who had taken her in?

Part of her railed against the idea. She didn’t want to put her fate in someone else’s hands. Not when she’d lost so much by her father’s and had to work so hard to pick herself back up. At least as a laundress she knew she could provide for herself. But another part grew more worried for her aunt by the day.

Walking the final bend in the road, surprise rippled through her as the carriage that had passed her earlier came into sight sitting directly in front of her home. It was so large, it nearly blocked the entire cottage from view.

“Drat,” she mumbled. Tucked in her basket of laundry were precious herbs she’d gotten for her aunt’s tea. It was meant to soothe her cough. She couldn’t very well turn back now, no matter how much she dreaded discovering who waited in that carriage. Her heart skipped a beat as her mind assessed the possibilities. There could be no good reason why a carriage like that would be sitting outside her home, but her aunt needed her. She drew in a breath, then let it out, slowly. She locked her spine into place, and walked toward the house…hoping whoever was in that carriage wouldn’t ruin her life for good.

* * *

“Tell me again what you wish for in a wife. Why do you want to marry my cousin?” Laird Ewan McDougal asked from his seat across the carriage.

Lord Callum Tate, Earl of Blackwood, shifted uncomfortably. Ewan had asked him no less than three times since he’d stepped off the boat that had brought him from Scotland to Northern England. “I’ve already told ye. I want a woman who is willing to have me bairns and run me house.”

“Yes, you’ve said that. But it doesn’t give me much to go on to truly know if you are right for my cousin. In addition, I don’t understand why you would need me to arrange a match with a woman for those particular requirements. You are handsome, titled, and well to do. Any number of women would be willing to take you as husband. You would do fine on your own without my intervention.”

Callum grimaced. This entire trip had in fact, been his idea. He’d attempted to woo another of Ewan’s relations and had failed. Ainsley McDougal had fallen in love with his best friend, the Earl of Rotheport. The couple had married just days ago, and truly, he was happy for them. It wasn’t that he’d had any depth of feeling for Ainsley, lovely as she was. He was simply tired, down to his very soul, and he needed a fresh start.

Swiping his hand over the scar that ran down his cheek and across his neck, he searched for the words that Ewan wanted to here. “I’ve no desire to court a dewy-eyed lass full of hope and in need of pretty words. I want a woman who understands the arrangement we are entering.”

“And what arrangement is that?” Ewan’s brows lifted over dark penetrating eyes.

Callum crossed his arms over his chest, returning the stare. “You’ve said the lady has been ruined, correct? I provide her a better life with the full protection my money and title provides. She, in turn, performs her wifely duties.”

Ewan gave a nod. “The lady in question, my second cousin on my mother’s side, has been ruined in that her father only escaped debtors’ prison by committing suicide. I have no idea how much of her innocence remains but I can tell you that she regularly takes in laundry for payment so I doubt she is a regular mistress.”

Callum swore softly under his breath. He didn’t want a dewy-eyed maiden, but Ewan’s cousin had seen her share of hardship and then some. So had he. He touched the scar again, the product of a bayonette, and his mind flashed to the memories of war. A shiver wracked his body in the relative warmth of the carriage.

Which was why he couldn’t marry a woman who didn’t understand pain. He’d crush her under the weight of his melancholy. She’d want him to get better and he didn’t know if that was possible.

The carriage stopped in front of a small cottage. Stepping out of the conveyance, Callum assessed its front. The thatched roof was in need of repair but the flowers were well tended, the steps swept clean. This home spoke of a certain hope that had him draw in a deep breath. It intrigued him that she might still remain optimistic after all she had faced. Somehow, he needed that feeling, despite his earlier assertion.

Ewan, having exited before him, travelled up the path and tapped the knocker on the front door. Both men stood waiting but no sound came from inside the tiny home.

He turned toward Callum. “Perhaps, she is hanging out laundry in the back?”

Swallowing, he shrugged. “I couldn’t say.” His chest was tight with an anxiousness he couldn’t explain. His muscles twitched as he scanned the house again. He was nervous, which was absolutely ridiculous after all he’d been through. He was, he supposed, meeting his future wife. Ruined or not, she’d be in his bed and that made a thrill of anticipation run though him. What did she look like?

“I’ll go check. Stay here in case someone answers the door.” Ewan strode toward the back.

“And if no one is here?” Callum wiped his hands on his kilt, trying to calm the rapid thumping in his chest.

“We wait,” Ewan called before disappearing behind the house.

Trying to decide if waiting made him more or less agitated, he began to walk up the path, hoping to peer into a window, or check the door.

But when he stepped into the first flower bed, to peek between the shutters of the window, a voice called from behind him. “I beg you, sir. Step no further. The flowers are innocent.”

Her voice was high and clear, like the tinkling of a bell.

For some strange reason, it made him instantly relax. And smile. “My apologies.” He carefully stepped back onto the path and turned toward her. He could hear the amusement in his own voice. “I would not wish to hurt innocent bits of flora.”

She seemed to take it as rebuke, because her response was defensive. “You think me silly for wishing to preserve them?” she said moving no closer. In fact she stood perched some feet away. Like a bird, she seemed ready for flight at any moment even as she balanced a wicker basket full of laundry upon her hip. This must be Ewan’s cousin.

Not that the knowledge meant very much. She was covered from near head to toe in a hooded cloak. He could see her beautiful ivory chin. Could chins be thought beautiful? Hers was neither too square nor too long, and a delicious set of full pale pink lips complimented it perfectly. “Not at all. They give this cottage a merry glint.” He stepped toward her extending his hand, but she took a step back. “I am Lord Blackwood. Pleased to make yer acquaintance.”

She paused, her hood cocking to the side. “And you as well,” she murmured not sounding sure at all.

He also noted that she did not give her name.

“What brings you to my humble home, Lord Blackwood?”

Callum took a breath. She was direct. But with a small quirk of his lips, he realized that was what he had wanted. “I’ve come seeking the Lady Elizabeth Chase.”

“For what purpose?” He heard her breath catch as she spoke.

He straightened to his full height, wanting his intentions clear. “To ask her to marry me, lass.”