Mallory sat in her rear-facing seat, her hands twisting and knotting in her skirt as their carriage made the short jaunt to Castle Keyvnor. She’d wallowed in remorse all night, her guilt finally getting the best of her when the day dawned clear and bright.

The carriage hit a deep rut and sprang back up as the well-maintained Wycliffe conveyance gained a bit of speed. The desolate seaside terrain was nothing like the lush greenery surrounding her family home in Launceston. Though still in Cornwall, her estate did not have the unrelenting winds and salty ocean air constantly battering the land.

Aunt Hettie groaned on the seat across from her and readjusted her position from where she’d slumped low.

“I told you I was perfectly capable of calling on Lord Lichfield at the castle without you,” Mallory replied, keeping her irritation from entering her tone. “It is only a ten-minute carriage ride away from Tetbery. You could have practically seen me arrive from your bedchamber window.”

Her aunt shook her head with a frown. “Not proper, not proper at all, a girl tramping about Cornwall unchaperoned. That Banfield family would have a right good laugh at the lot of us.”

Mallory had been correct in her words to Lord Lichfield—Silas—the day before. She’d slipped back into Tetbery without anyone the wiser. When she’d joined Felicity and her aunt for their evening meal, her dear friend had offered a powder to be taken with table wine to diminish the ache in her head. Mallory had nearly ruined her own excuse when she questioned what Felicity spoke of, but she’d recovered with swiftness, thanked her friend, and taken the awful mixture.

She may not have had a headache before, but the mere disgust of the powdery substance almost incited one.

“You do not agree with my match to the earl?” Mallory asked, already sensing her aunt’s response would be to the affirmative. “He is a kind enough man.”

Aunt Hettie snorted, crossing her arms over her heavy chest. “You met him for no more than an hour’s time. You cannot know if he is kind—or much else. He hardly spoke of anything of a personal nature.” Hettie glared at Mallory across the carriage. “Plus, he was raised in France. An English lord, raised in France. What will people think?”

At her aunt’s questioning stare, Mallory remained quiet. Never, in all the years she’d lived with her aunt, had Mallory ever witnessed Hettie giving a single care for what people thought of her or her choices in life. It had to be a ploy to convince Mallory the man was unsuitable because her aunt knew Mallory cared greatly about what others thought of her.

Mallory would not fall into Hettie’s trap.

Nor could she admit that she did, in fact, know beyond a reasonable doubt that Silas was an honorable man.

Which was exactly the reason they were headed toward Castle Keyvnor.

She needed to apologize for not trusting him, for accusing him of intentionally lying to her, to assure him she was resigned to their match. More than resigned, as it were, but content with it.

If she and Hettie left Bocka Morrow to return to her family estate, Silas could determine she was unfit to be his countess and send word to her father to discuss the matter. He’d said he had no intention of crying off, but with her less than appropriate behavior the day before, she would not blame him for running. He likely thought himself tied to a hellion, which was certainly not the case. She need only convince him of that.

Once she apologized for her erratic comportment and confirmed her commitment to their betrothal and coming marriage, she could return home knowing she’d made the best impression possible—under the circumstances.

Their carriage hit a large bump, and Mallory grasped hold of the side to keep from tumbling off her seat. The road between Tetbery Estate and Keyvnor was not a heavily traveled one. Felicity—nor her guardian, the countess—ever mentioned visiting the castle.

With the Duke of Wycliffe now taking his rightful place at Tetbery, that might very well change.

The carriage rolled to a stop outside the fortress.

Mallory looked out her window at the intimidating fortification and had to crane her neck to see all the way to the imposing towers above. They stood so tall, they shrouded the carriage in shadows. The stronghold was massive, boasting a moat and battlements—much like the castles so popular many years before. Mallory could envision invaders setting their sights on Keyvnor, prepared to loot and plunder its hidden bounties. Men would be at the ready on the parapets above to defend their home and their families against the raiders.

The carriage door swung open, and the footman lowered the steps, reaching in to assist Aunt Hettie down.

Mallory glanced at her when she made no move to take the servant’s proffered hand. Hettie’s face had drained of color until she appeared nearly green with sickness and her hands visibly trembled. With her eyes clamped shut, Mallory could not ascertain if a vision had struck her.

She slipped to her knees on the carriage floor without thought of the damage to her skirts and took her aunt’s shaking hands into her own. Rubbing them between her palms, warm and moist with nerves, she attempted to banish the chill from her aunt’s fingers. Yet, Hettie did not acknowledge her, nor was she calmed by her niece’s presence.

Releasing her aunt’s hands, Mallory cupped Hettie’s face to still her quivering chin and bid her to open her eyes.

When Hettie only tried to pull from Mallory’s hold, she relented. The woman’s gift was too powerful and all-consuming when it struck.

“I will have the driver return you to Tetbery with all due haste,” Mallory whispered. Her heart ached for her dear aunt, her own chest feeling constricted by some unknown force that held Hettie captive, as well. “Close the door!”

“No, no, my child,” Hettie mumbled. “Go forth and see Lord Lichfield. Say what needs said, and we shall return home after. I will not enter Castle Keyvnor—I cannot.”

“Is it safe for me?” Mallory was familiar with her aunt’s aversion to entering certain domains or so much as walking across random paths. While Mallory’s visions overtook her when she touched people or objects, her aunt’s gift was much more prolific than that—she sensed things without touch. A mere smell could send her aunt reeling as an image invaded, clouding not only her irises but also her mind. Hettie nodded, keeping her eyes closed. “Then I will send you and the carriage back to Tetbery and have it return to collect me.”

“I—I—“ Hettie struggled to gain strength. “I will wait here—in the drive—for you. You shan’t be long.”

“Are you certain?” It seemed inconceivable to leave Hettie in the drive in such a state.

“Yes, my child.” Hettie straightened her shoulders, her eyes fluttering open to show no storm within their depths. “I will remain here and rest.”

Still, Mallory was hesitant to leave her. “I can take you home and return with Felicity—or possibly Tressa—on the morrow.”

Hettie shook her head with such force, her cheeks wobbled and her eyes glazed over. “You will go now.” The older woman pushed Mallory away and waved to the waiting servant. “Do assistant my niece down.”

With one last, lingering look at her aunt, Mallory collected her handbag and departed the carriage. She knew better than to think her aunt would relent and allow Mallory to see her back to the estate.

Her cloak billowed around her in the brisk, bitter cold. Tugging at her hood, she stared up at the castle, her view uninhibited by the bevels in the windowpanes of the carriage. It struck her as odd that anyone actually lived in such a place. Its ancient facade and imposing size were daunting, even to Mallory as a visitor.

“Shall I announce your arrival, my lady?” The Tetbery footman stood at her side, staring up in awe at the castle.

“No, thank you,” she said with a reassuring smile. “I can announce myself.”

At least, she hoped she could find her voice after knocking on the door that appeared large enough to drive a horse and carriage through.

Mallory ran her moist palms down the front of her cloak and lifted her chin, ready to walk up the steps of the castle as if she belonged. In fact, she did. She was betrothed to the Countess of Banfield’s nephew, after all. Soon, she would be family, and might well visit often.

The thought did nothing to assuage her nerves.

The sound of shouting drifted on the breeze. Servants and finely dressed men and woman bustled about in the gardens close to the castle. Mallory stood, riveted, watching people come and go from a side terrace in the winter garden. The rolling greenland, so close to the sea, was breathtaking—and also very familiar.

Impossible.

Clearing her throat and slipping her hand through the drawstring on her handbag, Mallory started for the door. She did not want to keep Hettie waiting, especially if the coals grew cold and the interior of the carriage turned frigid.

Hettie’s words sprang to mind…”You shan’t be long.”

It hadn’t been a request for her to hurry, but more of an undisputable truth. Had Aunt Hettie’s vision been directly connected to Mallory? Glancing over her shoulder, she expected to see her aunt in the carriage window, but the woman was not pressed to the glass. She reclined in her seat—all but dozing with her eyes shut and her mouth gaping.

Perhaps she was only fatigued.

Starting up the steps, the door opened before she raised her hand to knock.

“May I help you, my lady?” The servant’s brow rose in question as he stood in the doorway, blocking her view of the foyer beyond.

“Lady Mallory Hughes, here to call on Lord Lichfield—the Earl of Lichfield,” she said, stumbling over her words. Drat. She needn’t say Lord Lichfield and the earl. She pasted a confident smile on her lips despite the unease that coursed through her at the servant’s pulled brow and blank expression. “Is he receiving at this time?”

With a flourish and a deep bow, he gestured for her to enter. “This way, Lady Mallory.”

She proceeded him into the foyer and waited for him to lead her to where she would wait. Her pulse raced at the thought of seeing Silas once more. He was certainly the most handsome man of her acquaintance. Surely many debutantes would be envious of her match.

At no point had she ever been in possession of something so grand it was worth envious stares from others; however, her betrothed was very worth the jealousy.

“This way.”

The butler started off down a corridor, and Mallory heard voices carrying through the drafty castle from all directions. Silas had not been wrong when he said Keyvnor was bursting with guests. As they passed a room, the open door gave Mallory a view of several young women gathered close as they worked on their needlepoint. The next hall gave her a clear view of a couple slipping into another room and closing the door behind them.

Mallory had never been one to seek the company of a large gathering; however, she’d relish the opportunity to know what the women spoke of as they plied their needles to task.

“Please wait within. My la—Lord Lichfield will be summoned.”

Mallory entered a delicately feminine sitting room. With drapes, wall coverings, and furniture of varying shades of peach, the area did not seem like any place Lord Lichfield would dare enter. She smiled to herself at the thought of him perched on the low lounge before the hearth, his weight certainly too much for the furniture to bear.

She pushed back her hood and unfastened the top button of her cloak.

The rest of the sitting room was outfitted in similarly fragile pieces: a writing desk, table and chairs, and a harpsichord nestled in the corner with a short stool.

“The Countess of Banfield,” the servant’s voice thundered through the room, though he spoke no louder than when he’d greeted her at the door. “Your guest, Lady Mallory Hughes.”

Mallory whipped around to face the stately mistress of Castle Keyvnor.

There must be some mistake. She was not here to call on the formidable Countess of Banfield.

Her mouth gaped open and then snapped shut at the woman’s frown.

“Lady Banfield.” Mallory dropped into a curtsey, pausing in her deep pose for a few seconds longer than necessary to collect her thoughts. Where was Lord Lichfield? Would he be joining them? Why had the servant summoned the countess? “It is an honor to make your acquaintance.”

Mallory straightened with a serene smile as she called upon her many years of decorum training in the schoolroom.

None of those lessons prepared her for facing the woman before her.

“I would say the same, but I haven’t the faintest notion who you are or what you are doing in my home.” The countess looked down her long, beakish nose at Mallory, pinning her with a stare that was both intense and lackluster at the same time. “Well, girl?”

It took her a moment realize the countess truly had no clue who she was. “Well, I am Lady Mallory—“

“I know that much from my butler,” the lady snapped, waving her hand toward the servant, who immediately backed from the room and closed the door. “What. Are. You. Doing. At. My. Castle?”

Her slow, deliberate words had a blush rising up Mallory’s neck. Thankfully, her cloak hid the worst of her embarrassment. “I am here to call on my betrothed, Lord Lichfield.”

“Impossible,” she huffed. “Lord Lichfield is my brother-in-law and safely wed to my sister, Mary Louisa.”

“I assure you, my lady, I am betrothed to Lord Lichfield, Silas Anson.” Mallory paused to take a deep breath. “While I did not travel with the betrothal agreement, we are, indeed, set to wed early next year.”

“Silas, you say?” The woman’s tone softened immediately, and she took the few steps to the lounge, lowering herself to sit and then gesturing for Mallory to do the same on the chair opposite her. “Silas. I have not seen him since he was a lad of six or seven before Mary Louisa took…”

Her words trailed off as if she’d said too much; however, Mallory thought she hadn’t spoken nearly enough.

“You must be mistaken. Lord Lichfield is staying at Keyvnor and attending the weddings of his cousins—your daughters, I presume.” From the woman’s severe look, it would have been wise for Mallory to keep her assumptions to herself. “I am here from Launceston, Northern Cornwall, and staying at the Duke of Wycliffe’s estate, Tetbery.” It felt like a betrayal to Felicity to refer to Tetbery as Wycliffe’s property, but there was no way around it. “I am there with my aunt, Lady Henrietta Hughes. Lord Lichfield paid a social visit to Tetbery yesterday.”

“My dear, dear, dear girl.” The countess clucked her tongue with each address. “I am sorry to say you have been misinformed. My nephew is not staying at the castle, and neither was he invited to the wedding. Although, if something happened to his father, I suppose the invite would, socially speaking, be transferred to the new earl, which would indeed be Silas. But I can assure you, I have not seen him. You say he is in Bocka Morrow?”

“Yes, but—“

“If the lad is in the area, rest assured I will locate him.” The countess stood suddenly, and Mallory followed suit. “This is not good, not good at all.”

“Why ever not?” Mallory asked.

“Because if my nephew has claimed the title, that means two things: my brother-in-law passed away without anyone sending word, and my sister, Lady Lichfield, has no doubt returned to England at long last.”

Silas had mentioned nothing about his mother’s return to England, only that his siblings had accompanied him from France. “I am afraid I can speak to neither.”

The countess stepped forward, reaching for Mallory’s hands and clasping them tightly. “Regardless, this is wonderful news. Wonderful news, indeed.” Lady Banfield paused as if realizing she still held Mallory. “You and your aunt, Lady Henrietta, must come to the wedding…and the Yule ball to follow.”

As Mallory was ushered to the front door and unceremoniously deposited on the stoop, her waiting carriage in the drive, she remembered nodding at the countess, but if that simple gesture meant that she’d accepted the invitation, Mallory was uncertain.

Glancing at the sky above, she noted the sun had not moved at all.

Aunt Hettie was correct. She hadn’t been long inside, but much had changed in the short time she was.