Could she possibly last for a week?

From her window, Grace absently watched three workers clipping the deep green box hedges lining one of the garden walls. As Anna bustled about the room behind her, Grace tried to convince herself that Mrs. Douglas had not recognized her. She remembered the woman, but there was little reason Lady Nithsdale’s guest should recall meeting her. After all, six years had passed. Thousands of people had attended the ceremony and the receptions that followed. Hundreds of introductions had been exchanged. With all the fanfare and opulence of the day, she hoped her face had not distinguished itself from the crowd. The possibility was so slight.

The christening had involved the most memorable splendor of the decade, second to the coronation. Grace still remembered the ceremony like it was yesterday.

Paris. The procession of carriages traveled from the Tuileries Palace to the Cathedral of Notre Dame, along roads lined with the Imperial guard and troops from the garrison. The crowds shouted and applauded for each carriage as it passed, and a thrill coursed through Grace even now at the memory. The barouche she rode in was three ahead of the royal couple, for she’d been given the tremendous honor of joining the dames du palais in the entourage of ladies carrying the queen’s train, a distinction owing to her father’s valor and service. As the emperor and his wife and infant son came into sight of the multitude, the joyous cheers and cries of “Vive le Roi de Rome!” that went up were loud enough to have been heard in Calais.

The ceremony at the cathedral was filled with the voices of choirs, and the cardinal himself sang the Veni Creator. And when Napoleon took the child from the empress and held him aloft twice, those assembled in the ancient church raised their voices as one in adulation.

The day resided in her memory like a dream. Grace recalled feeling like some ethereal spirit chosen to spend a day in a fairy tale. The spectacle, the cheers, the momentous significance of the event she’d been chosen to participate in, had been almost too much to fathom. She felt she was floating among the golden gods of Olympus itself.

It was after the ceremony at the cathedral, when the emperor and his entourage repaired to the Hôtel de Ville for the celebrations, that she’d been introduced to so many guests and diplomats, including several members of the English contingent. Because official diplomatic relations had been severed between the two countries, very few were in attendance from England. Unfortunately, Mrs. Douglas was there with her husband, a high-ranking member of Parliament. What Grace remembered most vividly about the introduction was the couple’s icy response to her father. Grace could almost feel the Englishman’s reaction to the proud Irish military man, a renegade subject, honored by the French emperor for his contributions fighting the British in Spain and Portugal. Daniel Ware was bound to draw their attention and their displeasure.

A chill washed through her. The chance of the two of them coming face-to-face after so many years was so minute, and yet it had happened. Mrs. Douglas had not changed much since their introduction. Grace was older; perhaps the years had made a difference. The woman’s sharp eyes had not wavered from her face at all. Today, Mrs. Douglas did not acknowledge knowing her, but the risk still existed that the memory of that day in Paris would return when she had a chance to think it through.

Grace tried to quell her panic as she changed into a day dress before Anna went away. There was nothing she could do about it but wait. She had no means of leaving Baronsford unless the viscount agreed to change their arrangement. He’d been clearly disappointed when she suggested it was time for her to leave. His regret was only a fraction of the sadness she felt in her heart. She had become drawn to him so quickly.

Stepping into the sitting room, she wandered to the open windows and then raised her face to the soft breeze. She burned, even now, at the memory of their kiss. The pressure of his mouth undid her. The taste of him, the feel of his hard body pressed against hers, making her wish for more. Never had she felt as alive as she did during those few moments in his arms.

And then small talk. Diversion. She’d tried her best to recover from the impact of their passionate encounter. She wanted that kiss again. She ached for his touch. She wanted him. But after their chance meeting with the neighboring ladies, the hot passion of those moments transformed into the chill she could not shake. She’d said very little for the rest of their walk back to Baronsford.

The nagging question wouldn’t go away. What would happen if Mrs. Douglas remembered?

As a clock chimed noon somewhere in the house, noises on the path below her window drew Grace’s attention. Workers were going by and exchanging greetings with the gardeners. One of the passing men was the blacksmith Darby. He and two helpers were heading toward the stables area, pushing a damaged plowshare on a wheel barrow. Hugh told her when they parted earlier that he’d be meeting with the blacksmith this afternoon to work on his balloon preparations.

Hugh had seen to it that Darby was freed after being wrongfully jailed. Even as a highly respected lord justice and master of Baronsford, he’d freely accepted the validity of her reproach regarding the law. Hugh Pennington wasn’t the man she’d initially thought he would be.

And Grace was a different person today from four days ago when she decided she needed to lie to them. She now knew what kind of people Hugh and Jo were. She understood their compassion. She saw the kindhearted generosity that was their way of life. But the question facing her now was whether she trusted them enough to reveal the truth. She pictured herself telling them all of it. With regard to the diamond, she honestly had no knowledge of it hidden in her dress. But should she?

Better sooner than later, she thought. Knowing him as she did now, Grace was certain Hugh was not a man who would see her punished for circumstances that were out of her control. He wouldn’t penalize a daughter over the choices of her father.

In the end it came down to this. Was she courageous or was she cowardly? Could she face him and confess? Or should she hide and wait and escape to Antwerp in a week?

A soft tap on the open sitting room door roused her, and she turned to see Jo coming in. Two servants followed, each carrying trays.

“I heard you were taking lunch in your rooms, so I decided to join you, if I may. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I can’t tell you how pleased I am,” Grace responded, crossing to her and taking her hand.

This was exactly what she needed, an opportunity for the two of them to spend time together. Perhaps she could build her courage to say to Jo the things that needed to be said.

A small table near the window was set, and the plates and food were arranged.

“Thank you. That will do very well. We can serve ourselves.” Jo was gracious, but the subtle edge in her tone made Grace focus more closely on the tight lines around her mouth. “I’ll ring when the dishes are ready to be taken away.”

Hugh’s sister seated herself on a sofa, her hands tightly clasped in her lap as the servants left them alone. Tense shoulders, straight back, and eyes that wandered restlessly about the room. Grace knew Jo hadn’t come for lunch, but to talk.

“Please come and sit by me.” She patted the seat next to her.

Grace went to her, ready for whatever came of this.

“Hugh told me what happened today.”

The kiss they shared flashed through her mind, but Grace calmed herself. He would never divulge so personal a moment.

“I am so sorry,” Jo continued. “I’m mortified that you had to be subjected to Lady Nithsdale’s rudeness.”

“There was no harm done,” she responded. She hoped no harm would come of it, anyway.

Jo’s dark eyes focused on Grace’s face. There was a sadness beyond the somber tone.

“He mentioned your agitation. He told me you want to leave Baronsford. That can’t be. I won’t allow it. I don’t want you to go.”

But the time had come. Grace had to speak the truth and be done with this plague of pretense. Unfortunately, she had no chance as Jo continued.

“I am appalled by that woman and her lack of propriety. She is a poison. I’ve come to believe she lives for the sole purpose of spoiling lives.”

“Encounters like today are unavoidable,” Grace said softly, deciding that she needed to ease into her confession. “I’m a stranger here. It was only to be expected that sooner or later curiosity would lead neighbors to your door.”

“This is more than idle curiosity. Lady Nithsdale’s mission in life is to meddle in others business. It is insidious that some women take it as their vocation to spread falsehoods about others and ruin futures.”

Grace was not about to dispute Jo’s response. She knew other women like that, and Hugh’s sister certainly understood her neighbors better. But perhaps she was upset at the possibility of the rumors that could soon be bandied about the tea and card tables of the area. Grace imagined how shocking it was that they found her out riding with the viscount unchaperoned. She was only a brief visitor at Baronsford. She cared little for her own reputation.

The only thing about today’s encounter that distressed Grace personally had nothing to do with Lady Nithsdale, but with her houseguest.

“I can’t tell you how much I abhor that woman.”

The hard intensity in Jo’s voice startled Grace. These words were not used lightly. Jo’s hands were fisted in her lap. Her dark eyes were focused on a line of treetops outside of the window. She imagined a different battle was being fought in her companion’s mind. The root of these feelings regarding Lady Nithsdale had to be planted long before now.

“She’s done you personal wrong in the past, hasn’t she?”

There was no concealing the emotions. Jo’s gaze grew misty.

“What’s wrong? What has she done to you?” Grace took her friend’s hand. Suddenly, her own troubles slipped to the side. Feelings of protectiveness surged through her.

Jo’s fingers were ice cold. She shook her head once and bit her lip. The past rolled in like a fast-traveling storm. So many times in her own life Grace had no one to turn to. No friend. No confidante. She learned early that she couldn’t commandeer her father’s attention for what he considered feminine woes.

“I know I haven’t earned your trust,” she said. “And I’ve certainly done nothing to deserve it. But you’ve shown me only kindness. You selflessly spent days caring for me and giving me this second chance at life. It hurts me to see you like this.”

Tears beaded on Jo’s face like pearls.

“Too many years have passed.” She dashed the droplets away. “It’s not right that I should still hold such loathing in my heart. I should let it go. But seeing Hugh’s anger at Lady Nithsdale scratched open a very old wound.”

It was Grace’s nature to speak her mind. She was never good at holding back. She’d lost friends because of it. Still, there was no relief like allowing one’s temper to explode, especially when you were certain you were in the right. Jo, she knew now, was the exact opposite. She kept her troubles hidden inside. Perhaps, her heartaches, as well.

“How many years ago?” Grace asked, determined to draw her out.

Jo hesitated before answering. “Fifteen years.”

“So you were a toddler when this happened.”

A hint of a rare smile put a dimple in her surprised face. “I am a mature woman of six and thirty now.”

Grace scoffed. “Let us never know what old age is. Let us know the happiness time brings and not count the years.”

“Whom are you quoting?”

“Decimius Ausonius.”

“How can you know so much?”

“No matter.” Grace didn’t want to talk about herself right now. She wanted to help Jo unburden her troubles. “Who was he?”

“Why do you assume this is about a romance?” The tears were gone.

“You were one and twenty. Your husband?”

“I’ve never married.” She shook her head. “But at the time, I was engaged. To a man named Wynne Melfort. He was a lieutenant in the navy.”

Noticing the look of grief creeping into Jo’s eyes again, Grace pushed on. “What went wrong with your engagement?”

“Before I say more, you should know that I wasn’t born a Pennington. I was adopted by my parents as an infant. My birth mother died during the delivery, on a road very close to Baronsford. She was traveling with other folk who were victims of clearances, put off someone’s land with only what they could carry. I’ve been able to learn nothing more about who she was or where she came from. I don’t know who fathered me.”

Grace gripped her friend’s hand. Somehow, this revelation didn’t come as a great surprise to her. Jo and Hugh looked nothing alike, and Anna had hinted at this when she spoke of the Pennington siblings. It also made sense, given Grace’s understanding of Lord Aytoun’s efforts to stop the clearances, as well as his son’s passionate disgust with the practice.

“And that caused the problems? The truth of your adoption was made public?”

“No. It was never a secret,” Jo told her. “Wynne knew about it. His family was told, and they raised no objections. I imagine that was partly due to the size of my dowry. But my family never made any effort to hide it. My mother brought me back here on the day of the summer ball. They all witnessed it. Lady Nithsdale was here, as well.”

“Did you love him?” Grace asked gently. “Had you given your heart to this naval officer?”

“Too many years have passed. I don’t remember.”

Grace recognized the lie in the way Jo’s eyes misted over again as she turned her face again to the window.

“What went wrong? Please tell me. Why was your engagement broken off?” Grace had heard a thousand times that nothing unburdened the heart like confession. If only she could follow that advice herself.

“Gossip. Rumor. Unfounded stories that my birth mother was a common prostitute,” Jo said, pain etched in her eyes. “I don’t know why talk of it became the rage. I don’t know the source of it. But suddenly, it was all the ton cared about. Smirking, tittering behind their fans, and spreading falsehoods as if they were gospel.”

The rank malice of the elite. It was a rampant disease in the social circles of the wealthy everywhere, it seemed. The more you had, the more you envied others. False friendships, backstabbing, and the maniacal joy of seeing a perceived rival brought low. This was the stuff of court life and the social classes that emulated it. She’d only met Lady Nithsdale once, but Grace knew the woman was the type to take great pleasure in circulating what she knew, as well as what she could invent.

“That summer, when the tongue-wagging was at its worst—up to that point, at least—Wynne wrote to me informing me that he wished to end our engagement.”

“The blackguard,” Grace snapped angrily. “Small, weak, and unworthy of you. Did anyone challenge him? The dog should have been shot.”

“My father was prepared to challenge him, and he would have. I know it. But Hugh beat him to it. He tracked Wynne to Vauxhall Gardens and slapped him publicly. They nearly fought it out right there, but Wynne’s friends intervened. Word came back to our house in Hanover Square that they would fight at dawn. I couldn’t let it happen. I couldn’t bear the thought of going through life having the blood of either of them on my hands and conscience.” Jo stabbed away at fresh tears. “I was like a madwoman. I begged my parents to stop it. I swore that if anything happened to Hugh, I’d take my own life.”

“Did they stop him?”

Jo’s eyes glazed as she relived the memory. “My mother tried, but to no avail. My father’s only regret was that Hugh was fighting this duel instead of him. I paced all night. I can’t describe the anguish I felt.”

Grace knew this was what wives and sisters and daughters went through the night before every battle. The abject fear for your loved ones. The cold dread that drains the life out of you.

“Just after dawn, word came back to us. They’d fought in Hyde Park. Hugh’s shot passed through Wynne’s right shoulder. I know my brother could have killed him. He can hit a mark dead-on at a full gallop. For me, he chose not to kill him. Even so, Wynne was carried off, bleeding badly, and they feared that he wouldn’t live out the day. But he did live.”

The noble, loving brother, Grace thought. He would not kill when anger and honor dictated it, but let his foe live. And only because he knew it would cause his sister more pain than she’d already endured.

“That was the end for me and Wynne. And it was the last time I ever allowed a suitor to approach,” Jo said, letting out a calming breath. “That debacle opened my eyes. It made me appreciate what the Pennington family truly means to me. I was never an adopted daughter to them, never treated any differently than the rest. The love and loyalty of my siblings and parents during that terrible time, and their devotion afterwards, allowed me to follow a path in life that has suited me. I needed no marriage, no love other than their love. I will be the committed daughter to my parents as they grow old, and the affectionate aunt to the children of my brothers and sisters. I am contented with that.”

To be at peace. After such a great disappointment, to find serenity and purpose in life. Whatever emotion Grace had been able to control broke free of its constraints, and tears came to her eyes. Jo saw them and she hugged Grace.

“I’m sorry,” Jo said when they finally drew apart. “I had no intention of dragging you through my own misery.”

“I wanted to know.” Grace wiped the wetness from her cheeks. “I don’t think healing happens until we confront the source of our pain.”

Jo reached for her hand again. “Hugh told me that when you go, you want to return to Antwerp. That you believe you could recover your memory there.”

This was Grace’s chance to speak.

“Don’t go yet,” Jo said. “Give it a little more time. If not for your health and time to gain more strength, do it for me and Hugh.”

“I thought a week would be—”

“I am asking this because of my brother,” Jo interrupted. “Because of the change I’m seeing in him. For the first time in eight long years, something is happening to him. You have no idea of the effect your presence has had on him. He might finally be healing.”

Jo’s words surprised her, stopping Grace from saying what she wanted to say. Questions burned on her tongue. Why eight years? What could have hurt him enough to have his sister worry so?

Conflicting desires twisted within her. She wanted to know more, and yet she wasn’t certain she could afford to allow her heart to be completely lost to this man. This was the road to heartbreak, and she didn’t know why she felt so compelled to follow it.

“No one speaks of it at Baronsford. No one mentions it anywhere—even those apostles of malice—for fear of his temper. But the clues surround us here. You might have seen them. Perhaps you even guessed that Hugh was married before and that he had a son.”

The basket of toys in the library.

“He lost both his wife and child eight years ago. And I’m not exaggerating when I say not a single day has passed that he hasn’t mourned their loss.”

“What happened to them?”

“It was during the war on the Peninsula. At the time, Hugh’s cavalry unit was covering the army’s retreat across Spain. Amelia took their son, Cameron, and went to Vigo. But camp fever was rampant. She and Cam caught it. They died while he was fighting the French at Corunna. He couldn’t reach them. By the time he did, they’d died a horrible death. He’s never been the same since.”

Recognition ripped at her insides. Her father’s regiment was at Corunna.

“He blames himself. He blames the French. To this day, I believe he searches for anyone or anything that he can hold accountable for what happened to his family.”

* * *

When you wrote to me in London, I thought you were sending me on a fool’s errand, but you were correct. Grace Ware is here at Baronsford. I have seen her with my own eyes.

She claims, as a result of the arduous crossing in the crate, to remember nothing of her past, and her hosts believe her. If this is true or if she is acting to protect herself, I cannot say, as yet. As the daughter of Colonel Ware, she is in a peculiar position. I will take immediate steps to determine the veracity of her “amnesia.”

I don’t know if she has the item we seek. If she does, she may not recognize its true value, or how to deliver it as her father planned.

Lord Greysteil appears quite protective, though he clearly does not know whom he is protecting or what she has carried into this country. Still, we should avoid direct confrontation with him.

Your men failed us in Antwerp, and this is our last chance. However we proceed, the next few days should be telling.

Come here directly. Allow for no delay. I shall assuredly need your assistance.

Yours, &c