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 The False Heir
THE SECRETS OF NEDWORTH HALL
BOOK FIVE

MERRY FARMER
 THE FALSE HEIR

Copyright ©2024 by Merry Farmer

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return to your digital retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events
or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill (who is completely fabulous)

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 Contents

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
About the Author
Acknowledgments
 Chapter One

NEDWORTH HALL, CAMBRIDGESHIRE – JULY, 1890

athan Clarke, Marquess of Theydon, had always found that business was best conducted in the early hours of the
N morning, especially if the business in question was that of revenge.
He’d always been an early riser, which had enabled him to more effectively manage the estates his late father had left
to him far too soon. Fortunately for him, effective management had also enabled him to discover that his neighbor, the one and
only Lord Carshalton, had been cheating his family and robbing them blind for years.
Nathan sat at the desk in the guestroom he’d been given at Nedworth Hall, finishing off a letter to the solicitor who had
been looking into the Theydon finances. He’d received a letter the day before that had uncovered yet another way that someone
—Nathan was convinced it was that bastard, Carshalton—had bilked him out of tens of thousands of pounds in railroad stock
shortly before he died.
“I will not stand for this anymore,” Nathan wrote in his conclusion to the instructions he’d given his solicitor. “Even from
beyond the grave, Carshalton has found ways to ruin me and my family. If you cannot find a legal means to right these
grievous wrongs, then I shall take matters into my own hands and exact revenge in a far more personal way.”
He signed the letter so vigorously that he splotched ink on the bottom of the page.
The mess made him sigh and shake his head as he reached for blotting paper, though. It wasn’t George Iverson’s fault that
the Theydon finances hung in a precarious balance. He shouldn’t have taken his frustration out on the young solicitor. The man
was extraordinarily talented and had done much for Nathan’s family.
No, it was Carshalton himself that deserved the bulk of his ire. And since the bastard lay moldering in his grave now, that
gave Nathan only one person on whom he could take revenge.
There was just one problem with his otherwise perfect scheme.
With a sigh, Nathan pushed himself up from the desk and marched over to one of the other windows, looking out on the first
light of dawn limning the horizon. Nedworth Hall was a beautiful setting for the house party he’d found himself invited to. The
invitation had come as a complete surprise. He knew Lord Cambourne somewhat from some of his wickeder associations in
London. He’d always found the Cambournes to be great fun and so unlike the stodgy, overly upright members of high society
his title usually saw him associating with.
He hadn’t expected to be invited to a matchmaking holiday in the country, though. Not when he had deliberately failed to
take part in the last few seasons, despite his mother’s insistence that he go out in the world and find a bride. Nathan had far too
many other things on his plate to even think about marrying. Even without participating in the season, he’d had young ladies
whose mamas wished them to be a marchioness showing up in his path every time he turned around.
He would have ignored the Cambourne’s invitation to spend the summer in Cambridgeshire entirely if he had not
discovered that Carshalton’s mysterious heir was rumored to have been invited as well.
Nathan paced away from the window, heading to his wardrobe to see what he might wear that day. Daniel, his valet, would
be arriving to dress him and take his morning correspondences to the post at any moment. Since, unlike him, Daniel was not a
natural morning lark, Nathan liked to have everything ready so that his servant and friend wouldn’t have to stretch himself too
thin before he was fully awake.
The smile that touched his lips while thinking about his friend hardened into something of a sneer as his thoughts about
Carshalton and the villain’s connection to the house party returned. Old touches of the fury that had gripped him when he’d
learned that Carshalton had a single heir, an illegitimate child he had got with some mysterious woman whose identity was a
closely guarded secret, and that this mysterious heir was the legal inheritor of hundreds of thousands of pounds, now consumed
him.
That inheritance, that money, should rightfully belong to the Clarke family and the Theydon title. Carshalton’s wealth was
as false as could be. It was his right and his inheritance, not some mysterious bastard child’s.
Ironically, the fact that nearly all the rumors suggested that Carshalton’s heir was a woman had not only given Nathan a
reason to attend the mad house party, it had inspired him with an idea to exact his revenge in the sweetest way possible. He
would find the woman, marry her, and take back his fortune from her in the process, whether he cared for the woman or not.
Of course, therein lay the problem he hadn’t expected.
A quiet knock on the door pulled Nathan momentarily from his thoughts, and he turned in time to see Daniel slip into the
room.
“Good morning, my lord,” Daniel said in a fuzzy voice, then yawned before he could stop himself.
“Are you certain it’s morning?” Nathan asked with a laugh, heading over to his dressing table.
“No, I’m not,” Daniel replied with a sheepish smile, finishing his yawn.
Nathan smiled and poured a cup of black coffee from the pot waiting on the table. Wherever he went on holiday, he always
insisted that he have the tools for making his own coffee provided for him. Few people realized that they weren’t for his own
enjoyment, but so that he could provide his valet with what he needed to wake up in the mornings.
“Have you discovered anything new in our quest?” Nathan asked as he handed the steaming cup to Daniel.
Daniel smiled gratefully and took a long gulp of the bitter brew. “Not as such, my lord,” he said. “If Miss Benning is
Carshalton’s heir, then you’ve lost your chance with her. I know that much. She’s spent the night in Lord Bygrave’s room, of that
I’m certain.”
Nathan answered with a stern hum. Miss Benning had emerged as the favorite to be Carshalton’s heir in the last week or so,
but he still had his doubts. Besides which, Dante Dixon, Viscount Bygrave, and he had become good friends, and even if Miss
Benning were the heir, Dante was in love with her. Nathan simply did not have it in him to steal the woman away from a friend.
Fortunately, he wasn’t convinced Miss Benning was anything more than the daughter of an industrialist. Right from the start,
within the first fortnight of the party, his money had been on the strange and eccentric Lady Yvette Mortimer to be Carshalton’s
heir.
Lady Yvette had captured Nathan’s attention in more ways than one from the first day of the house party. She was beautiful,
for one. She had a regal bearing and patrician manners…that would vanish in an instant if she found herself in a position to
truly enjoy herself. Her father, Lord Sutton, was an earl with a vile but lofty reputation. He could be a valuable ally to have,
since his power extended throughout London and beyond.
But what was most curious about Lady Yvette was that, despite the way she insisted she be addressed as an unmarried
woman, she was, in fact, a widow. She had been married for two years to Henry Mortimer, Baron Furness, a man more than
twice her age and then some, who had been friends with her father.
The marriage was a subject of much speculation and gossip, since the pair had been such an obvious mismatch. It was
rumored that Lord Sutton was blindly furious about the marriage and hadn’t spoken a word either to his former friend or his
daughter since the night Lady Yvette disappeared from his house and showed up married to Furness a fortnight later. Then
Furness had died, and rather than styling herself the Dowager Baroness Furness, as she had a right to do, she’d reverted to
calling herself Lady Yvette.
Something was definitely off about that entire situation. It was just one of the curiosities about Lady Yvette that drew
Nathan in. Lady Yvette was a mystery in and of herself, with or without the connection to Carshalton.
“The closest I have been able to come to discovering new information about Lady Yvette is that her parents were on
holiday in Brighton roughly nine months before her birth,” Daniel said once he’d had a few swallows of coffee. “Lord
Carshalton was also in Brighton that summer, but I have yet to discover whether they were in residence at the same time or if
their paths crossed. Lord Carshalton was not in the habit of holidaying in Brighton, though. Something particular must have
drawn him there.”
 Like a secret, married lover, Nathan thought to himself, rubbing his chin and nodding. His investigations had uncovered that
Lady Sutton and Lord Carshalton were acquainted, but that was the closest he’d come to⁠—
A shout from the hallway broke his thoughts, and both he and Daniel turned toward the door. The shout resounded again and
formed into a more distinct, “She’s gone! She’s vanished! Help! Miss Benning has been kidnapped!”
Nathan exchanged a wide-eyed look with Daniel. A kidnapping? That was something they hadn’t experienced at the house
party as of yet.
“What the devil is going on in this house?” Nathan asked, untying his robe and striding over to where he’d laid his clothing
out on the bed. “Quick, Daniel. Help me dress so that we can see what’s happening.”
“Yes, my lord.” Daniel downed the last of his coffee, then set the mug aside and rushed to help Nathan.
It didn’t take long for Nathan to change out of his nightclothes and into the light, summer suit he’d chosen for himself. He
paused to wash himself quickly, using the wash basin and sponge provided with his room, then Daniel helped him into his
clothes. All the while, they could hear some sort of commotion growing in the hallway.
By the time he was dressed and groomed enough to be seen in public, he dashed out of his room, Daniel on his heels. The
commotion had developed into a full-blown scene at the top of the grand staircase connecting two of Nedworth Hall’s wings
and leading down into the magnificent front hall.
The first thing Nathan noticed was that Miss Benning had, in fact, not been kidnapped. She was right there, in her dressing
gown and slippers, her hair loose and disheveled, Dante and Damien Dixon both hovering near her in their dressing gowns as
she had some sort of confrontation with Nedworth Hall’s cook.
“Mrs. Seymour? Is it true? Are you…my mother?” Miss Benning asked.
Nathan’s eyes went wide, and he turned once again to Daniel to see what his friend thought.
“I’m afraid I am, miss,” Mrs. Seymour answered.
It was perhaps the wrong reaction to have in the face of such a pivotal moment in Miss Benning’s life, but as soon as Mrs.
Seymour confirmed Carshalton was not the lady’s father, Nathan wanted to shout in victory that he had known it all along.
The heartfelt scene of reunion continued, but Nathan’s attention was drawn away from it as he spotted Lady Yvette stepping
cautiously forward from the other hallway, a look of excitement in her eyes that bordered on panic.
Worry immediately struck Nathan’s heart, and as much as he tried to tell himself that Carshalton’s heir didn’t deserve his
worry or his pity, his heart insisted it knew better. Regardless of her suspected parentage, Lady Yvette was a woman who had
captivated him. He’d gone on several walks alone with her, had danced with her more than he should have, and escorted her
into supper when he should have asked other ladies. It had been easy to tell himself that it was all part of his plan for revenge,
but the manic brightness of Lady Yvette’s eyes as she watched Miss Benning and Dante declare their love for each other and
their intention to marry made Nathan feel like he needed to do something to protect and shelter her.
And then Lady Yvette startled everyone with the announcement he’d been waiting weeks to hear.
“But then, who is Lord Carshalton’s heir?” Lady Angeline asked once it was definitively determined that Miss Benning
was not.
Nathan caught his breath as Lady Yvette stepped into the center of everyone’s attention, her hands gripped tightly over her
stomach.
“I suppose the time has come to reveal all,” she said, standing taller. She was trembling so subtly that Nathan didn’t think
most people would notice, and her voice had a high, terrified quality as she said, “I am Lord Carshalton’s heir.”
Complete silence followed. More than half the guests of the house party had gathered in the hall as the early morning
sunlight streamed in through the windows. Every one of them gaped at Lady Yvette like they couldn’t believe the mystery had
finally been solved.
Nathan couldn’t believe it either. He couldn’t believe he’d been right.
He quite literally could not believe it. Against all of his investigations and questioning, doubt rushed through him, spurred
by the look of panic in Lady Yvette’s face.
And then Lady Eleanor burst out with, “What a load of absolute bollocks!”
That was precisely the sort of exclamation that was needed to pop the stunned silence, like someone stabbing a knife into a
rubber ball.
“It makes perfect sense,” Miss Pennypacker said, breaking into a smile. “We should have known all along.”
“Did you know all along?” Lady Angeline asked, blinking rapidly at Lady Yvette.
“I—” Lady Yvette’s hands tightened on her stomach.
“This is preposterous,” Lady Eleanor huffed. She forcefully grabbed a shawl from the hands of her lady’s maid, Miss
Silverstone, bumping Miss Silverstone so that she teetered backwards and would have fallen down the grand staircase, had the
Duke of Foxley not been there to catch her. “You are not Lord Carshalton’s heir, you lying shrew!”
“I beg your pardon?” Lady Yvette gasped. Her face was pink with excitement, and her eyes almost glassy with…fear.
Nathan frowned as he moved forward. Something was terribly, terribly wrong, and every one of his instincts as a gentleman
told him to rise up and defend the woman that had become the center of his attention.
 “Lady Eleanor,” he said as he intercepted the short, feral woman before she could reach Lady Yvette and do her actual
harm. “You would do well to control yourself. You are in public, after all.”
That stopped Lady Eleanor from launching herself at Lady Yvette, but that wasn’t saying much.
“You cannot tell me that you believe this lying harridan, sir,” she snapped at Nathan.
Nathan pressed his lips together and blew out a breath through his nose. He glanced to Lady Yvette, his mind scrambling to
know what to do.
He did believe she was Lord Carshalton’s heir. He’d thought so from the start. That was why he’d wooed her and spent so
much of his time with her. Lady Yvette had the same sort of nose as Carshalton and the same height. She’s spent the last few
weeks teasing and flirting with him.
He did believe her…didn’t he?
Something definitely wasn’t adding up, despite his previous certainties. Lady Yvette was too terrified of everything she’d
just confessed.
“Of course I believe her,” Nathan said, shifting to stand by Lady Yvette’s side. “In fact, I’ve thought that Lady Yvette was
Lord Carshalton’s heir from the very start.”
He reached for Lady Yvette’s hand, hoping both to comfort her and to secure his place in her favor in her time of trouble.
As he did, he turned and met her eyes.
Lady Yvette smiled at him in a way that might make anyone witnessing the exchange think she was confident and proud to
announce her heritage at last, but Nathan saw more than met the eye. He saw the tight rise and fall of Lady Yvette’s chest in her
dressing gown, felt the trembling in her hand as he held it. He saw how close Lady Yvette was to tears and how desperate she
was.
“I cannot believe that any of you would believe a word that comes out of that woman’s mouth,” Lady Eleanor said,
scowling in frustration as she turned to look at the other house party guests. “Have none of you noticed that she is a shameless
liar and a brazen hussy? Why, the way she has carried on with Lord Theydon all these weeks alone should convince you not to
believe a word that comes out of her mouth.”
“Lady Yvette has never behaved inappropriately with me,” Nathan said.
It was the truth, but to his surprise, his statement was met with looks of shock and disbelief by Lady Yvette’s closest
friends. It was almost as if they had all taken for granted that the two of them had behaved wickedly, like so many of the other
couples at the party had done.
The phantom itching at the back of Nathan’s neck that said something strange was going on grew even more pronounced.
“Perhaps we should postpone this scene until we are all dressed and have had breakfast,” Lady Cambourne said, stepping
into the center of attention. She, too, glanced at Lady Yvette oddly, giving Nathan the sense that she knew far more than she was
letting on. “We will all have clearer heads after a cup of tea.”
“I agree,” Foxley said from the far edge of the assembly, still standing close to Miss Silverstone, like there was a chance he
might still need to save her from falling down the stairs. “It would be better to hear the final chapter of this story and learn
more about Lady Yvette’s revelation once we are all presentable.”
“I cannot believe you are even entertaining this,” Lady Eleanor said, a different sort of desperation in her words as she
marched closer to Foxley, pushing a few of the other guests out of her way. “Surely, you must know how false and wicked Lady
Yvette is. Every word that has come out of that woman’s mouth since she’s arrived here has been a lie.”
“Lady Eleanor, I urge you to employ calm and forbearance in this matter,” Foxley said, like he was trying to quell a storm.
“I…I think I am going to be sick,” Lady Yvette whispered by Nathan’s side.
That was all Nathan needed to hear. He didn’t even need to see the increase in panic in Lady Yvette’s eyes.
“Don’t worry,” he told her. “I have you.”
The smile Lady Yvette gave him was watery, like she was about to burst into tears.
Nathan was confused and alarmed. His plan for revenge against Carshalton seemed closer to fruition than ever, but even
still, he could not see Lady Yvette cry.
“I am returning Lady Yvette to her room so that she might rest and prepare herself for all of your well-wishes, now that the
truth is revealed,” he said, shifting to rest a hand on the small of her back. “We will see you downstairs at breakfast.”
He turned to walk Lady Yvette back down the hall, praying that he would get to the bottom of things and he could secure his
place with her before they had to face the rest of the house party.
 Chapter Two

vette’s heart beat so fast that, if not for Lord Theydon holding her arm as he escorted her back to her guestroom, she
Y feared she would swoon and fall over. Heaven only knew what the crowd of her friends, enemies, and others at the house
party would think if they saw her faint dead away.
She could tell them that she was ill, that she had consumption or some other dire illness that would gain their sympathy. It
wouldn’t have been the first time that she used consumption as an excuse. Or she could hint to her friends that she was with
child, which was why Lady Cambourne had invited her to the house party—to find a husband before it was too late.
That would never work, though, Lady Cambourne knew the truth.
Yvette’s stomach twisted into tighter knots as she and Lord Theydon reached her guestroom door. Lady Cambourne knew
the truth.
“Thank you so much for rescuing me,” Yvette said to Lord Theydon as they stopped in front of her door. “You are my
gallant hero, and I shall forever be in your debt.”
She smiled and flirted, batting her eyelashes and pretending that all was right with the world, now that she was out of the
center of attention.
Lord Theydon’s concerned expression didn’t budge.
“You would tell me if you were in serious trouble, wouldn’t you, Lady Yvette?” he asked with too much knowing in his
eyes.
Yvette scrambled for a way to distract him from what would surely turn into a line of questioning that she wasn’t prepared
for. “You’ve no need to address me so formally, Nathan,” she said, straightening his tie and resting her hands on the lapels of
his jacket. He was one of the few people who had been fully dressed at the scene that had just happened.
When Lord Theydon didn’t immediately reply to her overly informal gambit, she glanced heatedly up at him, her head still
tilted down so she could flutter her lashes coquettishly.
Lord Theydon’s concerned expression remained unmoved.
Yvette’s heart pounded harder. She was losing the battle for control of the situation. It felt as though she were grasping at
the frayed edges of her gown while someone pulled the threads, unraveling the whole thing. Any second now and she would be
fully exposed, and with that would come disaster and doom.
“I wish you would tell me what is wrong,” Lord Theydon said in a near whisper, leaning closer to her. “I wish you would
let me help you.”
 Yvette’s throat squeezed, and tears stung at her eyes. It would be so easy to break down and tell Lord Theydon everything,
every horror and danger she was fighting so desperately to escape from. But if she did tell him, then she would have to confess
to the lies. And if he knew how many lies there were, he wouldn’t want anything to do with her.
Because Lady Eleanor, as odious as she was, was right. Yvette had been lying nearly constantly about more or less
everything since the moment she set foot on the estate of Nedworth Hall.
She needed time. If she could just buy herself a little bit of time, she could concoct a new story that everyone would
believe, and perhaps then she would be safe.
“I should retire to my room,” she said, glancing at the door behind her. “My maid, Lily, will be worried.”
“Your maid?” Lord Theydon asked, his brow furrowed slightly.
“Yes, she’s terribly shy, poor thing,” Yvette said, inventing the story on the spot. “She’s an escaped slave from the orient,
where she was held prisoner in the palace of her father’s worst enemy,” she whispered. “I could not refuse her plea when she
came to me, looking for help. She wishes to stay away from anyone of noble blood, though, seeing as those were the men who
wronged her.”
Lord Theydon stared at her for so long that Yvette found it hard to catch her breath.
At last, he said, “I see,” then took a step back from her. “Would you meet me in the blue parlor once you’re dressed?” he
asked. “Before breakfast?”
“I would be happy to,” Yvette said, back to her winning smile. “I won’t be but half an hour.”
With that, before Lord Theydon could say or do anything else, she pulled open her door, slipped into her room, and shut the
door behind her.
Then she fell back against the door, covered her face, and burst into tears.
How could she have let things get so desperately out of control? Nedworth Hall was supposed to be her salvation and her
safety. She’d intended to enjoy the house party, safe and secret in the country, miles away from her father and Lord Philmont.
Lady Cambourne had assured her that she would have more than a dozen eligible, discreet gentlemen who would not mind the
peculiarities of her past and who would be glad to marry her and provide the sort of safe haven her dear Henry had attempted
to give her.
Yvette had been so certain she’d found a protector in Lord Theydon, but the way he’d looked at her just now, the way he’d
begun to ask questions, made her deeply uncertain.
She pushed away from the door and went to her washstand to splash cool water on her face in an attempt to stop her
panicked weeping. She wasn’t certain it would help, but she had to do something. Then, seeing as there was no Lily and likely
never would be, she set about removing her nightclothes, washing, and dressing herself, as she’d done for the past two years,
since making her escape from Henry’s house.
If there was one thing Yvette prided herself on in the shambles that had become of her life, it was the way she’d learned to
fend for herself in nearly any situation. She had cared for herself, fed herself, and even sewn or repaired her own clothing
when needed in the last years, while hiding in London. She’d gone an entire year without her father knowing precisely where
she lived.
Currently, the greatest threat came from Lord Philmont. Her dark pursuer had written to her several times a week, sent the
letters to her solicitor in London, who had delivered them to Nedworth Hall with the rest of her post. It was only a matter of
time before Lord Philmont realized her letters were being forwarded and followed that trail to find her. She’d managed to put
him off locating her with a combination of lies sprinkled amongst her old acquaintances in London.
Lies. It always came back to the lies. But lies had saved her life on more than one occasion and kept her from utter ruin.
Lies had stopped her father’s constant abuse several times, though they had caused it to double at others, and they had enabled
her to escape an unspeakably horrific situation.
The trouble was, once she’d started lying, she hadn’t been able to stop. Not once she’d seen that she could create whatever
life and situation for herself that she wanted to believe was true simply by uttering a few, creative falsehoods.
And who knew? Perhaps she truly was Lord Carshalton’s heir. Her mother had had nothing but contempt for her father until
the day she died. Yvette had always suspected her mother had lovers. Why couldn’t one of them be Lord Carshalton?
She winced at herself in the mirror as she finished dressing her own hair in preparation for going downstairs to meet with
Lord Theydon. Oh, how she wished she was Lord Carshalton’s heir! If she was, then it meant she wasn’t Lord Sutton’s
daughter. The thought of being eternally free of all connection to that horrible man nearly had her bursting into tears again as
she placed the last hairpin.
“No,” she told her reflection, straightening and drawing in a calming breath. “He can have no more power over me, and
neither can his cronies. Henry saved me, and I shall continue to be saved, for his sake.”
She squared her shoulders, tilted her head up, and thought about some of the heroic statues of Greek goddesses she’d seen
at the National Museum. She would face this trial as she’d faced her escape from home and her grief at Henry’s sudden
passing. She would be strong and rescue herself.
All of that resolve felt like it would melt away to nothing by the time she walked through the doorway to the blue parlor,
only to find Lord Theydon standing by the window, gazing out at something on the lawn. He would be so angry with her when
he learned the truth. He would put her aside, or worse, reveal everything to her friends and doom her.
“My, Lord Theydon,” she said with heapings of false cheer as she walked the rest of the way into the room and over to him.
“Aren’t you looking dashing this morning.”
Lord Theydon turned away from the window and smiled at her with that sly, assessing grin he’d worn every time the two of
them had been alone for the last several weeks. “I could say the same about you, Lady Yvette,” he said, stepping away from the
window and approaching her.
Yvette caught her breath, allowing herself to feel the stir of desire that she felt every time she and Lord Theydon had played
this way. Everything would be so much easier if she could just allow herself to be a wanton in reality, the way she’d lied to her
friends by telling them she was. If she could summon the courage to seduce Lord Theydon, perhaps he’d marry her straight
away, and she wouldn’t have to worry about the fate her father had decided for her.
“I feel beautiful today,” Yvette lied, tilting her head down, then gazing up at him sweetly. “My secrets have all been
revealed now, and all that is left is to face the music.”
“Have they all been revealed?” Lord Theydon asked, his voice a deep, masculine purr. He walked closer to her, then
around her in a circle, like he was a lion assessing his prey.
It was all a lovely game, one she had enjoyed playing at the party so far. But underneath the teasing and flirting, Lord
Theydon was deadly serious. So serious that Yvette’s stomach turned and her hands would have trembled if she hadn’t kept
them pressed firmly to her chest.
“I think you have more secrets,” Lord Theydon said, stopping in front of her. His expression turned sympathetic and a bit
worried. “I do wish you would tell me what they are so that I could do something about them.”
Yvette wanted to sigh and flop into the nearest chair with exhaustion. The half hour since they’d spoken in the upstairs
hallway hadn’t been enough for him to drop his suspicions about her. It was likely that he would never drop those suspicions
now.
She had to think fast and come up with a way to deflect from the truth while still coaxing him into making a life-saving
proposal.
“You are right, my lord,” she said, lowering her head, clasping her hands in front of her, and doing her utmost to look
penitent. “I have so much that I need to confess. I only hope that you will be able to forgive me for withholding the truth from
you.”
“The truth that you are Lord Carshalton’s heir?” Lord Theydon asked. He gestured for her to walk with him to a settee near
the window.
“Yes,” she said, sinking as gracefully as she could into the chair. “It is true. I have known from the beginning, but I have
kept my true identity a secret.”
Lord Theydon sat with her, and when she glanced up at him with a mournful look, he was staring at her with such scrutiny
that her victim’s mask dropped.
“I’ve suspected you were Carshalton’s heir from the start,” he said. She didn’t think it was a lie, but his face pinched in an
odd way as he spoke. “I might wish that you had told be before, but now that the truth is out, I hope that you will explain.”
“I must,” Yvette said, grasping to take control of the situation once more. “You see, the truth is that, while I have always
known that I am a foundling child, I only just discovered from the milkmaid who bore me that Lord Carshalton was my sire.”
Lord Theydon’s brow furrowed. “Is that so?”
She didn’t think he believed her, but she’d already begun the story, so she had to go on.
“Yes,” she said. “For you see, I have always felt in my heart that I couldn’t possibly be the daughter of my father and
mother.” That much was the truth, at least. “My poor mother, Lady Sutton, that is, died five years ago. In his grief, my father
locked her room and vowed that no one should ever open it until he, too, was in his grave.
“But I could not wait. I suspected foul play, and so one night, about a year ago, I picked the lock on her door and
discovered the horrible truth,” she said, spinning the story she wished were true. “It turns out that my father murdered my
mother. Or rather Lord Sutton murdered Lady Sutton. She left a note written in her own blood that was hidden under her pillow
all these years, since she expired of what everyone believed to be a fever. And in that note, she named the woman who was my
true mother.”
“A milkmaid,” Lord Theydon said.
Yvette’s gut twisted. His tone was flat, like he didn’t believe her.
But of course he wouldn’t believe her. That story was preposterous. If her father had killed her mother, there would have
been an investigation and he would have been brought to justice.
Even though he’d managed to avoid justice for a great many things for a very long time.
Yvette sighed and let her shoulders slump.
“I suppose you’ve figured out that that story isn’t true,” she said, threading her fingers together and peeking up at Lord
Theydon. “It would make a wonderful tale, though.”
 “It would,” Lord Theydon said hesitantly. “But I do so wish you would tell me the actual truth.”
He reached across and took her hand, prying it away from her other one. His frown held so much concern and pity, but
Yvette wasn’t sure she wanted to be pitied. At least, not by Lord Theydon. He was handsome and intelligent. They truly had
been having the most marvelous time together at Nedworth Hall. If she had to give herself away to any man and put her trust in
someone other than Henry, she felt as if it could be him.
“Do you want the actual truth, then?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“Yes, of course,” he said softly, though there was a certain impatience and sharpness in his eyes.
Yvette bit her lip and considered confessing all. A few words. She would only need to confess a few words and share her
shame and hurt, and maybe he could make it all better.
Or maybe he would see her as weak and pathetic, like her father had insisted she was every day, from the time she
understood words until the night Henry helped her to escape.
“The truth is that my mother had an affair,” she lied with a shrug. Although it could be the truth, for all she knew. “It isn’t
very interesting, but there it is. My father hates me because of it and always has.” That, too, had more of the truth than a lie to it.
“So you are Lord Carshalton’s heir,” Lord Theydon stated, rather than asking.
Something about the way he narrowed his eyes and fumed with something dark had Yvette’s heart pounding all over again.
Did he know she was lying? Did he know the full truth? Perhaps he knew who the true heir was. Perhaps it was him.
“I…I….” Yvette bit her lip. It would be so easy to confess, but the cost might be too high for her to pay. “I can’t….”
A surprise sob escaped from Yvette’s lips before she knew it was about to happen. She gasped at the sound and clapped
her free hand to her mouth.
“Yvette,” Lord Theydon said, scooting closer to her, as if he wanted to take her into his arms. “Something is desperately
wrong, I can tell. Won’t you tell me, please? I would like to think that we have become friends.”
“I…I would like us to be friends,” she squeaked out. That wasn’t a lie either.
“Then tell me,” he said. He rested a hand on the side of her face and tilted it up so she could see his worried smile. “Just
spit it out, and we’ll face the consequences together.”
Yvette caught her breath. We’ll face the consequences together. That was what Henry had told her after that wretched day,
when he’d vowed to keep her safe from her father for as long as he could.
She’d risked everything and trusted Henry that night, and he hadn’t disappointed her. Society had scoffed, and every friend
she’d ever had abandoned her for marrying someone they saw as a decrepit old man. She’d been called a fortune hunter and an
opportunist, right up until it was discovered all of Henry’s money had vanished or was tied up in the courts.
She might just be able to trust Lord Theydon, too.
She drew in a deep breath and looked into Lord Theydon’s eyes with more seriousness than she had dared to since they’d
met. “I trust you, Lord Theydon,” she began.
“Nathan, please,” he said. “I am your friend, so you should call me Nathan.”
“Nathan,” Yvette said, smiling but blinking back tears. “The truth is⁠—”
“There you are.”
Yvette started so hard that it caused her to cough as Lady Patience, Lady Angeline, and Miss Pennypacker walked into the
room. She let go of Nathan’s hands and shot to her feet, as though being caught alone with a man would cause her father to
suddenly appear with his switch, ready to punish her as he had repeatedly in the past.
“Breakfast has been laid out, and Lady Cambourne is anxious for everyone to eat it before all of Mrs. Seymour’s work goes
to waste,” Miss Pennypacker said.
“Mrs. Seymour has had quite a morning, so we should not disappoint her,” Lady Angeline said.
“No, we should not,” Yvette said, putting on the most radiant smile she could muster and leaving Nathan for her friends.
“The very last thing I want on a day such as this is to be a disappointment.”
Her friends laughed. “Now that we know you are Lord Carshalton’s heir, I don’t think you could ever be a disappointment,”
Lady Patience said.
“Don’t tell Lady Eleanor you said that,” Miss Pennypacker said.
As soon as she was in the circle of her friends, Yvette glanced back over her shoulder to Nathan. He had risen to his feet
and now studied Yvette with the look of an investigator determined to get to the bottom of a deep mystery. Yvette laughed along
with her friends and let them take her out of the room, but without even trying, she pleaded with Nathan with her eyes for him to
help her.
If only she knew what kind of help he could give that would save her from the mess she’d made for herself.
 Chapter Three

athan was certain he’d been within moments of discovering the truth. Yvette had told a fascinating tale, but from the start,
N he’d suspected it was a glorious concoction and not the truth.
Rather than becoming frustrated with Yvette’s prevarications and unwillingness to confess all and explain how she
was Carshalton’s heir, or whether she was, Nathan had been drawn more and more to her. There was something about Yvette
that called to him and made him want to put aside his motivations for revenge so that he could take up a different cause, that of
Yvette’s hero. Those shoes were much more comfortable to him than the ones that required him to be a villain who intended
harm.
And really, his intention to marry her for mercenary reasons had been dying as his genuine fondness for her had grown.
The entire house party was in a tizzy about Yvette’s revelation as the heir. Her friends had whisked her away from Nathan
to sit with them at breakfast and tell them the entire story of her life. Nearly everyone at the breakfast table had listened intently
as Yvette had told them a version of what she’d told him.
It still didn’t ring true. At least, not to Nathan. The others seemed more than happy to embrace the whole, wild tale of
discovering a letter amongst her late mother’s things that revealed all. Nathan noted that she left out the bit about her father
murdering her mother and her mother’s room being locked for years. That was a sure sign of someone who was used to lying
and knew how to adjust a lie to suit her audience.
Perhaps Lady Eleanor was right about Yvette after all. She was the only one who didn’t partake in the celebrations around
Yvette that day. She claimed she had a headache instead and retired to her room with only poor Miss Silverstone for company.
Nathan suspected Lady Eleanor had actually retired so that she could write reams of correspondence to people she
believed could prove that Yvette was not Carshalton’s heir. He spotted Miss Silverstone handing a stack of letters over to
Stanhope, Nedworth Hall’s butler, late in the afternoon to be posted.
Nathan considered sending letters off in an effort to discover the truth himself. Carshalton was his family’s neighbor. Surely
someone at home would remember if the bastard had entertained Lady Sutton at any point roughly twenty-five years ago. But
there were other people who could answer his questions before he took those measures.
“It’s an amazing thing,” Arden Covington said midway through the next morning, when the gentlemen stood together, minus
the Duke of Foxley, near the outdoor shooting gallery that Lord Cambourne had had set up for them all to practice before a
suggested hunt. “Of course, we all knew that Carshalton’s heir was under our nose the entire time, but for Lady Yvette to turn
out to be that heir, and with such a fascinating story behind her origins, has truly made this party the best I’ve ever been to.”
 “We haven’t had a dull moment since we arrived,” Lord Rothbury agreed, though Nathan rather thought that he wasn’t as
happy to have his summer so full of excitement. Especially when he’d met his fiancée early on and just wished to pass a lovely
holiday with her in a place where no one would mind them anticipating their vows.
“Theydon is the lucky one this summer, it would seem,” Dante said, studying the pistol he’d selected from the table Lord
Cambourne had provided for them. “He caught Lady Yvette’s eye right from the start.”
“That is because I arrived on the scene late,” Dante’s twin brother, Damien, said with a teasing wink.
“Not that you would have known what to do with Lady Yvette even if you had been here,” Dante teased him in return.
“I know very well what to do with a woman,” Damien protested, looking affronted. He then broke into a smile and said,
“It’s all a matter of whether I wish to do that or not.”
Nathan stared at the brothers, then shook his head slightly. He’d known all about Damien Dixon, of course. Most gentlemen
of their caliber did. But it astounded Nathan that the wicked young man would behave so openly and make no secret of his
preferences. Then again, Nedworth Hall was a safe haven for every sort of secret and had been since the start.
Which was why Yvette’s revelations had been accepted so openly, he supposed.
“Have you sent for a solicitor to confirm Lady Yvette’s story?” Lord Rothbury asked Lord Cambourne as he handed the
pistol he’d chosen over to Jack, one of the footmen who had come along as a loader.
“Yes,” Covington said, loading his own pistol. “That would be the thing to do. Send for a solicitor, confirm Lady Yvette’s
identity, and then we shall all celebrate her upcoming nuptials with Theydon here.”
The gentlemen laughed, and Dante, who was closest to Nathan, thumped his shoulder.
Nathan’s eyes were trained on Lord Cambourne, though. The man hadn’t joined in with the celebration of the revelation.
Not then and not the day before.
“I think it best to delay sending for the solicitor for now,” Lord Cambourne said. “But I have a prize for the winner of this
contest, a silver snuff box filled with the finest tobacco from the southern islands.”
The gentlemen vocalized their excitement over the prize and the shooting match commenced.
Nathan saw Lord Cambourne’s diversion for what it was, though. Lord Cambourne didn’t want to involve a solicitor in
Lady Yvette’s revelation because he knew she was lying. The Cambournes knew who Carshalton’s heir was. Their reticence to
reveal the truth to him had vexed Nathan to no end, but they’d insisted he would have his day eventually.
Now Nathan was beginning to wonder what day that was, exactly, and when it would come.
He stayed to watch the shooting match for a while, but it wasn’t his sort of entertainment. He wandered off after the first
round of shots and went in search of Yvette.
The ladies of the house party were busy with some sort of hat decorating activity on the patio near the house at the center of
the garden when he wandered back that way, but Yvette wasn’t among them. Fortunately, Lady Cambourne was able to direct
him to the walking path that wound down to the river, saying that Yvette had gone off by herself not half an hour before, and that
she likely needed company.
Nathan took that as a sign that Lady Cambourne wished him to know more about Yvette and possibly to help her. He set off
toward the river at once, and was in luck when he found Yvette sitting on an old, stone bench near a boathouse, tossing small
stones into the water.
Yvette’s posture was slumped and defeated. It was worlds away from the strong, confident way she presented herself to the
others. That confident persona had inspired him to woo her and win her as a way of revenging himself on Carshalton. He had to
admit that he’d been too aggressive with her and too cheeky in his determination to get what he’d wanted.
Now, however, all he saw was a woman with an even deeper mystery than the identity of her sire and a need for a
champion.
“Yvette,” he called gently as he approached so that he wouldn’t startle her.
He startled her anyhow. Yvette jumped as if someone had fired one of the practice pistols by her ear and whipped to face
him.
As soon as she saw Nathan approaching, she let out a heavy breath and her shoulders sagged again.
That reaction was momentary, however. The next moment, she straightened and stood, greeting Nathan with a wide,
winning smile.
“Lord Theydon,” she said. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“No need for formality,” Nathan said, waving for her to sit again as he came around the bench to join her. “I give you leave
to call me by my given name.”
“Nathan, then,” she said, all smiles and warm manner as they sat, side by side. “Are you out enjoying the beautiful
Cambridgeshire sunshine instead of shooting with your noisy friends?”
Nathan laughed at her characterization. The ease between them was a good place for him to start the conversation. Or
rather, to pick it up where they’d left off the morning before.
He jumped right into things. “Several of the gentlemen were calling for Lord Cambourne to send for a solicitor to confirm
your claims to be Carshalton’s heir,” he said.
 As expected, Yvette blanched, and for a moment, her eyes swam with panic.
She recovered quickly, however, and persisted in her story.
“I would welcome that with open arms,” she said, the slight tremor in her voice contradicting her. “It would be such bliss
to settle things. Then I could go on and….”
She didn’t finish. More than that, she sagged deeper, worrying her hands together.
Nathan reached for one of her hands and held it in both of his.
“Yvette, won’t you tell me what’s really going on?” he asked in a soft, tender voice.
“I have no idea what you mean,” Yvette said, her voice shaking even more.
Nathan blew a breath out through his nose and concentrated on stroking Yvette’s gloved hand for a moment. He had no idea
how to break through whatever worry was keeping Yvette from trusting him. In his heart, he knew she needed him. Now that
revenge was not his primary aim in pursuing her, he allowed himself an entirely different approach to winning her over.
“I have a secret too, you know,” he said, hoping his truth would spur her into revealing hers.
Yvette’s brow went up, and she straightened as she turned to him. “You do?” she asked.
“Yes,” Nathan confessed. “I haven’t told anyone my true reason for attending this house party.”
“It is to find a wife, is it not?” she asked. Her expression flitted through at least half a dozen emotions, from eagerness to
sorrow, all of them baffling Nathan, before she pulled her hand away from his.
“Only secondarily,” Nathan said. He shifted, looking at her hands as if he’d like to take them back, then glanced up to meet
her eyes again. “Are you aware that my family’s country estate bordered that of Lord Carshalton’s?”
Yvette blinked and sucked in a breath. For a moment, she was fearful before schooling her expression into curiosity. “No, I
did not know that.”
“It’s true,” Nathan said with a nod. “And I hate to say it, but relations between that gentleman and my family have never
been good.”
He contemplated delving into the details of stolen tenants, crooked land deals, and numerous lawsuits, but decided they
were irrelevant to his mission. Instead, he continued with, “Carshalton wronged me and my family in numerous ways, causing
financial harm. This grand fortune that so many people are after, the one that was left to Carshalton’s mysterious heir, is made
up in great part of money stolen from my family.” He deliberately did not identify Yvette as the heir in question.
“That’s horrible,” Yvette said, pressing a hand to her stomach.
“It is,” Nathan agreed. “I came here with the intention of discovering the heir’s identity and marrying the woman as a way
to have the last laugh at Carshalton’s expense. It was to claim the money that should have always been mine, whether he tried to
keep it from us or not.”
“Oh, I see,” Yvette said, sinking again and glancing out at the water.
If Nathan wasn’t mistaken, the emotion blanketing her now was disappointment. But was she disappointed because she
wasn’t the heir and therefore wouldn’t be the center of his attention anymore, or because she was the heir, but he didn’t want
her for her own sake.
“None of that matters to me anymore,” he said, shifting so that he could rest a hand on her soft cheek and turn her to face
him. “I am no longer motivated by revenge. Now all I want is to be yours and to help you battle whatever demon has caused
you to—” He stopped, uncertain whether he could come right out and tell her she was lying about her sire. He still wasn’t
completely certain what was going on.
“Nathan, you are too kind,” she said, shifting to face him more fully. “But I cannot⁠—”
He stopped her protest by leaning in and touching his lips lightly to hers. Yvette gasped and gripped his thigh, but she didn’t
push him away or pull away herself.
Encouraged, Nathan grasped her face with both hands and deepened their kiss. He’d wanted to kiss her so desperately from
the first moment he’d heard her laugh. Whatever the truth, however much she’d lied to everyone, Nathan had grown so
desperately fond of Yvette. It would be futile for him to deny how much he wanted her.
He denied himself nothing. He threw his whole heart into kissing her. Yvette’s mouth was so soft and pliant, though she
didn’t seem to know how to kiss him in return. She let him lead, opening her mouth to him when he used his lips to part hers
and sighing with impassioned surprised when he danced his tongue along hers.
It was almost as if she’d never kissed before, which was absurd, considering she was a widow. She’d been married to
Lord Mortimer for two years. But she kissed as though she were an inexperienced virgin.
A new narrative whispered in Nathan’s mind. What if Yvette had been lying about being a widow along with everything
else? What if she had never been married to Lord Mortimer in the first place?
No sooner had the idea occurred to him than Yvette pulled back, pressing her gloved fingertips to her lips. Her eyes
brimmed with tears, and despite the flush of passion in her cheeks, she looked miserable.
“Let me be your champion,” he whispered, desperate to help her. “Share your burden with me and I will keep you safe from
whatever demons are pursuing you.”
His words made her eyes shimmer with tears even more. “I cannot,” she said, her voice tight and thin. “I…the last man who
offered to help me ended up dead. I cannot let that happen to you. I…I care too much for you.”
“But I⁠—”
She didn’t let him get any further. With a sound of misery, Yvette leapt to her feet and dashed off down the river path,
heading even farther away from the house.
Nathan stood, but rather than pursuing her, he let her run. Sometimes a woman needed a man by her side to fight for her, and
sometimes she needed to gather her strength on her own. This seemed like one of the latter times.
He stepped around the bench, heading back to the house, his mind buzzing with half a dozen new theories about what could
be going on. He was completely certain Yvette had lied about being Carshalton’s heir now, but he was also convinced she was
lying about everything else as well.
He needed to separate the lies from the truth so that he could know how to proceed and give Yvette the help she needed.
He was in the middle of his thoughts and deeply distracted when, out of the blue, he nearly ran headlong into Foxley. The
man’s sudden appearance at the edge of the estate’s small forest startled Nathan.
“Foxley,” he said, a little breathless with shock. “What are you doing here?”
He regretted his question at once, not only because it was a curt and impertinent thing to ask a duke of Foxley’s renown, but
because Foxley looked a bit disheveled and disturbed, and the question came out as accusatory because of it.
“I, er, um,” Foxley stuttered, tugging the bottom of his jacket straight and shoving a hand through his hair. Nathan noted that
his jacket wasn’t buttoned correctly. So it was an assignation, then, was it? “I thought I’d go for a quick swim in the river,” he
said.
Nathan grinned. That explained Foxley’s disheveled state, but the man wasn’t wet.
As Foxley was a good man, a duke, and someone Nathan wished to have as an ally, he didn’t pursue the matter further.
Instead, he asked, “Did you see Lady Yvette at all? We were talking, but then she got upset and dashed off.”
“Lady Yvette?” Foxley glanced over his shoulder, looking exceedingly worried. “No. No, I haven’t seen her.” He turned
back to Nathan. “Surprising business, this entire Carshalton heir thing, isn’t it.”
Nathan went from grinning over how flustered Foxley was to serious in an instant.
“To be honest,” he said, “I’m not certain what’s going on with that.”
Foxley shrugged, then gestured for Nathan to walk with him back toward the house. “Lady Yvette has confessed she’s the
heir,” he said.
“Do you believe her?” Nathan asked.
Foxley blinked, giving him an exaggerated look of doubt. “You’re not agreeing with that odious bat, Lady Eleanor, are
you?”
Nathan smiled before he could stop himself. Poor Lady Eleanor. She was so intent on becoming a duchess. It looked as
though her chances where Foxley was concerned were nonexistent.
“It’s not that,” he said. “Lady Eleanor is a pill, but I suspect she might be right about some things.” He paused, then asked,
“What do you know about Lady Yvette that, perhaps, I don’t?”
Foxley shrugged. “You’ve spent more time with her than any of the rest of us,” he said. “We are all under the impression
that the two of you are as good as betrothed at this point.”
“Is that what everyone thinks?”
“Indeed,” Foxley said with a nod. “And it’s a good thing, too, if you ask me.”
“How so?”
Foxley’s face pinched, and he glanced apologetically to Nathan. “You know about her marriage to Lord Mortimer, I trust.”
“Not much,” Nathan said, eager to know more.
Foxley frowned. “The man was old enough to be her grandfather, and yet, she ran away in the middle of the night and
eloped with him.”
Nathan’s brow flew up. Yvette’s statement that the last man who had tried to help her had died came back to him. Mortimer
had been that man. He’d felt the need to help her, too.
“Lady Yvette was shunned by her family and by society for her actions,” Foxley went on. “Though she was better off
without her family, if you ask me.”
Nathan’s heart beat as if the two of them were running instead of walking sedately. “Was there trouble with her family?”
Foxley glanced to Nathan in surprise. “Lord Sutton is awful,” he said. “The man is vicious, conniving, and, I suspect,
violent.”
Fury raced through Nathan as more pieces of Yvette’s puzzle fell into place. “Was he cruel to Yvette?” he asked, seething.
“No one can say for certain,” Foxley admitted sadly, “but I suspect so.”
“Then it would make sense that she would marry the first man who offered for her, whoever that might have been.”
“Oh, Mortimer wasn’t the first,” Foxley said, surprising Nathan. “Several men offered for her hand. None of them were
good enough for Sutton. Well, until he struck up his deal with Lord Philmont.”
“I beg your pardon?” Nathan nearly gasped. It was all starting to make sense.
 Foxley’s face pinched. “To be honest, most of what I know is hearsay and speculation, but it is believed Sutton wanted his
daughter to marry Lord Philmont to secure a business arrangement. But Philmont was cut from the same cloth as Sutton. The
man’s first wife died under mysterious circumstances, and more than a few maids have gone missing from his estate.”
“That’s awful,” Nathan said.
“It is,” Foxley agreed. “If it’s true. To be honest, I’m afraid a great many lies surround Lady Yvette, one way or another.”
Nathan cringed. It was true. Not only that, the story of Lord Philmont could be just another concoction by Yvette’s
overactive imagination.
Then again, she wouldn’t be the first young woman with an abusive father, desperate to get away from him by any means.
“Thank you, Foxley,” he said as they neared the house. “You’ve been a great help to me today.”
“Have I?” Foxley laughed. “I was beginning to think that I was as incompetent a friend as I am a duke.”
“You are excellent at both,” Nathan assured him.
The two of them parted ways in the garden, and Nathan rushed into the house in search of Daniel. He had more questions
than he knew what to do with now, but he also had ideas. He would send Daniel into London to investigate Lord Mortimer,
Lord Sutton, and Lord Philmont. With any luck, he would have answers within a few days.
In the meantime, he would stay as close to Yvette as he could, both to learn more about her and to shelter her from
everything, even herself.
 Chapter Four

vette’s confession and the entire house party were turning out to be complete disasters. Yvette ran from Nathan as fast as
Y her skirts would let her, darting past the boat house and on to where the path curved back into the patch of forest that
Lord Cambourne’s grandmother had planted when she was a new bride.
A new bride. That was certainly something Yvette would never be now. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she thought
about all the ways she’d lied and invented stories, and how Nathan would never want her, once he discovered just how deep
her deception had gone.
The trouble was, she thought as she slowed her steps and wiped her eyes with the back of her gloves, she truly liked
Nathan. More than liked him. He’d been a diversion at first, like every other gentleman she’d danced with at the house party so
far, but he’d paid more attention to her than any of the others, and she’d come to know how true and kind he was.
At least, that was what she’d thought she’d learned. Now, however, doubt clenched at her heart.
She made it into the edge of the cool, shady woods and stepped off the path to lean against a tree and catch her breath. The
solid trunk felt comforting and steady to her in a world where everything seemed to be spinning out of control.
She took a deep breath and pressed a hand to her stomach. Nathan had pursued her because he’d suspected she was Lord
Carshalton’s heir all along, and he’d been out for revenge. That information should have crushed her hopes and made her think
less of him.
It didn’t. Instead, it merely made her grieve the husband she could have had. If she truly was Lord Carshalton’s heir, Nathan
would have married her, taken all the money that her supposed inheritance could have brought her…and the two of them could
have come to an understanding and lived happily with that money and the truth. They would have worked out their differences,
all truths would have come to light, and they would have continued to fall in love, as Yvette felt they had already begun to do.
But now Nathan knew she was lying. He knew. She could feign emotions and invent stories for herself as much as she
wanted, but Nathan had figured out they were all falsehoods. He would decide she was too deceitful to marry and too damaged
to keep, and he would set her aside for one of the other ladies at the house party or beyond.
And rightfully so. She was damaged goods. She was a disgrace. Like her father had always told her, with words and the
strap and the palm of his hand, she was wicked and unworthy, and no one would ever want her. She would be better off
throwing⁠—
A rustling in the undergrowth off to one side jerked Yvette out of her thoughts. She gasped and stood straight, pushing away
from the tree.
 “Hello?” she called into the dim forest, raising a hand to her brow, as if that would help her see better. “Is anybody there?”
The rustling grew louder, and Yvette could have sworn someone rose from the forest floor and tore off in the opposite
direction from her.
“I say, hello?” Yvette called again, stepping farther along the path to try to catch a glimpse of whomever was trying to run
away. It was likely one of the servants, shirking their duties by taking a stroll in the woods, but it could have been a thief of
some sort, scouting the guests at the house party for⁠—
Yvette gasped and jumped back as a second rustle sounded directly to her left, a few yards off the path. A moment later,
Miss Silverstone pushed herself to stand, brushing and straightening her clothing as she did.
“Miss Silverstone?” Yvette asked, blinking. “Whatever are you doing here? Are you quite well? Were you—” She gasped
and rushed forward as a thought occurred to her. “Are you in trouble? Has someone attempted to assail you?”
“Someone?” Miss Silverstone squeaked, brushing more leaves and grass from her skirts as she stepped out of the small,
mossy clearing where she’d been on the ground moments before. “Er, no,” she said, hurrying away from that spot. “I was
just⁠—”
She glanced back over her shoulder as she drew Yvette back onto the path and marched back the way Yvette had come, out
of the edge of the woods.
“You would tell me if someone hurt you or has importuned you, Miss Silverstone, wouldn’t you?” Yvette said, catching up
with the young woman as they reached the sunlight. “I…I know what it is like to be assailed, and I wouldn’t wish that on any
woman.”
Miss Silverstone paused and turned to face Yvette once they’d reached the part of the path that ran directly beside the
bubbling river. Her blue eyes were wide with alarm, and if Yvette wasn’t mistaken, her lips were slightly swollen and pink, as
if she’d been kissing someone.
Yvette drew in a breath as understanding of Miss Silverstone’s predicament dawned on her. “Oh,” she said, her mouth
twitching into a smile. She wasn’t certain she should be smiling, though. “I take it you were in the forest for an assignation?”
Miss Silverstone’s eyes went even wider. She glanced back to the woods, then up and down the path, as if searching for
either Lady Eleanor or whatever man she’d been with. She then surged forward, grasping Yvette’s arms.
“You won’t tell, will you?” she asked in a tight, anxious whisper.
Yvette was so blissfully grateful to have someone else’s problems to occupy her for the moment that she smiled and turned
to slip an arm around Miss Silverstone’s waist, as if they were the best of friends, and walked on toward the bench where
she’d sat with Nathan earlier.
“I wouldn’t dream of revealing anything, my dear,” she said, feeling as if the lowly Miss Silverstone were more of a friend
than an inferior in that moment. “We’ve all had our mischievous dalliances, I’d dare say. Why, I once slipped out of a ball in
London to spend quite an interesting hour in a water closet with,” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “a member of the royal
family.”
“You did?” Miss Silverstone’s face shone with shock.
Yvette had done no such thing. She’d never even seen a member of the royal family up close. But it did make for an exciting
story.
“Let me guess,” she went on, steering Miss Silverstone off the path to the bench and sitting with her. “It was that handsome
footman, Jack, wasn’t it.”
Miss Silverstone’s face flushed scarlet, but she shook her head. “It was not, my lady. I would rather die than cause trouble
for any of the staff of Nedworth Hall. They have all been so kind and generous to me, despite Lady Eleanor’s…ways.”
Yvette felt more sorry for the young woman than ever. “I’ve observed those ways,” she said, taking Miss Silverstone’s
hands, “and I am truly sorry for what you have to endure.”
“It’s not so bad as all that,” Miss Silverstone said without looking Yvette in the eyes. She bit her lip as well, leading Yvette
to believe that Miss Silverstone was as good a liar as she was, when she needed to be.
“You’ve no need to pretend with me,” Yvette said. Then, inspired by some force beyond her, she added, “I’ve spent most of
my life pretending and…and lying, so I know how refreshing it can feel to confide every truth in someone sometimes.”
“You do?” Miss Silverstone looked at her, hope and the faint, beginning glimmers of understanding and friendship in her
eyes.
Yvette was surprised by the intensity of her sudden desire to be Miss Silverstone’s friend.
“Millicent,” she said, shifting to sit facing Miss Silverstone more. “That is your given name, isn’t it?”
Miss Silverstone nodded, glancing down. She then bit her lip and peeked up at Yvette as she said, “My friends call me
Millie.”
“Millie is a lovely name,” Yvette said, smiling. She was so filled with gratitude and relief to be conversing with someone
who did not require her to lie in order to fit some mold of society that she added, “I would be honored if you would call me
Yvette.”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Millie said. “You are a lady, and I am no one.”
 “That’s not true,” Yvette said, wishing someone would say the same words to her. “You are a beautiful, strong young
woman who has endured tremendous wrongs, but who still holds your head high.”
Tears stung at Yvette’s eyes as soon as the words had passed her lips. How she longed to have someone say the same thing
to her! If just one person could see her truly, see how hard she’d fought and how much she’d risked, and lost, to keep her head
held high and to determine her own fate, it would feel like all the roses of the world blossoming at once.
“You are beautiful and kind as well, my—Yvette,” Millie said, albeit shyly. “And I’m sorry that my mistress has become so
set against you. As far as I can tell, you don’t deserve it at all.”
It was all Yvette could do not to let the emotion welling up within her spill over. Less than five minutes, and already she
wished that Millie was her friend more than any of the other young ladies she’d met at the party so far.
“Do you have a beau, Millie?” she asked, smoothing back a lock of bright, blonde hair from Millie’s face. It was funny, but
she’d thought Miss Silverstone was mousy and plain before. She’d always worn her hair pulled severely back and dressed in
drab colors. She must have prettied herself up to meet her beau, and the truth was, she was perfectly lovely.
Millie swallowed and tilted her head to the side, pinching her face. “I can’t really call him my beau, no,” she said. “We…
I…it would be impossible for us to be together.”
Yvette nodded in understanding. “I suppose it would be impossible for you to be courted while still in Lady Eleanor’s
employ,” she said. “I doubt she would approve of you doing anything that took you away from serving her.”
Millie’s face went even redder, and she glanced up at Yvette, her lips quivering.
It was clear to Yvette that the young woman wanted to tell her something, perhaps tell her everything. She was having a
devil of a time spitting it out, though, so Yvette moved on to help her.
“What are your origins, Millie?” she asked. “How did you come to be Lady Eleanor’s maid, and is there any hope of you
leaving that position for this beau of yours?”
“Oh, I….” Millie worried her hands in her lap and bit her lip. “Even if I could….” She stopped again, then took a deep
breath, closed her eyes for a moment, and seemed to settle herself. “My family is from Kent, my—Yvette,” she said. “My father
is a farmer, and my mother used to be in service.”
Yvette smiled. Nathan was from Kent. She’d learned that much in previous conversations with him. “Becoming a lady’s
maid is quite a step up in the world for the daughter of a farmer and a former maid,” she said. “I can understand why you
wouldn’t want to jeopardize such a lucky step up in the world for a beau.”
“To be honest,” Millie said with a sigh, “I don’t know why Lady Gillingham chose me to be her daughter’s companion.”
She smiled bashfully. “Lady Gillingham always was remarkably fond of me. Even when I was a girl, she would make a point to
say hello to me when she visited my father’s farm.”
“I find it remarkable that a woman of Lady Gillingham’s rank would visit her tenant farms to begin with,” Yvette said,
already daydreaming about visiting Nathan’s tenant farms as Marchioness Theydon.
“Oh, Lord Gillingham was often away on the continent,” Millie explained. “Lady Gillingham was left to run the estate,
which she does very well.”
“She sounds like a grand woman,” Yvette said.
“She is, she very much is,” Millie said, then sighed again. “Which is why I am loath to disappoint her in any way, even
though Lady Eleanor is—” She stopped and peeked at Yvette, as if she were about to say something wrong.
“You can say whatever you’d like about Lady Eleanor to me,” Yvette said. “You must know that I despise the woman.”
“She is spoiled and petulant,” Millie whispered, glancing around as if her mistress would jump out of the bushes at any
moment. “If I could leave her without disappointing Lady Gillingham, I would. But I could never do something so ungrateful to
a woman who has been so kind to me my entire life.”
“But what about this beau?” Yvette asked, smiling impishly, eager to gossip with a friend. “Do you think he’ll declare
himself? Surely, Lady Gillingham would be happy for you to marry a man you love.”
Millie’s entire countenance fell again. “But you see, I cannot marry him. It…it would not be appropriate…for him.”
“Nonsense,” Yvette said, brushing the idea away. “Any man would be happy to have a beautiful, kind, sweet woman such
as yourself as his wife. Never mind that your father was a farmer and your mother a maid. We are what we make ourselves to
be.”
The words were meant to be encouraging, but as soon as Yvette heard them, they reminded her of the futility of her own
situation.
Millie gripped her hands tighter and asked, “Is that what you have done? Have you made yourself who you want to be?”
Yvette’s heart dropped into her stomach with sudden panic. Did Millie know or suspect that she’d lied about who she was?
Did she doubt she was Lord Carshalton’s heir? Worse still, did she doubt the other myths she’d spun about her circumstances.
“Oh, dear. I’ve upset you, my—Yvette,” Millie rushed to say. “I shouldn’t have pried. It isn’t my place to ask impertinent
questions.”
Yvette wanted to cry at the kindness her new friend was showing her. “No, it’s not that,” she said, her voice thick with
sorrow. “It’s not you at all. It’s⁠—”
 She stopped, staring at Millie and wondering how much of the truth, the actual truth, she could reveal. Millie might just be
one of the safest people to confess everything to that she had available to her. As a servant, she would be beneath most of the
other ladies of the house party’s notice. She might have confided in Lady Eleanor, if the two of them had been closer, but Yvette
doubted Lady Eleanor knew what a gem she had in her employ.
“If I tell you something deeply secret, would you promise not to tell another living soul?” she whispered to Millie.
Millie’s eyes went wide again, and she nodded. “You have my word,” she said, squeezing Yvette’s hands.
Yvette swallowed the sudden terror that rose up in her. This was it. This was a moment she’d dreamed about for years, but
never thought would come. She was going to tell the truth for a change.
“My childhood was miserable,” she whispered, tears already coming to her eyes. “My parents wanted a boy, and they did
not get one, only me.”
“I am my parents’ only child as well,” Millie said, leaning closer to Yvette and giving her strength.
Yvette smiled. She was not as alone as she’d thought. Her smile vanished when she said, “I hope that your mother did not
ignore you, like mine did me, and that…that your father did not beat you at every chance he got.”
That was it. That was the truth she’d dare not speak for most of her life. Saying it aloud caused her to burst into tears so
violently that Millie panicked for a moment before throwing her arms around Yvette.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Millie said. “It’s alright. It happens. It wasn’t your fault.”
Yvette wailed even louder. She’d wanted someone to tell her it wasn’t her fault so desperately that hearing those words
now undid her.
They sat there for a few more minutes, Yvette safe in Millie’s arms for the moment. Millie rubbed her back, which helped
Yvette recover her strength enough to tell the second truth of her story.
“There’s more,” she went on, sitting straighter and wiping her eyes. “And I tell you this because I want you to know that
there is always hope. There is always a way out of any situation you are in, no matter how dire.”
“I’m listening,” Millie said, holding her hand.
Yvette took a breath. “My father had a friend, Lord Mortimer, who chastised him for the way he treated me. Lord Mortimer
was an old man and a widower, but he was bold and kind.”
“Lord Mortimer…your husband?” Millie asked.
Fear gripped Yvette’s insides, but she’d set out to tell the truth, so tell the truth she would.
“We were never married,” she whispered. “It was never that sort of relationship. I thought of Henry more like the father I
wished I’d had, and he cared for me like a daughter. He helped me to escape from my father’s house, and then, to avoid scandal
and keep my father from taking me back, he forged a marriage license and showed that to my father.”
“Oh my!” Millie gasped.
“I lived in his house for two years, safe from harm, but in a separate bedroom, of course,” Yvette went on. “And I would
have continued to be safe, if my father had not set out to ruin Henry simply because he saved me.” She had to fight back tears
for a moment before saying, “I believe that Henry died due to the stress of his investments failing and his loans being called in.
His children certainly blamed me for shrinking their inheritance. As soon as the funeral was over, I fled from their scorn.
I’ve…I’ve been living by my wits ever since then.” She drew in a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and said, “But I’ve
survived. My father has tried to bend me to his will again, but he has failed. I am my own woman…and you can be, too.”
“I don’t think I would ever have so much courage,” Millie said.
“But you must,” Yvette said. “If you want to be with the man whom you love and who I am quite certain loves you, then you
must be courageous. You must chase after your destiny and claim it for yourself.”
“As you’ve chased your destiny of being Lord Carshalton’s heir?” Millie asked.
Yvette felt as though she’d scaled a cliff only to be knocked off. In the emotion of Nathan wanting to help her and the
camaraderie she’d found with Millie, she’d completely forgotten about the lie of being Lord Carshalton’s heir.
“I’m not really⁠—”
“Miss Silverstone!” Lady Eleanor’s distant voice cut off Yvette’s confession. “Confound it, girl, where are you?”
Millie squeaked and shot to her feet. “She cannot find me,” she said in a panic. “She told me to stay right where I was
while she napped. She forbid me to leave the room. And she most certainly cannot see me in this state.” She glanced down at
her rather pretty dress.
Of course, the fact that the dress, and Millie herself, were pretty was every bit the reason Lady Eleanor couldn’t know what
she’d been up to. Lady Eleanor most definitely could not know that her companion had a beau.
“Run,” Yvette said, standing. “Run back into the forest and loop around to the house. You can pretend you were on some
sort of errand for Lady Eleanor.”
“Yes, I could,” Millie said, stepping around the edge of the bench. “But what about you?”
“I’ll distract her,” Yvette said. It felt so wonderful to plot something against a woman she despised in the favor of a new
friend, now that she’d unburdened herself of the truth, that she would have challenged Lady Eleanor to a swimming race if she
could have. “As long as you make it to the house safely, without being seen, I think you’ll be alright.”
 “Thank you, Yvette,” Millie said, smiling at her as they started to go in separate directions. “And…I’m very sorry about
your history. But thank you for telling me. I’ll keep your secret.”
With a final exchange of smiles, they each dashed off in a different direction. Yvette went to face Lady Eleanor, and when
that was done, she would find Nathan and tell him the truth as well.
 Chapter Five

fter sending Daniel back to London, all Nathan could do was wait. It didn’t matter how desperate he was for the
A information he’d sent his valet to find, he was not going to know the truth about Carshalton, Lord Sutton, or Lord
Mortimer for days.
Meanwhile, the house party continued, though it was nearing its end. Since Yvette had been revealed as the mysterious heir
everyone had been wondering about since June, a bit of the urgency of the party had waned. A good half of the guests had been
matched up, and a few betrothals had already taken place. Some of the guests who hadn’t been as lucky in love and knew they
would not make a match with the remaining guests departed.
Nathan balanced on the edge of indecision about whether he should throw caution to the wind and ask Yvette for her hand
or whether he should wait until Daniel returned. He wasn’t certain that anything Daniel could report would change his mind
about wishing to marry Yvette, but that tiny niggle of doubt that remained at the back of his mind was holding him back.
“Well, then, Theydon,” Dante greeted him as he exited his room after a late morning, in which he’d had breakfast brought to
his room so that he could pen a few letters to his family with updates and hints that he’d found a bride. “I suspect you’re going
to want to find yourself a good club to beat Lady Yvette’s suitors away with this morning, eh?”
Nathan laughed as the two of them headed down the hall. “Whatever do you mean by that?”
Dante shrugged. “Just that half the remaining, unengaged men at the party have been swarming around your beloved heir
since her revelation the other morning.”
Nathan continued to chuckle. “Yvette isn’t interested in any of them,” he said, pretending it was purely because she wanted
him and not because, as he knew to be true, she was terrified of what she’d set in motion, terrified of so many things.
“Are you that secure in her favor?” Dante teased him. “I know my brother has his sights set on her now, and Damien can be
devilishly persuasive.”
Nathan laughed even louder. “I suspect your brother would not find Yvette entirely to his satisfaction, if he should win her,”
he said, sending Dante a knowing look.
They’d just reached the end of the hall and the top of the grand staircase, and his sideways glance sent his gaze down the
opposite hallway, the wing where most of the female guests had their rooms. He caught sight of Lady Eleanor creeping out of
her room with a bundle of something clutched to her chest, looking very suspicious indeed.
“Damien might not be above marrying for money, then entertaining himself where he feels more comfortable, shall we say,”
Dante continued, not noticing Lady Eleanor, as they headed down the staircase.
 “No?” Nathan asked, not paying attention, his brow furrowed.
Come to think of it, he didn’t think Lady Eleanor was coming out of her own room, but rather out of Yvette’s. There wasn’t
time to go back and check to be certain, though. There was enough of a possibility that he was wrong that he shook his head and
let the matter drop.
“In truth, I doubt Damien will ever marry,” Dante went on as they made their way to the ground floor. “He enjoys his fun
too much, and though I’m embarrassed to say it, now that Charlotte and I are to be wed, the family fortunes will be restored,
and Damien is free to be as much of a rake as he wishes to be.”
“Which may or may not be a good thing?” Nathan ventured.
Dante laughed warily.
They continued on through the house and out to the yard, discussing Damien Dixon as they went, where the house party
guests were enjoying a display of falconry that Lord Cambourne had arranged for them all. Nathan was fascinated by falconry,
and his attention was riveted to the final minutes of the display.
Watching Nedworth’s trained falcons fly and swoop and obey the commands of their handlers drove everything else out of
Nathan’s mind. Once the display was over, it was Yvette who had him forgetting everything else but her.
“What did you think of the falcons, my lady?” Mr. Hanover, one of the remaining single, male guests asked, jumping up
from where he had been seated and offering Yvette his hand so she could rise as well.
Nathan covered his smirking mouth with one hand, his arms crossed. He supposed he should be jealous of another man
attempting to woo the woman he’d set his sights on, but as he had no fears where Hanover was concerned, he merely moved
closer to the cluster forming around Yvette, content to watch the show.
“I found them to be magnificent, Mr. Hanover,” Yvette said, smiling beautifully.
Her gaze drifted right past Hanover, Lord Podmore, and Mr. Sands, all of whom apparently still thought they had a chance
with her, to land softly on Nathan. Nathan smiled back at her, but noticed that the bright, sharp edge of panic still flashed in her
eyes, even though the rest of her looked as if she were enjoying the attention.
“I have been thinking about hiring a falconer for Podmore Grove myself,” Lord Podmore said, attempting to wedge his way
past Hanover to stand closest to Yvette. “What would you think of that, Lady Yvette?”
“I suppose it isn’t up to me,” Yvette said, placing a hand delicately on her chest.
Some might have seen that as an attempt to draw male attention to a particularly pleasing part of her anatomy, but Nathan
thought it was more likely Yvette was attempting to calm her racing heart.
“What other pastimes do you enjoy, my lady?” Sands asked. Nathan had no doubt the man planned to leap in and offer those
things to Yvette as a means of enticement.
Yvette glanced straight at Nathan and said, “Do you know, I rather enjoy ocean bathing.”
Nathan tried not to burst into laughter. She was obviously having a laugh at the other gentlemen’s expense. The three of
them looked shocked and flustered, and like they weren’t certain how to turn her statement to their advantage.
Yvette was one step ahead of them. “I am an accomplished ocean bather, you see,” she said. “Though I dislike that term. I
enjoy swimming. There, I said it.”
“Swimming, my lady?” Nathan asked, a touch of doubt and humor in his question.
Yvette reacted as if she’d called him out rather than intending to go along with her tall tale. “Yes,” she insisted. “Why, I
used to spend my childhood summers by the sea in Devon. I became quite adept at swimming, even far out into the channel.
Once, when I was but a girl of fifteen, I determined that I would swim all the way across the channel to France to escape—that
is, to show everyone that ladies are just as capable of athletic feats as gentlemen.”
Nathan’s smile faltered as he caught the kernel of truth in Yvette’s story. The story as a whole was clearly a lie, which he
could tell from the way her face pinked and her eyes took on a particular shine, but he was beginning to see that perhaps the
desire to escape when she was fifteen was very much the truth.
Everything Foxley had told him about how cruel and horrible Lord Sutton was came back to Nathan. He feared Yvette had
had much she wished to escape from.
“If you enjoy the sea, then I shall build the finest seaside home for you, my lady, if you would but consider my suit,” Sands
said. “I have made quite a bit of money on my India trade, and I’m certain I would have the funds for it.”
Nathan’s mouth twitched into a smirk. It was more likely that Mr. Sands’ India trade was drying up, and that he craved
Carshalton’s money to shore it up.
“I have been to India,” Yvette said, startling not only her admirers, but Nathan, too.
“Have you, my lady?” Sands asked. “What part?”
Yvette’s face flushed an even deeper red, and she stammered wordlessly. A moment later, that panic resolved itself, and she
said, “The hot part.”
Everyone laughed. Even Nathan, though for him, it was more for show than anything else. Yvette had never been to India.
He didn’t need to ask questions or call her out to know that. She likely didn’t know much about Indian geography either, which
was why she’d faltered.
 “Yes, the entire subcontinent is damnably hot,” Sands laughed. “Perhaps we could travel there together someday and you
could show me all the places of your childhood.”
“Oh, I don’t think I ever wish to revisit my childhood,” Yvette said with a too-high laugh, brushing her hand jerkily through
the air. That was another truth couched amongst the lies, Nathan was certain.
“The continent, then,” Sands said, moving cheekily closer to Yvette. “They say that Italy is ideal for a honeymoon.”
Yvette sucked in a breath and pressed her hand to her stomach again. The gentlemen might have interpreted the move as
excitement about the prospect of Italy or honeymoons, but Nathan saw it as his beloved reaching the edges of her panic.
“Lady Yvette,” he said, stepping forward to physically and metaphorically break up everyone and everything closing in on
her. “Would you care to take a turn through the hedge maze with me? You seem to have caught too much sun, and a quiet moment
in the shade would do you a world of good.”
Yvette let out a long breath and looked at Nathan with deep gratitude. “I think that is precisely what I need, Lord Theydon.”
Nathan held out his hand, and Yvette took it in an iron grip and let him lead her away from the others.
“I say, that isn’t fair,” Lord Podmore called after them as they left. “We should draw lots to see who gets to accompany
Lady Yvette to the hedge maze.”
The other men laughed.
Yvette lost her cheery smile entirely. It was replaced with a look of miserable horror. Nathan, too, was horrified at the
suggestion that any woman should have lots drawn to determine with whom she should spend time.
“They’re a bunch of boobies,” Nathan said, hoping to bring the smile back to Yvette’s face. “Cambourne should send the lot
of them packing.”
“They still might be useful,” Yvette said in a whisper that was so low and timid that Nathan almost thought he’d imagined
it.
He sent a concerned look Yvette’s way. Yvette kept her eyes on the ground in front of them as they cut through the rose
garden to make it to the much quieter hedge maze. She wore a look of sheepish dread, and she couldn’t apparently bring herself
to look at him.
Nathan found all of that alarming, and as soon as they were in the cool quiet of the hedge maze, he led Yvette into one of the
first false ends and adjusted to stand close to her, facing her.
“You’re worried,” he said, slipping his hand under her chin and lifting it so she was forced to face him. “Please don’t be
worried on my account.”
For some reason, that statement only caused Yvette to close her eyes and turn her head so she was free of his touch.
“Yvette?” he asked.
She let out a small, impatient sigh that Nathan found strangely adorable. “I don’t know what to say or how to be with you,”
she confessed, then dragged her eyes back to meet his. “My head is a storm of confused emotions. I wanted to tell you more
yesterday, but then I wondered if fate had interrupted us on purpose so that you didn’t have to learn the whole horrible truth
about me.”
“Yvette, no truth about you, no matter how troubling, could ever be so horrible that I would throw you aside,” Nathan said
tenderly, resting a hand on the side of Yvette’s face.
Yvette huffed a laugh that was probably meant to sound carefree, but ended up sounding painful and pathetic. “I know you
know I’m a chronic liar,” she said, once again unable to meet his eyes.
“I have figured out that you invent stories to delight and entertain your friends and fellow house guests,” Nathan said.
“Perhaps as a way to avoid harsher truths about yourself.”
Yvette snapped her gaze suddenly back to meet his. “And how long will it be until you decide those stories are
unacceptable? Every other friend I’ve had who has promised me their loyalty has either abandoned me or been irrevocably
hurt. Why should you be any different?”
Those words stung, and Nathan winced.
“I’m sorry,” Yvette said, turning and stepping slightly away from him. “You see? I am a bad person. I always have been.
My father always said—” She stopped and caught her breath. “I am sorry. My head is so jumbled right now.” She raised her
hands to massage her fingertips against her temples.
Nathan’s heart felt sore and swollen and twisted. He would have given just about anything to make it all better for Yvette.
“Darling,” he said softly, reaching for her and pulling her back into his arms. “I know you are afraid. I know things have
become worrying for you. And I do not fault you at all for believing that people cannot be trusted.”
He closed his arms around her in a tender embrace and lifted her face up to his again. Yvette’s panic was bright in her eyes.
“I do not expect you to just believe that I am true,” he went on. “But I do hope you will give me a chance to prove that I
will not desert you or let anyone else hurt you now that I can see your true heart.”
“But—”
Nathan silenced her protest with a kiss. It began as something warm and gentle, something designed to silence and comfort
her rather than overwhelm and ravish her. The temptation to drive all other thoughts out of her head with the ardor of his kiss
was most definitely there, but Nathan held himself back.
Yvette needed careful touches and earnest affection, not aggression. He kissed her and clasped one hand over the side of
her face, stroking her hot cheek with his thumb soothingly. When she sighed and leaned her weight into him, he held her firmly,
showing her with his body that he would support her when she felt weak and he would fight her battles for her when she could
no longer.
“I love you, Yvette,” he whispered, overcome with the feeling. His declaration was unexpected, even to him, but he stood
by it. “I thought I would conquer you to get back what I thought had been stolen from me and my family, but you are a far more
beautiful prize than any inheritance or fortune. You are clever and tenacious, and you have such a wonderful imagination.”
Instead of reassuring Yvette, like Nathan hoped his words would, his declaration reduced Yvette to tears.
“I’m not that woman,” she said, wrenching herself away from him. “I’m not any of those things. You’ve made up a lie of
your own about who I am, and I…I cannot live up to any of that.”
Nathan frowned in frustration, more for his own haste in declaring himself than for Yvette’s frightened reaction to his
feelings. Yvette took a large step back from him, though, like she believed he was frustrated with her.
Perhaps he was a touch frustrated with her as well, but he understood that a damaged heart could not accept an offering of
love when it had been trained to believe it did not deserve any.
“I know you are good at heart,” he told her, taking a step that was intended to bring her back into his arms. “As I understand
it, your father is a cruel man who has damaged you in some way, and⁠—”
Yvette gasped and took another step back, her eyes nearly feral with fear. “What do you know of my father? What has he
told you?”
Alarms sounded all through Nathan. “I’ve never met your father,” he said. If he ever did meet the man, he wasn’t sure he’d
be able to contain his fury over what the man had clearly done to Yvette.
“I cannot do this,” Yvette said, backing away from him farther and turning to find her way out of the maze. “I am not a good
person, Nathan. You won’t want anything to do with me when you learn the truth. I won’t hurt you or myself that way. I
cannot⁠—”
Whatever she could not do was lost in her panic and tight, heavy breathing as the two of them stumbled out of the hedge
maze. It made Nathan ache with sympathy to see how anxious and overcome the woman he loved was. He hated how helpless
and lost he felt on top of that. All he wanted to do was help her. His ambitions to seek revenge on Carshalton by marrying her
had long given way to genuine love. But he didn’t know how to convince her it was safe to love him in return.
He had just decided that the first and best thing he could do was simply to catch her and hold her when they were spotted
by a surprisingly large group of their fellow house guests by the side of the rose garden.
“And there’s the whore now,” Lady Eleanor shouted across the lawn.
Yvette froze, and Nathan nearly stumbled into her. He looked around to see who Lady Eleanor was talking about, but it was
quite clear that she meant Yvette.
“Lady Eleanor,” Lord Cambourne attempted to scold her. “Do have a care for your language.”
“Why should I mince words?” Lady Eleanor demanded, starting across the lawn toward Yvette and Nathan. “That’s what
this woman is, after all, and I have the letters to prove it.”
She held up a fat stack of letters and waved them at Yvette.
Yvette gasped and lost all her color. “No, no, no!” she whispered, trying to back away.
She backed right into Nathan, who grasped her arms to keep her upright.
“What is all this?” Nathan demanded, glaring at Lady Eleanor as she reached the two of them.
The rest of the onlookers moved worriedly forward, looking as if something of great and dire importance was happening.
“This woman you have foolishly attached yourself to,” Lady Eleanor said, gesturing with her handful of letters, “this liar
who has deceived us all with the false claim that she is Lord Carshalton’s heir, is, in fact, a courtesan of wicked repute.”
Nathan gripped Yvette tighter and narrowed his eyes at Lady Eleanor. “How dare you, madam?”
“You think I’m the liar?” Lady Eleanor demanded. “Read these letters. They are most explicit and vile in nature, detailing
things that no decent woman should know. And they were all penned by this woman’s lover, one Lord Philmont.”
Nathan’s opinion of Lady Eleanor could not have sunk lower. At the same time, he needed to know the truth. He let go of
Yvette so he could step forward and take the letters from Lady Eleanor.
The envelopes were all open, and one of the letters sat on top of the others without its envelope. Nathan opened that one
and scanned through it…then tensed at the explicit nature of its contents. He could only read a few lines before jerking his head
up to stare across at Yvette.
He wanted to ask Yvette what the letters were and whether she was in danger from Lord Philmont, but before he could ask
anything, Yvette sobbed, covered her face with her hands, and turned to rush away.
 Chapter Six

vette could hardly stop shaking as she ran away from the garden and into the house. Her friends—she supposed they
Y would be her former friends now—had all looked so deeply shocked by Lady Eleanor’s latest and most damning
accusations. Yvette didn’t think she would ever forget the wide-eyed shock of everyone, even Millie, who had been so
dear to her just the day before.
Worst of all, Nathan had read Lord Philmont’s letter. He’d seen the sort of vile suggestions her father’s choice for her had
made. He would know that a life as the man’s mistress was all that awaited her once she left Nedworth Hall without a husband.
For Nathan would never want to marry her once he finished reading the rest of Lord Philmont’s letters, and the last of Henry’s
money was nearly gone now.
“My lady, are you quite well?” the maid that Yvette nearly bowled over as she dashed into the house through one of the
French doors in the ballroom asked, reaching for her.
Yvette pulled away from the young woman the same way she’d shrunk from any of the servants in her father’s house who
had tried to help her then. Her father’s words, that she was so cheap and poisoned that she would ruin the servants merely by
looking at them, rang in her head.
“No,” she sobbed, shaking her head at the maid but moving on through the ballroom. “I am not well. Not at all.”
“Would you like me to send for a doctor?” the maid called after her. “Or perhaps Lady Cambourne?”
Yvette shook her head, but didn’t answer the young woman directly. She knew what she needed to do now, and no doctor
would be able to help her.
She slowed her steps out of sheer exhaustion as she reached the grand staircase and headed up to her guestroom. As her
initial fear and panic over Lord Philmont’s letters being discovered and waved about for all to see how wretched she was
faded, a heaviness born from fighting and running and struggling for so long and still being beat down settled over Yvette. Once
she reached her room, she managed to drag the battered traveling case she’d brought with her out from the dressing room
attached to her guestroom, but that was where her energy waned.
With the lid of the case open and only a few of her things thrown haphazardly inside, Yvette dragged herself to her bed and
collapsed onto it, weeping piteously.
She never should have tried to escape her fate. How many times had her father told her that it would be pointless for her to
even dream of being anything more than the wretch she was? Some young girls were taught their catechism when they were
young, but she’d been indoctrinated with the notion that she was nothing better than a thing to be used for a man’s satisfaction,
and that her father was the only one with a right to choose who that man should be.
Henry had tried to teach her differently. For a while, she’d believed him. Enough to run, at least. He’d filled her with hope,
enough hope to accept the invitation to Nedworth Hall, enough to think she had a chance with Nathan for a few, beautiful
weeks. But she was wrong and her father was right. Her father would always be right.
Deep under the dross of failure that weighed down on Yvette, a tiny sprig of hope tried to tell her it wasn’t true, her father
was a tyrant, and she could still fight to save herself. That whisper reminded her that Nathan had said he loved her, and that had
to count for something.
She was so tired, though. She’d tried for years, and in one moment, Lady Eleanor had swooped in with her haughty airs and
fierce accusations, destroying any hope she had that things would be different.
The grief of it all was suffocating, and Yvette felt lost in it. The only thing that pulled her out of the horrible feelings was a
knock on her bedroom door.
The sound jolted her from what must have been sleep. Her misery had been so heavy that she’d collapsed and fallen asleep
on her bed, for how long she didn’t know. The knock sounded again, and her body went rigid with fear. She pushed herself to
sit up straight, feeling like the terrified girl who knew that her father was coming to punish her for some invented wrong she’d
committed.
“Lady Yvette? Are you well?” It was Lady Cambourne’s voice that sounded from the other side of the door, not her
father’s.
Yvette gulped a few breaths to make up for not breathing at all in her fear, then shakily called, “Lady Cambourne?”
The handle turned and the door opened a moment later to reveal Lady Cambourne’s handsome, motherly face, filled with
concern.
“Oh, my dear girl,” she said, rushing toward Yvette so quickly that she left the door open. “You poor, poor thing.”
The moment Lady Cambourne sat on the bed and gathered Yvette into her arms, Yvette dissolved into tears. She turned her
face into Lady Cambourne’s neck and grasped at her arms the way a small child would cling to their mother when they were in
danger. Yvette had never had a mother, or even a nursemaid, who cared for her enough to comfort her the way Lady Cambourne
was just then.
“There, there,” Lady Cambourne continued to soothe her, stroking and patting Yvette’s back. “Lady Eleanor had no right to
steal into your room and take those letters. I’ve already had a stern word with her about it and exacted a promise from her to
behave for the rest of the house party.”
Two things about Lady Cambourne’s statement struck Yvette at once, and she pushed herself straight and stared at the
woman. It hadn’t occurred to her that Lady Eleanor would have had to sneak into her room to steal the letters from Lord
Philmont. Yvette had hidden them all in the bottom of her wardrobe as well, afraid of throwing them out, lest the servants find
them and read them. She’d wanted to burn them, but Henry had always warned her to preserve any and all evidence of her
father’s mistreatment, lest it ever be needed in a court of law, and she thought the same applied to Lord Philmont’s harassment.
Lady Eleanor must have rifled through her entire room and all her belongings to find those letters.
The other thing that struck her was that Lady Cambourne should have sent Lady Eleanor packing from the house party for
her wicked violations. She certainly would have banished the beast. Yvette had to work not to be offended that Lady
Cambourne would allow the harpy to stay where she was. She wondered why Lady Eleanor had been invited in the first place,
since she’d been nothing but trouble from the start.
Those thoughts all happened in short order, but Yvette struggled for a way to verbalize them.
Lady Cambourne went on before she had a chance to speak. “What is this?” she asked, turning toward Yvette’s open
traveling case on the floor. “Are you planning on leaving us?”
“I…I have to,” Yvette said, sniffling and wiping her eyes and nose on her gloved hand. “I’ve no doubt you and the others
will not want me here, now that you know Lady Eleanor is right and I’m nothing but a liar and a…a….” She couldn’t bring
herself to say it. It didn’t matter that her virtue was intact now. As soon as her father and Lord Philmont caught up with her, it
wouldn’t be anymore.
“You are no such thing,” Lady Cambourne said, taking Yvette’s hands and removing her gloves, which she hadn’t done
when she’d returned to her room. She tossed the gloves aside, then handed Yvette a large handkerchief that she produced from
her sleeve. “And of course we want you here. That was never in any doubt.”
Yvette blew her nose and wiped her eyes and looked at Lady Cambourne as if there very much was doubt.
“We must face the first and most urgent things first,” Lady Cambourne went on, like the noblewoman of experience and
character she was. “I was under the impression that inviting you here, to Nedworth Hall, for the summer would ensure that your
location would remain a secret to your father and Lord Philmont, but it seems you have received letters from that abhorrent
man.”
Yvette’s brow shot up so fast and her shock was so great that she nearly dropped the handkerchief. “How…how did you
know about Lord Philmont and my father’s aims for us?”
Lady Cambourne smiled mischievously. “My dear, I have been in this world for a great many years. I have seen and known
a great many people, and I know more secrets than just the identity of Lord Carshalton’s heir.”
Yvette was shocked all over again. “You know the identity of Lord Carshalton’s heir?”
“Of course,” Lady Cambourne said. “The revelation was and is the entire point of this party. You anticipated it a bit, which
means changes have been made to reveal her identity differently than was planned, but yes, James and I have known from the
moment of the young woman’s birth.”
Yvette’s jaw dropped. “Is it…is it me?” she asked in a small voice, burning with hope that she truly could have a fairy
godmother turn her into a princess, like in every fairy tale.
But Lady Cambourne looked sympathetically at her, brushed a hand over her head, and said, “No, my dear. I’m afraid it’s
not. You are, unfortunately, Lord and Lady Sutton’s child after all.”
“Oh,” Yvette said, sinking in disappointment. She peeked up at Lady Cambourne. “Then who is it?”
Lady Cambourne laughed gently. “You will learn at the masquerade ball we are planning for Saturday, which is more than
anyone else knows. But now you must answer my question. How did Lord Philmont know to send those letters to you? Do he
and your father know you are at Nedworth Hall?”
Yvette swallowed and shook her head. “No. The letters were sent to Henry’s, that is, Lord Mortimer’s solicitor, Mr. Johns.
Mr. Johns knows I’m here, and he forwarded all the correspondence sent to my last residence. He…he did not open those
letters, I am confident, but he does know that my father and Lord Philmont are a threat to me.”
“Good,” Lady Cambourne said with a sigh of relief. “As long as your location remains a secret from anyone who seeks to
harm you, then I am satisfied.”
Yvette’s face pinched with misery. “But surely I must leave the party now,” she said, squeezing her hands around the now
soggy handkerchief Lady Cambourne had given her. “Everyone knows how false I am. I…I have put you and Lord Cambourne
in an untenable position.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Cambourne said. “Have you not puzzled out that I invited you to spend the summer here purposely?”
Yvette blinked and stared at the woman as if she’d run mad.
“You, my dear, were in need of protection,” she said, stroking a hand along the side of Yvette’s face. “James and I saw a
way that we could protect you in both the short term, and, trusting that one of the gentlemen of our party would realize how
lovely and strong you are, in the long term as well through a safe and solid marriage. And it would appear as though our hopes
in that regard have come to pass.”
“No,” Yvette said, dabbing at her still-wet eyes with the edge of the handkerchief. “Nathan—that is, Lord Theydon—will
want nothing to do with me, now that he knows the truth.” She peeked warily at Lady Cambourne. “Did he read any more of the
letters?”
“I do not know,” Lady Cambourne said. “But I can tell you that he was outraged by their contents.”
Yvette deflated. “He knows how wicked I am.”
“I beg your pardon, my dear, but it is Lord Philmont who is wicked, not you.”
Yvette shook her head. “A man like Lord Philmont would not turn his attentions to a good woman of pure virtue. Like
attracts like. If a man sends me letters such as those, it must be because I deserve to have them sent to me.”
“That is the last time I will allow you to quote your father to me, Yvette,” Lady Cambourne said in a stunningly fierce
voice. “He is the one who told you such nonsense, is he not?”
The heat of shame flooded Yvette and she nodded, glancing down.
Lady Cambourne cupped her face and raised it to meet her eyes again. “Your father was wrong,” she said. “Not just wrong,
he was evil. No woman deserves to have that kind of filth directed at her. It is entirely the fault of the man who said those
things. You are completely innocent of all blame. Just because the words were sent to you, that does not mean it was right or
that you deserved them.
“And like does attract like,” she went on. “Lord Theydon is a good, kind, fiercely loyal man who would be willing to fight
dragons if he felt the people he loved were wronged. I happen to know that is why he accepted our invitation to this house
party. He thinks he was seeking some sort of revenge, but he was actually fighting like a knight of old to right what he saw as a
great wrong to his family. And now he has something else to fight for.”
Yvette sighed. “I cannot allow him to put himself at risk for my sake. My father is powerful. So is Lord Philmont. My father
ruined Henry, which caused his health to decline and precipitated his death. He decimated Henry’s fortune so that not even
Henry’s children received any inheritance.”
Lady Cambourne hummed. “I think you will find that the matter of Lord Mortimer’s estate has yet to be fully settled.”
Yvette peeked up at Lady Cambourne hopefully.
That hope flattened after only a moment. “Still,” she said. “I am so tired, Lady Cambourne. I don’t think I can fight or flee
anymore. I…I love Nathan, but I have no wish to bring this misery down on him.” Her face pinched and her tears threatened all
over again, but she forced herself to say, “It would be easier to return to my father and stop fighting. I’ll be miserable, but at
least no one else will be hurt. Nathan will remain safe.”
“Is that what you truly wish to do?” Lady Cambourne asked, one eyebrow arched.
 No. It wasn’t remotely close to what Yvette wanted to do. But what choice did she have?
As if she could hear her thoughts, Lady Cambourne answered that question.
“I have another option for you to consider, if you are willing,” she said. Yvette caught her breath and stared intently at the
woman. “I don’t know if you are aware of this, but my older brother, Lord Chesterton, married an American heiress from
Boston.”
“I…I did not know,” Yvette said, confused by the change in conversation.
“Gladys has a sister who was struck by scarlet fever when she was a girl and lost her sight,” Lady Cambourne went on.
“Recently, Miss Clayburn’s companion announced that she wishes to marry and start a family of her own. Gladys asked if I
might know of any young ladies who would appreciate the adventure of moving to America to keep Miss Clayburn—who I
understand is quite outspoken and adventurous—from causing herself any harm.” Lady Cambourne paused for a moment, then
said, “If you wish to leave everything behind to start a new life entirely, I will send you along to Boston to take up the position.
I will even support you in changing your name and helping you disappear from England entirely, if you’d like.”
Yvette caught her breath. She never would have imagined anything like that would be possible. To start over in a new
country with a new name would most definitely help her to escape from her father and Lord Philmont.
But if she left England for America, she would likely never see Nathan again. Any chance of marrying him would be gone.
That tiny voice within her that said she was wrong to think he wanted nothing to do with her, now that he knew the truth, wanted
desperately to cling to the hope that the two of them had a future together.
“You do not have to decide now,” Lady Cambourne said in the midst of Yvette’s conflicted thoughts. “The offer will remain
open for several more weeks. Miss Clayburn does not need a new companion until the end of September. Just know that the
option will remain open for you until then.”
“Thank you, Lady Cambourne,” Yvette said, breathless and unsettled. She waited a moment more to see if her thoughts
would resolve at all, but it was as if her mind had suddenly gone blank. “To be honest, I don’t know what to do. I am so afraid
of what people will think of me, now that they know the truth. I’m afraid they will all take Lady Eleanor’s side and believe I’ve
deceived them purposely.”
“I do not think that would happen with your most loyal friends,” Lady Cambourne said. “But I understand your concerns.”
“And Nathan,” Yvette went on, her heart squeezing at the very thought of him. “I don’t think I could bear it if he decided that
he hates me after all. I’ve done and said so many wrong things. I don’t think I could bear the heartbreak of having him turn his
back on me.”
“Then you won’t have to bear it.”
Yvette gasped and shot to her feet as Nathan turned to stand in the doorway of her room, as if he’d been listening from the
hallway with his back pressed against the wall the whole time.
“Nathan,” Yvette said, her voice trembling with fear and hope.
Nathan smiled and stepped slowly into the room. Yvette’s burning hope crumbled when she saw he still had the stack of
letters from Lord Philmont in his hands. He hadn’t come to make everything right after all. He’d come to chastise her for the
content of the letters.
As if to prove that point, he asked, “Lady Cambourne, would you give Lady Yvette and I a moment to ourselves?”
Lady Cambourne rose from the bed and said, “Yes, of course,” as she headed for the door.
Yvette wanted to beg the woman not to leave. Panic filled her, even though Lady Cambourne paused in the doorway to give
her a reassuring smile before shutting the door. This was it. This was the moment she lost everything. For there was no way
Nathan could still think kindly of her, now that he knew the truth.
 Chapter Seven

athan’s heart broke more and more with every word he overheard Yvette say to Lady Cambourne. He’d puzzled out that
N Yvette’s story was a tragic one, and he had discovered many of the details already. But hearing the sorrow and
hopelessness in her voice and listening to her tears, as he had from the moment he’d gone with Lady Cambourne up to
Yvette’s rooms and waited, just around the corner, on her instructions, was devastating.
He hadn’t been entirely certain of the plan when Lady Cambourne had come to him half an hour before to request he
accompany her to find Yvette. Nathan rather thought Yvette needed some time alone to gather her strength after the accusations
Lady Eleanor had hurled at her. After reading just two of the letters Lord Philmont, whoever he was, had sent to her, Nathan
had taken Lady Eleanor to task for allowing her petty jealousy of Yvette to go too far.
It had been a waste of time. Lady Eleanor was so deeply certain of her rightness that she failed to listen to a word Nathan,
or any of the others who tried to make the woman see the error of her ways, said. She’d grabbed poor Miss Silverstone’s wrist,
causing the unfortunate woman to cry out—and Foxley to bristle as though he would challenge Lady Eleanor to a duel, whether
she was a woman or not, which Nathan found deeply curious—and dragged her off, presumably to hide from the rest of the
party.
All thoughts of Lady Eleanor, if she could even be called a lady at that point, were forgotten as Nathan stood outside
Yvette’s open door and listened to Lady Cambourne offer to send his love across the ocean to America. His emotions were so
deep when Yvette said that she didn’t think she could bear for him to hate her that he could no longer stay concealed in the
hallway.
But he could have, perhaps, made his entrance in a gentler manner.
Yvette was clearly full of fear as she darted to one side, almost as if she would dive into her open traveling case and hide,
then shifted to the other, raising her eyes and looking plaintively at him.
“I am so sorry, Yvette,” Nathan said, taking a cautious step toward her. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“How…how much of my conversation with Lady Cambourne did you hear?” she asked.
Yvette’s face was pink and splotchy from her tears, but those same tears had made her eyes shine and her lips stand out
with kissable redness against her skin. She would probably be appalled with her appearance if she could see herself, but
Nathan thought she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever known.
“All of it,” he answered, lowering his head sheepishly and peeking up at her. “I believe Lady Cambourne left your door
open on purpose so that I could listen. She…she was the one who suggested I come with her to make certain you were well.”
 Yvette’s mouth opened a bit in shock, and she stared at Nathan as if she wasn’t certain whether to be upset at his intrusion
or grateful that he had heard everything she had to say.
“Yvette, I do love you,” he said, throwing caution to the wind and stepping so close to her that he could take her into his
arms. “Please don’t ever doubt that. And even though things have been a mess and you’ve felt the need to lie in order to protect
yourself, please don’t think I hold any of that against you. I understand why you said all the things you said.”
“But you can’t possibly,” Yvette said, her voice filled more with exhaustion than anything else. “I haven’t told you the full
extent of things.”
“I’m not sure that the full extent of things really matters,” Nathan said, raising a hand to cradle her heated face and to brush
his thumb over the dampness of her cheek.
“Yes, it does,” she said, tilting her head up to him and holding his gaze. “My head is so muddled right now that I do not
know what is right or wrong, what is necessary or unimportant. All I know is that I love you, but I cannot believe you love me.”
“Believe it,” Nathan said.
Then, to prove his words, he slipped his arms around her, tugged her close, and slanted his mouth over hers in a kiss that
was designed to leave no doubts in her mind.
For the barest of moments, his kiss met resistance. Yvette made a small sound of hopeless emotion and fisted her hands in
Nathan’s jacket. Nathan had just decided that his kiss was unwelcome and he should step back at once and allow Yvette to
breathe, when she leaned into him and kissed him back.
The shift was noticeable and beautiful. Yvette unclenched her fists and laid her palms flat on Nathan’s chest as she
explored his mouth and took what she wanted from him. She made another sound of passion that had Nathan’s body pulsing
with carnal need.
And yet, it didn’t feel base or sordid with Yvette. It felt like a natural instinct to join with her in pleasure and to give her all
the things that the world had denied her.
As quickly as the heat of their kiss had flared, Yvette broke it and stepped back, panting.
“I do not know what has come over me,” she said, raising her fingers to her red lips. “You must think I’m the worst kind of
harlot.”
“Not at all,” Nathan was quick to reassure her. He paused, then said, “I believe your father has filled your head with
poisonous lies and made you believe you aren’t the wonderful woman that I know you to be.”
Yvette squeezed her eyes shut, and if Nathan didn’t already have her in his embrace, he was sure she would have backed
away from him and tried to shut herself off. This time, he wasn’t going to let her do that.
He was just about to go on and shower her with more praise when she said, “Henry used to tell me the same thing.” She
opened her eyes and stared up at him. “He told me every day that my father was a cruel, deceiving man and that I was not to
believe any of the things he had ever said about me. Every day, he reminded me, and he said he would continue to remind me
until I believed it.”
Nathan fought the pinch of jealousy he felt for all the things Yvette’s husband had enjoyed with her. “He sounds like a good
man,” he said. “I suppose you loved him very much?”
A sheepish look came over Yvette. “I did,” she said, glancing down at her hands on Nathan’s chest for a moment, “but there
are things about my…association with Henry that neither you nor anyone else, save one soul, knows.”
Nathan frowned slightly. “You don’t have to tell me anything about your former marriage if you’ve no wish to,” he said.
“We were never married,” Yvette said quietly, her look of panic returning. “Henry helped me to escape my father, then
pretended we’d eloped so that I would not be subjected to scandal. No ceremony was ever performed, though, and we
never….” She glanced down again, then said, “He never thought of me as a wife and never treated me as such.” She peeked at
him again as if to see whether he understood what she was saying.
Nathan felt a bit like a cad for being so glad Yvette had never consummated her not-marriage to someone else. He felt in the
deepest part of himself that she was his and his alone. At least, in that way.
“I will be forever grateful to Lord Mortimer for rescuing you,” he said, stroking the side of her face and smiling at her. “If
the man were still alive, I would thank him for bringing you to me. I will endeavor to do my best to finish the work he started
by pledging my life, my body, and my soul to protecting you from anyone who might try to harm you, including your father.”
Yvette smiled, but only for a moment before her emotions fell into a tumult again and her expression pinched. “I don’t see
how you want me now,” she said, turning her face away from him. “You read those letters Lady Eleanor found, I presume?”
“Two of them,” Nathan said. “Then I decided they weren’t worth the paper they are written on.”
She blinked at him in shock. “But they prove that I am the sort of woman who men say those sorts of things to,” she said.
“And…and once I leave here, I am afraid I will have no choice but to give in to Lord Philmont’s and my father’s wishes just to
stay alive.”
The very idea infuriated Nathan. Mostly because Yvette’s loathsome father had distorted her mind to make her think
submission to that sort of evil was her only option.
“All that has changed,” he said, loosening his hold on her long enough to lead her to the bed and sit with her. “Lady
Cambourne instigated your salvation, and I promise you that I will complete it. If you will have me, I’ll marry you, and you
will never even have to see your father or Lord Philmont again.”
“Are you truly proposing to me?” Yvette asked, blinking rapidly, as if she didn’t believe it.
“Of course, my darling,” Nathan said, resting a hand on the side of her face. He even leaned in to kiss her surprised mouth
softly.
“But…but I’m not Lord Carshalton’s heir,” Yvette protested. “You told me that your entire purpose in attending the house
party was to find the heir and marry her so that you could regain the fortune Carshalton stole from you.”
“None of that matters now,” Nathan said, kissing her again. “I will find another way to build up everything my family has
lost.” He kissed her again, finding that each small kiss only made him want to kiss her more. “My mother and my sisters will
love you,” he went on with yet another kiss. “I dare say they will be the affectionate companions that you may have longed your
whole life for.”
Yvette caught her breath, then leaned into him, grasping his jacket. “Yes,” she said, kissing him, her lips parted. “Yes, yes,
yes.”
Nathan laughed, heat swirling within him. “Yes to what, my love?”
“Yes to all of it,” Yvette said, undoing the buttons of his jacket. “Yes to marrying you, yes to loving your family, and yes to
more.”
The relief of knowing, at last, that he would be able to be of some use and that Yvette had put her trust in him spurred
Nathan on to actions he might not have taken at any other time. He grasped Yvette’s face and kissed her possessively, claiming
her mouth as a prelude to all the love he wanted to show her.
Better still, Yvette didn’t stop or push him away, as any other lady would have. She moved so that she could encircle her
arms around him, then leaned back to the point where they both tipped and Yvette fell to her back with Nathan on top of her.
“Are you certain this is what you want?” Nathan asked breathlessly between kisses.
“Yes,” Yvette said, laughing as she repeated her earlier answer.
It was her laughter that convinced Nathan to tempt scandal. Then again, he thought as he sat straighter and inched back so he
could undo the laces of Yvette’s shoes and begin the process of undressing himself, Lady Cambourne had brought him to
Yvette’s room on purpose, and she had deliberately shut the door, leaving the two of them alone, when she’d left.
“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” Nathan said with passion, kissing Yvette’s calves and knees as he
pulled off her stockings. “I feel it is my duty to take up the work of your late…friend in reminding you of that every day for the
rest of your life.”
“Nathan,” Yvette said breathlessly, then laughed when he lifted one of her legs at an awkward angle so that he could kiss
the inside of her knee.
Nathan loved making her laugh, but even more he loved the way her breath caught and her sighs grew louder as he pulled
off her drawers, then kissed his way up her inner thigh to her sex. They hadn’t even fully undressed, but he had no patience
when it came to giving her pleasure. He adjusted so that he could hold her legs apart and lavish her soft, wet sex with kisses,
and then strokes of his tongue, until Yvette was gasping and writhing with pleasure.
He wasn’t ready to speed their first lovemaking along too quickly, though, so just when he felt as if Yvette might explode,
he pulled back and continued the more mundane act of undressing.
“Why did you stop?” Yvette panted, lifting herself on her elbows and staring at him with delicious need in her still-bright
eyes.
“Because there is so much more to be had,” he answered.
She bit her lip and watched him as he stripped out of his clothes faster than he ever had in his life. He threw everything
aside once it was off, not caring where it landed. He wanted to give Yvette everything, and that included the unfettered sight of
his body. Once he stood naked in front of her, she most certainly did rake her eyes over him with hunger.
“I’ve never seen a naked man before,” she gasped, eyes wide and eager.
“You can see as much of me as you’d like,” Nathan said, climbing back onto the bed over her and tugging her bodice out of
the waist of her skirt. “But I would be lying if I said I didn’t want the favor returned.”
He was teasing, trying to make their lovemaking playful, but Yvette’s smile and warmth vanished. She turned her head to
the side, and Nathan thought she might start crying again.
“I’m sorry,” he said, falling to her side and putting some space between them. “That was callous of me. If you are not
ready⁠—”
“No! It’s not that,” Yvette said. She gathered herself with a deep breath, then sat up and started working through the buttons
of her blouse. “I want you to see.”
Nathan had a horrible feeling he knew what she was about to reveal. He offered his gentle help to her as she undressed, and
once she’d removed all of her clothes, with a sorrowful look, she flipped to lie on her stomach.
Rage like nothing Nathan had ever felt before filled him. Yvette’s back was filled with old, white lines of scars. He didn’t
know much about those things, but he assumed they’d been made with a cane of some sort. They covered Yvette’s back from
her shoulders to the top of her bottom.
“He was careful never to strike me where anyone would be able to see,” she said, her voice flat and haunted. “He didn’t
always strike me either. Sometimes he would dunk me in a tub of cold water until I thought I would drown.”
“My darling,” Nathan said, wishing the bastard were there right now so he could strangle him.
No, he wished never to be anywhere near Lord Sutton. Certainly not in that moment. In that moment, his thoughts were
elsewhere entirely.
“You are even more beautiful than I thought,” he said, bending down to kiss some of the marks on her shoulders. Yvette
drew in a stuttering breath as he went on, both with kisses and with sweet words. “You are so strong, so powerful. These
marks tell that story.”
“They’re ugly and make me feel weak,” Yvette sniffled.
“No,” Nathan said. “You endured all this, and you escaped. And now, here you are, fighting for your own life, taking
matters into your own hands.”
“I’d rather you took them into your hands,” Yvette said, then surprised Nathan, and, he thought, herself, with a laugh. “Your
hands feel so good. Your lips, too.”
“Then you shall have as much of them as you want,” Nathan said. “Always.”
He redoubled his efforts to kiss every wicked mark and nasty scar she had, kissing away the pain and shame that he
believed had filled Yvette when they’d been made. His beloved would never feel pain or shame again, if he could help it. He
would fill her world with light and pleasure and hope.
When he was done kissing all of her back, and adding a few kisses and nips to the swells of her bottom, too, he turned her
over and positioned himself over her, parting her legs and drawing one leg up to hook over his hip. Yvette had been crying
again, but he kissed her tears away, feeling like the salt was a gift to him, the gift of her trust.
He wanted to take his time and give her as much pleasure as possible, but the more he kissed and stroked her, exploring her
breasts and reaching between her legs to tease her clitoris, the less control he felt he had. He wanted to be inside her, to fill her
with his seed, despite the risks inherent in that act. If he happened to get her with child, perhaps that would work in their favor
if her father decided to protest their union.
The one thing he knew was that he didn’t want whatever pain she might experience to last for long or cause her distress.
So, he distracted her with kisses and touches, bringing her all the way to the edge of orgasm, then helping her find that special
pleasure that tightened her body and caused her to cry out with pleasure.
That was when he thrust slowly into her, making his entry as gentle and exciting as he could. He believed his efforts paid
off as Yvette grasped and clung to him, sighing, “Yes, yes!”
That was all he needed to let his own need take off. He thrust into her, chasing his pleasure so that it matched hers, then let
go with a sound of love as his seed poured into her. It felt so good, not only to come, but to know that he and Yvette were one.
It was a heady responsibility and one that he would take seriously for the rest of his days.
The intensity of the moment passed, leaving Nathan feeling warm and satisfied. He pulled out, then kissed and stroked
Yvette until she was relaxed and smiling. He hadn’t seen her so carefree in weeks, which both broke his heart and made him
fiercely protective of her. He continued to kiss her as he moved them to lie under the covers, wrapped up in each other.
“Sleep now, love,” he whispered to her, holding her close. “We both need it. And you don’t have to worry,” he went on.
“Everything will be alright now. I promise you.”
 Chapter Eight

he peace that descended on Yvette after giving herself over to Nathan, body and soul, was so sweet and pervasive that she
T slept for the better part of the afternoon. Even then, when she awoke to find Nathan still with her, smiling at her as he
watched her sleep, nothing seemed capable of disturbing her.
Nathan stepped out for a brief time, but only to fetch fresh clothes for himself and to alert the kitchen that they wished to
take supper alone in Yvette’s room. Yvette laughed at herself for having no qualms at all about more or less declaring her and
Nathan’s wickedness to the servants with the request. She also wasn’t a bit surprised when supper was sent up on a tray with a
bouquet of roses and Lady Cambourne’s compliments.
She and Nathan spent the evening talking, telling all the truths that neither of them had told anyone else in their lives.
Supper was glorious, the wine Lady Cambourne sent up with it was divine and went straight to her head, and after more sweet
lovemaking, Yvette spent a blissful night of rest and solitude in her fiancé’s arms.
“So he truly asked you to marry him?” Miss Pennypacker asked the next morning, after breakfast, when Yvette and her
friends had gathered under the marquee tent on the side lawn, ostensibly to discuss books together.
“He did,” Yvette answered with a languid smile.
“Was this before or after he committed scandal with you and claimed your virtue?” Lady Patience asked, sending Yvette a
teasing look over her teacup.
Yvette laughed freely. She had thought she would care so desperately what her friends thought of her, but upon second
thought, she wondered why she had been so worried. They would all have been considered fallen women in the eyes of polite
society. They would have been shunned by the same people who had already shunned her for running off with Henry.
Now, however, Yvette could see that only some people cared about things like society’s rules and spotless virtue. They
were welcome to it all, as far as she was concerned. She had her friends here with her, and they were all just black sheep
together.
“It was before we tumbled headfirst into sin,” Yvette said, nibling on the end of the biscuit she’d just taken from the plate
on the low table between the chairs and settees where they all sat. “In fact, the sinning was a natural consequence of his
proposal.”
“Poor Mr. Sands,” Miss Pennypacker snorted. “He was so convinced that he’d be able to win you away from Lord
Theydon by building you a house by the sea and taking you to India.”
“I never really spent much time at the sea and I’ve never been to India,” Yvette said, turning slightly somber. “I’m afraid I
concocted those stories to amuse you all.”
“There’s nothing wrong with telling stories,” Lady Angeline said, looking as innocent and angelic as ever. “I’ve rather
enjoyed your tales.”
Yvette’s stomach tightened as she realized, once again, the moment was upon her. Only this time, she was determined to
come out with everything. She didn’t need to worry about rejection and denigration anymore. Nathan would stand beside her,
come what may. Of that, she was confident.
“I have something I would like to say to you all,” she said, sitting a bit straighter, her head bowed as she summoned her
courage. When she glanced up, she looked around at all of her friends. “I…I’m afraid that Lady Eleanor was entirely correct
when she called me a liar.”
Immediately, her friends snorted and huffed and made so many unladylike sounds that Yvette wanted to laugh.
“Lady Eleanor is an old bat in a young woman’s body,” Miss Benning said as she poured herself another cup of tea.
“Where is Lady Eleanor this morning anyhow?” Lady Angeline asked.
“The last I saw her, she was hovering in the front hall, looking out at the drive as if she was expecting a guest,” Miss
Pennypacker said.
“Who would ever seek a visit with Lady Eleanor,” Lady Patience said with a snort.
Yvette couldn’t help but smile at her friends. “I’ve just confessed to you all that I have lied about, well, nearly everything…
and you choose to wonder about Lady Eleanor’s whereabouts?”
Her friends exchanged looks, then turned those looks on her.
“You must admit, Yvette,” Miss Pennypacker said with her typical American forwardness, “not all of the tales you told us
about your life are believable.”
“And some of them contradicted each other,” Lady Angeline added in a whisper.
“But they were all very diverting,” Lady Patience said.
Yvette’s jaw dropped. “Are you saying that you knew I was a liar this entire time, but you still wished to associate with me
and…and be my friends?”
The ladies exchanged more looks.
“You’re a lovely person to be with,” Miss Benning said. “I truly enjoy our friendship.”
“There’s never a dull moment with you in our circle,” Miss Pennypacker agreed.
“But the lies,” Yvette said.
Lady Patience put down her teacup and leaned closer to Yvette. “Darling, you must know that rumors about you abound.
One could take those rumors at face value, but a true friend will look beyond the tattling to determine what must truly be the
matter.”
“No one runs away from their father’s house in the middle of the night with a gentleman three times their age if they are not
in truly dire straits,” Lady Angeline said.
“I would be absolutely terrified if I’d received letters of the sort that Lord Philmont sent you,” Miss Pennypacker added.
“You do not need to tell me the details, but it is clear to all of us that you have been through an ordeal, and you need the help
and support of your friends instead of the censure and abandonment that others have given you.”
Yvette was so moved by the loyalty of the ladies around her that she didn’t know if she wanted to burst into tears yet again,
even though she’d cried enough in the last week for multiple lifetimes, or if she wanted to get up and hug every single one of
them. The only regret she had was that Millie wasn’t there to share the moment with them. Millie would be a perfect fit for
Yvette’s group of friends in ways that her mistress never could be.
“You all have no idea how much this means to me,” she said, her voice hushed with emotion. “I have felt so alone for so
much of my life, but finding you all has⁠—”
“There you are, you wretched bitch!”
The bubble of warmth and affection that surrounded Yvette was popped into nothing in the very worst way she could have
imagined. The moment she heard her father’s voice, everything within her froze, and the bone-deep fear that she’d lived with
her whole life but had thought she’d escaped slammed back into her.
She twisted in her chair to see not only her furious father, but Lord Philmont and Lady Eleanor, with a weeping Miss
Silverstone behind them, marching across the lawn toward the marquee.
“No!” Yvette gasped, standing and clutching her hands to her stomach. “No, no! They’ve found me.”
“I’ll fetch Lord Theydon,” Lady Angeline said, leaping up and tearing out of the tent toward the other side of the house.
“We won’t let them come anywhere near you,” Miss Pennypacker said as she and Lady Patience stood and positioned
themselves between Yvette and the approaching men.
“Thought you could hide from me, did you, girl?” her father asked, slapping aside a curtain at the edge of the marquee as he
stepped into its shade. “Thought you could escape me again?”
“Have you been here this whole time?” Lord Philmont asked, his voice oily and his eyes roving everywhere they shouldn’t
have on Yvette’s person. “No wonder you haven’t been answering my letters.”
 If ever Yvette was going to stand up for herself, it was now, with her friends flanking her and ready to fight.
“I read them, my lord,” she said icily, holding her head high. “I would never lower myself to answer them, though.”
Lord Philmont snorted. “She’s grown some fire since the last time I saw her,” he said, staring at Yvette, but speaking to her
father. “It’s always a lark to break the feisty ones.”
Yvette felt sick. Looking at Lord Philmont now, she couldn’t believe she had ever considered that the only choice open to
her was giving in to the man.
Better still, she learned quickly that she didn’t need to fight her battles on her own.
“And just who do you think you are?” Miss Pennypacker asked, like a lioness defending her cubs. “You are most certainly
not a gentleman to speak to a lady in such a way.”
“Who I am is none of your business, chit,” Lord Philmont snapped at her. “Unless you’d like to take Lady Yvette’s place in
my bed. I’ve never had an American before.”
“Insolence!” Lady Patience hissed, tilting her chin up. “I demand you leave our presence at once, or I will be forced to call
for every footman at Nedworth Hall to escort you out.”
“As if they would dare,” Yvette’s father scoffed. “This woman is my daughter, and as she is unmarried and has no fortune to
support her, I am taking her back home, under my authority, where she belongs by law and by right.”
“There is no law that says a widow must be beholden to her father,” Miss Benning pointed out. “Particularly not if he
clearly intends harm toward her.”
“How did you know that Lady Yvette was here in the first place?” Lady Patience asked, crossing her arms. “She has kept
her whereabouts concealed, I assume, because she wants nothing to do with you.”
“I think we all know how these two louses discovered Lady Yvette’s location,” Miss Pennypacker said, glaring at Lady
Eleanor.
Lady Eleanor flushed a deep red as she held her head up, trying to pretend she had a backbone. “I will not deny it,” she
said. “As soon as I discovered the truth, I wrote to Lord Sutton with the location of his daughter. He is completely in the right
to assert his authority over his own child, particularly when she has been misbehaving so grievously at this party.”
“You swine,” Miss Pennypacker growled at the woman.
Yvette was certain there would be a fight on the level of a barroom brawl between the two women, but Millie stepped
forward and said, “I’m so sorry, Yvette. I would have stopped her if I knew what she had planned, but I only just found out
myself.”
Yvette opened her mouth to tell Millie it was alright, but Lady Eleanor cut her off with, “You will be quiet, you wretch! I
am through with hearing your whining and pestering. You have no right to order your betters around. I do not care what my
mother says, you are dismissed. Without references, I might add.”
Yvette couldn’t help herself. Her respect for Lady Eleanor had become less than nothing, and the opportunity to embarrass
her could not be passed up.
“Miss Silverstone,” she said as Millie gaped and blushed, as if she had no idea what to do. “I understand you might be
seeking employment. As it happens, I am in need of a companion and lady’s maid. Would you be interested in the position?”
Millie snapped her mouth shut and whipped to face Yvette. Her eyes went wide, and her mouth closed into a smile. “Yes,
my lady,” she said marching away from Lady Eleanor to join the ranks of Yvette and her friends. “I would be honored to serve
you.”
“And I am honored to have you on my side,” Yvette said, gasping Millie’s hand once she reached Yvette.
“This is preposterous and tedious,” Yvette’s father sighed. “You cannot afford a lady’s maid. You cannot afford so much as
a roof over your head or food to eat. Your wretched late husband died penniless, leaving you nothing.”
“But I think you will find that her soon-to-be husband has more than enough money to support her.”
Yvette’s heart soared at the sound of Nathan’s voice, and she turned, in concert with all her friends, to find not only Nathan,
but the Duke of Foxley, Lord Bygrave and his brother, and Lord Rothbury charging to the rescue.
Yvette’s joy at having an entire army of friends to support her faltered a moment later when Lord Philmont snorted and said,
“Why, if it isn’t little Nathan Clarke.”
Yvette pivoted to face Lord Philmont again, her eyes wide. “You know him?”
“He does not,” Nathan said with a puzzled frown. “I’ve never seen this man before in my life. But if he is who I’ve been
told he is, he will wish that he was anyone else and regret ever being born, once I’m done with him.” He looked at Yvette’s
father and continued with, “As will you.”
Yvette’s father didn’t seem the least bit cowed. He laughed, the sound cold and bitter. “And who is this whelp?” he asked,
then, as Nathan took Yvette’s hand firmly in his, added, “You will move away from my daughter at once.”
“I will do no such thing,” Nathan seethed.
“This is Lord Theydon’s brat,” Lord Philmont said.
“Lord Theydon?” Yvette’s father glanced to him in confusion.
“You remember,” Lord Philmont said with a smirk. “That fool with the estate in Staffordshire that I told you about?”
 “If you say one cross word against my late father, I will make damn certain you never speak another word again,” Nathan
growled.
Yvette’s father smirked at him. “Oh. That Theydon.” He snorted a laugh. “I have it on good authority that you don’t have
two farthings to rub together yourself, boy. So if you think for one moment that I would let you have my daughter’s hand⁠—”
“I am not asking your permission, sir,” Nathan said, spitting the last word and deliberately not giving Yvette’s father any
sort of deference. “I am betrothed to your daughter, and we will be married at the earliest possible date.”
“With what money?” Yvette’s father asked. “And by whose authority. The girl is mine.”
“Lady Yvette is her own person,” Miss Pennypacker insisted.
Yvette smiled weakly. She appreciated and agreed with her progressive friend’s beliefs, but she wasn’t sure that was the
best time to express them.
The argument continued, but as it did, Yvette spotted Lord and Lady Cambourne and the footman, Jack, racing across the
lawn toward them.
“Lady Yvette has a great deal of money,” Lady Patience said, taking a half step forward. “Her inheritance is vast.”
Yvette’s father barked a laugh. “My will leaves her nothing,” he said, striking Yvette right to the heart. She’d never
expected much from him, but he would have had to deliberately write his only child out of his will for that to be the case. “Her
only chance of survival in this world is under the protection of my friend here, Lord Philmont.”
He spoke with confidence, but as Lord and Lady Cambourne reached the marquee, he glanced anxiously at them.
Lady Patience laughed. “Who’s the fool now? For we all now know that you are not Lady Yvette’s natural father. She is
Lord Carshalton’s heir.”
“She’s what?” Lord Philmont balked, then laughed.
Yvette’s father merely narrowed his eyes and said, “She is not. I would know.”
“That just goes to show what you know,” Miss Pennypacker said.
“Yvette! Have you been telling lies again, you wicked, wicked girl?” Yvette's father snapped.
“She has,” Lady Eleanor stepped forward into the conversation once more. “She’s been spewing nothing but lies since she
arrived at Nedworth Hall, and I, for one, think she should face the consequences of her actions.”
Yvette’s knees nearly gave out. She’d heard that same phrase, or something similar to it, so often as a child and young
woman that the mere words made her back sting. She was certain she would have swooned, had Nathan not been standing right
beside her. He slipped an arm around her waist, causing Yvette to nearly sob in gratitude.
“Enough of this,” Lord Cambourne cut into the confusion. “I have no idea who you are, sir,” he addressed Yvette’s father,
“but I can guess. You have not been invited to my estate, and I demand that you leave at once.”
“I am not leaving without my daughter,” Yvette’s father said.
“She isn’t your daughter,” Miss Pennypacker insisted. “She’s Lord Carshalton’s heir.”
“Lies,” Lady Eleanor shouted. “It’s all lies.”
“You are the one who brought this evil man to Nedworth Hall,” Lady Patience shouted right back at her. “If anyone is to be
banished from the estate, it should be you.”
“How dare you speak to me that way?” Lady Eleanor gasped.
“I do love a good cat fight,” Lord Philmont murmured, wiping his mouth as he watched Lady Patience and Lady Eleanor
lean toward each other.
“Enough of this,” Lady Cambourne roared.
Everyone in the tent froze and turned to look at her. She had her hands held up and an expression that said she’d lost every
last bit of her patience.
“The purpose of his house party was to bring the unusual young people of our acquaintance together so that they could make
matches that would suit their standing in society,” she said. “Yes, we planted a bit of a mystery amongst you all with Lord
Carshalton’s heir, but it was never meant to descend into a zoo such as this.”
She turned to look at her husband.
“The two of you will leave my property at once, or I will summon the law,” Lord Carshalton said to Yvette’s father and
Lord Philmont. He glanced to Lady Eleanor and said, “I would send you packing as well, but out of respect for your good
mother, you may stay. But you will not speak to Lady Yvette again or harass any of the other guests or you will be sent on your
way, regardless of our friendship with Lady Gillingham.”
“You cannot do this,” Yvette’s father protested.
“I have never been so offended,” Lady Eleanor said at the same time.
“It is time we bring this house party to its conclusion,” Lady Cambourne spoke over everyone, causing silence again. “The
identity of Lord Carshalton’s heir will be revealed at tomorrow night’s masquerade ball. Carshalton’s solicitors have already
been sent for, and they will be in attendance to verify the heir’s identity. Once the revelation has been made, I am afraid I
expect all of you to pack your things and carry on with your lives, either with your newfound loves or alone, by Monday.”
“And that is all we have to say about that,” Lord Cambourne finished the pronouncement.
 For a few moments, everyone was still.
Then Nathan turned to Yvette and said, “Come, my darling. I think a walk down by the river for a bit of peace is in order.”
“Yes, thank you,” Yvette said. She was so overwhelmed that that was all she could say.
Nathan smiled at her then, making everything seem better. He grasped her hand, and with only a few cursory looks and nods
for his friends, he led Yvette away from the tent.
“You cannot take my daughter,” Yvette’s father shouted after them.
“Get off my property,” Lord Cambourne boomed so loudly that Yvette flinched, even though she and Nathan had already
walked away from the scene.
“I do not envy your father if he fails to do as Lord Cambourne says immediately,” Nathan said in an undertone. “Though I
wish I had had the opportunity to thrash the man myself.”
“You may still get your chance,” Yvette sighed as they picked up their pace. “I doubt he’ll go quietly without me.”
“Well, he’s not going anywhere with you,” Nathan said. “Come what may, I will defend you with my life if I have to.”
Yvette was more grateful than she could say. She just hoped things didn’t come to the point where Nathan’s life truly would
be at stake.
 Chapter Nine

athan was serious about defending Yvette with his life, and that began almost immediately. As soon as Yvette had calmed
N down and the houseguests had settled into their afternoon activities after the uproar of Lord Sutton’s appearance, Nathan
took action. He entrusted a refreshed and more confident Yvette to the care of her friends as they discussed the new
excitement of the next evening’s masquerade ball, and then he set off for the nearby town of Stevenage, where Lord Sutton and
Lord Philmont were assumed to be staying, since Lord Cambourne had banished them from his property.
As he’d hoped he would, Nathan found the two sour gentlemen seated at a table in the inn’s common room, being served
their afternoon tea by a pale and harried-looking maid.
“What’s the matter, love?” Lord Philmont called after the poor girl as she rushed away from the table with her hand over
her mouth, sobbing. “Never had a real man touch your titties?”
Lord Sutton and Lord Philmont hadn’t even seen Nathan yet, and already Nathan was enraged by the pair of them.
They noticed him a few seconds later, as he marched straight up to their table, holy fury burning in his gut. If he could have
done it without causing damage for people who did not deserve it, he would have flipped over the table and beaten both men
with one of the table legs.
“What do you want?” Lord Sutton started to ask.
“How dare you appear out of nowhere, expecting to dictate my fiancée’s life?” Nathan demanded over top of him.
Lord Sutton’s eyes went wide with offense. “And how dare you address me in such an impertinent manner?” he shot back at
Nathan.
“I dare because you are the very worst sort of man, sir,” Nathan said curtly. “I know all about the lifetime of abuse and hurt
you have caused the woman I love.”
Lord Sutton glowered, but Lord Philmont snorted, as if Nathan had joked with him. “These new-fashioned young whelps
and their progressive thinking,” he snorted. “They don’t know what a woman is really for. They let those whores run roughshod
over them. It’s no wonder this country is going to the dogs.”
Nathan was far beyond stopping himself from reacting just the way he wanted to. He lashed out, slapping Lord Philmont
across the face. He was unable to hit him at an angle that would do more than startle the man and redden his cheek, but at least
he managed to wipe the smirk right off him.
“Only the very basest sort of blackguard would speak of women in such disgusting terms,” he seethed.
“Innkeeper!” Lord Sutton bellowed. “I demand this man be thrown out at once for assaulting my friend.”
 Nathan was too infuriated to be worried. He caught the glance of a man with an apron, who he assumed to be the innkeeper,
as the man narrowed his eyes at Lord Sutton. The innkeeper nodded to Nathan, then turned and left the room, as if he didn’t
want to know about any sort of violence that might happen on his premises.
Lord Sutton and Lord Philmont lost the last traces of smugness and tensed over their tea.
“You have caused severe harm to the woman I love,” Nathan went on, trying futilely to present himself with calm and
strength when he wanted to tear the two men before him to pieces. “I do not know why you think you can reenter Yvette’s life
and control it in any way, but I will not allow you to do so.”
“She’s my daughter,” Lord Sutton protested. “She belongs to me by right of the law.”
“She does not,” Nathan snapped.
“She’s an unmarried woman,” Lord Philmont pointed out. “That makes her and her financial concerns the purview of her
father.”
A spark of understanding lit in Nathan’s mind. He had assumed that Lord Sutton’s continued interest in Yvette was born out
of some sick sense of possession and bullying. He’d thought that perhaps the tyrant had no wish to let someone whom he could
belittle and abuse get away, because lording it over Yvette made him feel more powerful. But Lord Philmont’s slip now had
him wondering if money was involved in the whole thing somehow.
“Yvette will be a married woman very soon,” he said, tilting his chin up and staring down his nose at the two odious
gentlemen. He tested his theory by adding, “At that time, I will be the sole person responsible for her and her fortune.”
The way that the two men scowled and exchanged looks as though whatever plan they had was being threatened told Nathan
he was on the right track.
“Why would you want anything to do with a used and wretched female?” Lord Sutton asked with a sneer. “My daughter
isn’t worth the clothes on her back.”
“She won’t need those clothes once I have her,” Lord Philmont snickered.
“I will not allow you to speak of my beloved in such a manner,” Nathan said, raising his voice.
Lord Philmont snorted. “Your beloved,” he said, filling the words with derision. “You know she whored herself out for
Lord Mortimer, even though he was more than twice her age, do you not?”
“Disobedient, willful chit,” Lord Sutton hissed.
“I daresay I know more about those circumstances than you do,” Nathan said coldly.
“Oh, do you?” Lord Sutton asked, sitting straighter. “And what did my lying, conniving daughter tell you? That she rode off
on a white horse with the knight who came to rescue her from her villainous father? That she lived happily as a princess in a
tower, enjoying my duplicitous friend’s fortune for the rest of her days?”
Again, the mention of money made Nathan believe there was more going on than he’d yet learned.
Lord Philmont snorted. “This weakling knows nothing,” he said. “Like his father before him. Those Theydons are entirely
too trusting and always have been.”
The hair on the back of Nathan’s neck prickled. Sense told him that he needed to proceed with caution so as to not cause the
blackguards to clam up before he wrestled the truth from them.
“What do you know of my late father?” he demanded.
“That a fool and his money are soon parted,” Lord Philmont laughed. He still hadn’t caught on to the fact that he was the
one on the back foot.
“What money?” Nathan pressed further. His heart pounded against his ribs and he was nearly dizzy with the suspicion that
his family’s financial losses might not have been what they’d seemed.
“Your father was entirely too trusting,” Lord Philmont said. “He would talk and talk at the club about every sort of land
speculation and investment he hoped to make. He and Carshalton would go on about it all for hours with no idea that the entire
room could hear every word they said.”
Nathan could feel the color drain from his face and his hands and feet going numb. Could it be that he’d misplaced the
blame for his family’s decrease in fortune on Carshalton when it was really Lord Philmont who had undercut his father and
stolen away every opportunity he’d had?
“Philmont,” Lord Sutton said in a wary voice, cautioning his friend.
“Don’t you ‘Philmont’ me,” Lord Philmont said with a sniff. “It’s about time I was able to take credit for my cleverness. I
was sharp and savvy, and I made a delicious profit at the expense of a fool. Why should I not share that with the world?”
Again, Nathan didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward, grabbed Lord Philmont’s chair, and pulled it away from the table so
forcefully that it sent Lord Philmont sprawling. He was so tempted to kick the old man once he was on the floor, but a few
moments of abuse would only provide fleeting satisfaction. He wanted the consequences Lord Philmont would suffer for
ruining his family, and for importuning Yvette, to last much longer.
“I would watch yourself from here on out, sir,” he hissed, staring down at Lord Philmont, who struggled across the floor
like the snake he was in an attempt to get away from him. “Ill-gotten fortunes have a way of vanishing.”
That was mostly because the men who gained them rarely had the intelligence to keep them, but if Lord Philmont was afraid
of Nathan, it would make his efforts to punish the man for his wrongdoings that much sweeter.
“Innkeeper!” Lord Sutton shouted, rising to his feet as if he would fetch the man.
Nathan took that opportunity to step in front of Lord Sutton and grab him by the collar of his shirt.
“You will not go anywhere near Yvette ever again,” he growled. “You will not hurt or terrify her anymore. I will protect
her with everything I have, and if that means taking a life, I will do it.”
Lord Sutton made a whimpering sound. “But why do you even want her? She has nothing. She is no one. I made damn sure
of that.”
Nathan narrowed his eyes. “What did you do?” he asked in a low, threatening voice.
“Nothing! I did nothing!” Lord Sutton squeaked.
Nathan tightened his grip on the man’s collar until he could barely breathe. “What did you do?” he asked again, shaking the
man.
Lord Sutton flailed before croaking out, “I contested Mortimer’s will. She won’t get a penny of what Mortimer left her as
long as I keep bringing legal challenges.”
Nathan’s eyes went wide. Lord Mortimer had left Yvette an inheritance after all?
“You are a worm,” he hissed at Lord Sutton. Then, against his beliefs as a gentleman, but fueled by outrage for the woman
he loved, he pulled back and punched Lord Sutton square in the face.
Blood splattered from the man’s nose as it crunched. The blow hurt Nathan’s hand, and he let the villain go so he could rub
his sore knuckles. Lord Sutton groaned and collapsed to the floor with his cowardly friend.
Nathan didn’t stay to see what would become of the men. He turned and marched out of the room, still shaking his hand.
“I’ve been waiting for someone to do that,” the innkeeper said as Nathan passed him in the front room. “I was close to
doing it myself more than once already today.”
“I am terribly sorry to have disrupted your fine establishment,” Nathan said.
The innkeeper grinned. “Think nothing of it, my lord.” He even patted Nathan on the back as he left.
The walk back to Nedworth Hall was everything Nathan needed to calm his fury and think about the revelations that had
been made. Lord Philmont was responsible for his family’s misfortunes, not Carshalton. Nathan had only barely known
Carshalton, so he had no great emotional relief one way or another that his family’s neighbor was not the villain he’d always
imagined. Coming face to face with the real thief filled him with a renewed energy to rebuild and restore everything his father
had lost.
But more important, Yvette was not as destitute as she believed herself to be. Nathan wondered what she had been told
about her inheritance when Lord Mortimer had died. It was entirely likely she’d been told nothing at all or misinformation at
best. Too many men in the financial world considered women beneath their notice, even in matters of their own inheritance.
By the time he returned to the house and his room so that he could bathe his hand and change for supper, he’d decided that
he would set about reclaiming what his family had lost from Philmont, but before that, he would see about releasing whatever
Lord Mortimer had left to Yvette from the chains Lord Sutton had put around it.
“My lord, there you are.”
Nathan was surprised to find Daniel in his room when he entered.
“Daniel,” he said with a smile. “How was London?”
“Extraordinarily interesting,” Daniel said, his expression filled with determination. “I had quite an interesting conversation
with the current Lord Mortimer, that’s for certain.”
Nathan’s eyes widened. “Lady Yvette’s late husband’s son, I presume?”
“The very one,” Daniel said. “He and his wife, and his brothers and sisters, are all deeply worried about Lady Yvette and
anxious to know her whereabouts.”
That surprised Nathan even more. “Are they?”
“Yes.” Daniel took a step toward him to help Nathan out of his sweaty and soiled jacket. “It seems Lord Mortimer’s
children were very fond of their step-mother. They felt quite sorry for her and protective of her. When she disappeared after
Lord Mortimer’s death, they were alarmed and worried for her safety.”
“How extraordinary,” Nathan said, undoing his cuffs once Daniel had his jacket. “Yvette believes that they despised her.”
“Far from it,” Daniel said. “They also told me that Lord Mortimer left Lady Yvette a large sum of money and a property in
London so that she would be taken care of for the rest of her days, but that some unknown party has repeatedly contested the
will since Lord Mortimer’s death. They have pooled their resources and set up a fund for Lady Yvette’s use until she comes
into possession of that inheritance, but they have not been able to find her.”
Nathan’s heart ached with gratitude for the people he’d never met. “It is her father,” he told Daniel. “I’ve just been to speak
with him and Lord Philmont at the inn where they are staying.”
Daniel started. “Lord Sutton is nearby?”
Nathan smiled, remembering that Daniel had been away that morning and missed the excitement. “The two men arrived to
try and claim Yvette this morning.”
 “The new Lord Mortimer knew all about Lord Philmont,” Daniel said with a haunted expression. “He believed that man
was the reason Lady Yvette was in hiding. He’d been pursuing her for some time, and his attentions were, shall we say, horrific
to a degree that not even the worst rogue of the stage could portray.”
“I can imagine,” Nathan said. “I don’t think they’ll be bothering Yvette now, though.”
Before Daniel could ask what Nathan meant, which his expression said he wanted to, there was a knock on the door,
followed by Yvette’s timid, “Nathan? Have you returned?”
Daniel grinned knowingly. “I will leave you, my lord.” He picked up Nathan’s jacket, which he’d just put down. “I believe
this needs immediate attention to avoid stains or any lingering odors.”
Nathan smiled gratefully at his valet and friend as he went to answer the door.
“Nathan, I—oh!” Yvette surged into the room and almost all the way into Nathans’ arms before seeing Daniel there.
“I was just departing, my lady,” Daniel said kindly, then promptly left the room, shutting the door behind him.
Yvette looked embarrassed at being caught at the door to Nathan’s room, but he wasn’t having any of that. Nathan swept her
into his arms, despite still being sweaty from his walk, and kissed her with all the heightened feelings that still roared through
him.
The kiss was long and lingering, and it managed to melt away the tension Yvette had when she’d entered the room. It was
soothing for Nathan as well, and soon he was able to let out a deep breath and just hold Yvette tenderly, smiling at her and
feeling like the luckiest man in the world.
“I was told you’d gone off to confront my father,” Yvette said in a quiet voice, fiddling with one of the buttons of his shirt,
then glancing up at him. “But you’re entirely too at ease to have done that.”
“On the contrary,” Nathan said, his voice darkening a bit. “I did go into town to confront your father.”
Yvette gasped and tensed in his arms. “No, Nathan!” She tried to pull away, but Nathan held her fast. “What did he do to
you? Did he hurt you? He’s a dangerous man. There’s no telling what he is capable of.”
“I’ll agree with you in that regard,” Nathan said, kissing Yvette quickly.
The gesture had the desired effect. Yvette was so startled to be kissed in the midst of her panic that it stilled her.
“Are you aware that Lord Mortimer left you an inheritance?” he asked her. “One that your father has managed to keep from
you for two years?”
“No!” Yvette said, her eyes going wide.
“He confessed as much to me, and Daniel has just returned from London with confirmation of that same truth.”
Yvette clapped a hand to her mouth. “I cannot believe it.”
“It’s true,” Nathan said. “And as soon as the house party concludes, and as soon as we are married, I will pursue justice for
you and make certain you are given the gift your late friend provided for you.”
Yvette’s eyes went glassy with emotion. “His true heirs will never allow me to have it,” she said in a sad voice.
“I must contradict you again,” Nathan said. “Daniel has just been to London to speak with the current Lord Mortimer. All of
your late friend’s children are fond of you and worried about you. I imagine that they are eager to meet you again and to know
you are safe.”
“Can it…can it be?” Yvette asked, blinking rapidly.
“It can,” Nathan said. “I can believe it easily. You are deeply likeable, my love.” He kissed her again soundly.
Yvette was beyond stunned when he let her go. “But what about…how did you…my father….”
“Your father has been dealt with,” Nathan said. “And I will continue to deal with him if he dares to interfere with our lives.
The same is true for Lord Philmont who, as it turns out, has deeper connections to my family than I thought.”
“What connections?” Yvette asked, looking as though her head was spinning.
Nathan kissed her again. “I think it’s best if I tell you all at some other time. A great deal of information has been uncovered
that will have consequences that I fear the two of us and my family will be dealing with for years to come. But for now,” he
kissed her again, “we have a masquerade ball to prepare for. Do you think we should wear matching masks so that everyone
will know we belong to each other?”
Yvette burst into a beautiful smile. “I absolutely think that,” she said. “And we do belong to each other.” She hugged him
tighter and kissed him passionately. “I want everyone at the ball to know it.”
She gasped suddenly and leapt back from him. At first, Nathan worried Yvette was upset about something, but her eyes
shone with excitement instead.
“The ball,” she said. “Lady Cambourne said she will reveal the true Carshalton heir.”
“That should make for a lively evening,” Nathan laughed. “Who do you suppose it is?”
“I’ve no idea,” Yvette said. She slipped back into Nathan’s arms with a sly smile. “As long as it’s not Lady Eleanor, I don’t
care who it is.”
Nathan laughed. Lady Eleanor. He’d nearly forgotten about her in the rest of the mess. Now there was a woman who
deserved to get what was coming to her.
 Chapter Ten

ince the house party had begun, long before that, really, Yvette had become used to dressing herself and fretting about the
S cares of her world alone. But as she prepared for the masquerade ball the next evening, for the first time, she had a friend
to help her.
“I’m not terribly good at dressing hair,” Millie said as she helped do up the buttons at the back of the ballgown Yvette had
borrowed from Lady Cambourne’s surprisingly large wardrobe for the grand event, “but I could give it a try.”
“And I will do the same for you,” Yvette said, bouncing with excitement for the night’s activities. It wasn’t just the
revelation of Lord Carshalton’s heir she was looking forward to, Nathan had intimated he planned to make a formal
announcement about their engagement at the ball.
Not that any of her friends were in any doubt about the depth of their connection. But having Nathan willing to declare that
he wanted her to everyone, after the denigration and abuse she’d always suffered at her father’s hands, meant the world to her.
“I’ve actually become surprisingly adept at styling hair,” she told Millie without thinking as Millie finished with the
buttons. “I was trained by a French woman in London, and I was even considering hiring myself out as a lady’s maid so that I
could⁠—”
She stopped herself with a sigh and glanced over her shoulder at Millie.
“I’m sorry. That was a lie.” Her shoulders sagged as she looked forward to study herself in the mirror. “I’ve become so
accustomed to lying that I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop now.”
“I’m not offended,” Millie said, smiling at her reflection. “From what you were saying to us all this afternoon, you’ve had
to be clever and careful in order to protect yourself for so long. To be honest, I think you should become an author so that you
can tell your stories for everyone to enjoy.”
Yvette reached back to grasp Millie’s hand, her heart overflowing with emotion. “Do you know, perhaps I will take up a
pen and make a career of my lies.”
She was so lucky to have a friend like Millie by her side now. She’d already spoken to Nathan about hiring her officially as
a companion once they left the house party on Monday, though she had only fleetingly brought the possibility up with Millie as
of yet.
She had a full circle of wonderful friends now. That afternoon, the entire group of them had toured Lady Cambourne’s
wardrobe, picking out lavish costumes for the ball, then spent the rest of the day in a sort of impromptu sewing circle, working
to adjust the gowns so that they would fit.
 Some of Nedworth’s maids had assisted them, and Mrs. Seymour had sent up a lavish tea that was meant to impress her
long-lost daughter, Miss Benning. Miss Benning had been called away in the middle of the fun, though, as her father and Uncle
Horace had arrived to join the house party in its final hours.
“Did I not tell you I’d sent for them?” Miss Benning had said as she’d set her gown aside and stood. “It was because I was
so uncertain about things earlier, before Dante proposed to me or Mrs. Seymour revealed herself. I wrote to them that they
didn’t need to come after all, but they insisted on meeting Dante and thanking Mrs. Seymour.”
“I’m sure it will be a delight to have them join us for the ball,” Yvette had said, feeling generous.
She was feeling generous about everyone and everything now. She’d spent the night in Nathan’s bed again and woke in the
morning feeling secure and hopeful about her future for the first time in ages. She’d penned a letter to Henry’s son, explaining
why she’d run off and not contacted any of the family and begged forgiveness. And there hadn’t been so much as a peep from
her father or Lord Philmont.
Or Lady Eleanor, for that matter.
“Have you heard anything from Lady Eleanor at all?” Yvette asked once Millie had finished with her buttons, moving to sit
at the vanity.
“No,” Millie said with a small sigh. “But then, I doubt she will bother to say another word to me again for the rest of her
days.”
“You’re better off for it,” Yvette laughed, fastening a pair of faux pearl earbobs to her ears.
“She hasn’t left Nedworth Hall yet,” Millie went on with a puzzled frown. “Robert, the groom who accompanied us from
Kent, is still here.”
Yvette couldn’t hide the mischievous smile that pulled at her mouth. “Perhaps he’s staying here for your sake,” she said.
“Does he enjoy walking in the woods?”
Millie turned bright pink and nearly dropped the hairbrush that she’d just picked up. “No, he does not,” she mumbled.
When Yvette continued to watch her knowingly in the vanity’s mirror, Millie went on with, “I know what you think, but Robert
was not the man in question that day.”
Yvette’s brow went up teasingly. “If not Robert, then who?”
Millie flushed even darker. “You know I cannot tell you that,” she said quietly, brushing Yvette’s hair. “I…I should not hold
out hope for the two of us. There truly is no possible way for our love to end happily.”
Yvette practically quivered with excitement for the mystery of it all. Millie spoke like someone who had a great and
romantic story of her own to be told. And unlike most of the things Yvette herself had said at the house party, she believed
Millie’s tale to be true.
“Well, I do hope that, when the time comes, you will feel free to tell me all,” Yvette said.
“When the time comes,” Millie said quietly.
Yvette was desperate to know all of Millie’s secrets, but she turned the conversation to unimportant things about the night
ahead of her. It felt so wonderful just to have a friend to fritter away her time with that she wanted to fritter as much as
possible.
At last, when Yvette’s hair was perfect and her costume just as it should be, she rose and faced Millie.
“Now,” she said. “We must get you ready for the ball as well.”
“Oh, I’m not attending,” Millie said, glancing down and away.
“Of course, you must,” Yvette said.
Millie shook her head, her cheeks so red that she could have doubled as a beacon. “Servants do not attend balls with
nobles, my lady,” she said.
“Nonsense,” Yvette said, pretending she didn’t see the logic of Millie’s thoughts. “You are a friend, not a servant.”
Millie raised her eyes to Yvette. “I am the daughter of a farmer and a maid.” She shrugged.
Yvette fully intended to push further for Millie to attend the ball, but a knock at her door took her attention.
A moment later, the door opened to reveal Lady Angeline’s and Miss Pennypacker’s smiling faces.
“Are you ready?” Miss Pennypacker asked. “Lady Cambourne insisted that our masks should be ready now.”
“I cannot wait to try mine on,” Lady Angeline said.
“Neither can I,” Yvette said. She stepped to the vanity to pick up her fan, then turned to Millie, “You really are invited to
the ball,” she said. “And just think. It’s a masquerade ball. You could don a costume and a mask and walk among us and no one
would be the wiser.”
Millie laughed at the prospect but didn’t say more.
As much as Yvette wanted to stay and convince her new friend, she was eager to retrieve her mask from the parlor where
they’d all been working that afternoon, then rush to the ballroom to meet Nathan and see him in his costume. He’d hinted to her
at afternoon tea that she would be dazzled by his handsomeness as soon as she saw him.
As it turned out, she most certainly was. Nathan was waiting in the parlor with their masks looking resplendent in a deep
blue suit with gold trim.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 “That day at the train. Agnes had sent me a kodak picture of Keith
and yourself taken on a fishing trip and I recognized you instantly. I
had a little prejudice against you to start with, Agnes praised you so
preposterously, and then when I saw you looking so bored and
superior—oh, I know it was immodest and unwomanly and perfectly
horrid, but I just had an intuition of the way you’d gone through life
holding women at arm’s length, and I made up my mind to give you
something to think about.”
The confession ended in a half sob. A tear clung for an instant to
her curving lashes then fell to her cheek. Forbes leaned closer,
murmuring something neither an assurance of forgiveness nor
altogether entreaty, but a mixture of both. If it was further food for
thought for which he pleaded, he did not ask in vain.
 HOPE
By Edward Thomas Noonan

“Here’s a pathetic case of chronic melancholia,” the doctor

continued, as we walked among the inmates. “That white-haired
woman has been here twenty-six years. She is entirely tractable with
one obsession. Every Sunday she writes this letter:

“‘Sunday.
“‘Dear John:
“‘I am sorry we quarreled when you were going away out West. It
was all my fault. I hope you will forgive and write.
“‘Your loving,
“‘Esther.’

“Every Monday she asks for a letter, and, though receiving none,
becomes radiant with hope and says: ‘It will come to-morrow.’ The
last of the week she is depressed. Sunday she again writes her
letter. That has been her life for twenty-six years. Her youthful face is
due to her mental inactivity. Aimlessly she does whatever is
suggested. The years roll on and her emotions alternate between
silent grief and fervid hope.
“This is the male ward. That tall man has been here twenty years.
His history sheet says from alcoholism. He went to Alaska, struck
gold, and returned home to marry the girl he left behind. He found
her insane and began drinking, lost his fortune and then his reason,
and became a ward of the State, always talking about his girl and
events that happened long ago.
“He is the ‘John’ to whom ‘Esther’ writes her letter.
“They meet every day.
“They will never know each other.”
 COLLUSION
By Lincoln Steffens

The sacred door of the Judge’s chambers bolted open and he

beheld the light, lovely figure of a woman trembling before him;
brave, afraid.
“Oh, Judge,” she panted, but she turned and closing the door
securely, put her back against it to hold it shut. And so at bay, she
called to him:
“Judge, Judge, can’t I tell you the truth? Can’t I? My lawyer says I
mustn’t. He says perjury is the only way. And I—I have done perjury,
Judge. So has my husband. And I’ll swear to it all in court when we
are under oath. But here where we are all alone, you and I, unsworn,
with no one to hear, can’t I tell you the truth?
“I must. I can’t stand the lies. Yes, yes, I know they are merely
forms, legal forms. My lawyer has explained that, and that we must
respect the law and comply with its requirements. And we’ll do that,
Judge; we have, and I’ll go through with it, if—I mean that it would
help me if I could know that you were not deceived by the lies; if I
could know that you knew the truth.
“And the truth is so much truer and more beautiful than the lies.
Ours is. I loved him, Judge. I love him now. And he loved me. And it
wasn’t his fault that he fell in love with her. And she didn’t mean to—
to hurt me so. She was my friend. I brought them together. I was
happy when I brought them together, her, my old chum, and him, my
lover; and when I saw that they took to each other, I was glad. I
never thought of their loving. I didn’t think of that till, by and by, I
found that they were avoiding each other. I couldn’t get them to meet
any more. That made me think—it was terrible what I thought.
“I thought—Judge, I knew that they had agreed not to meet any
more because they had discovered that they loved each other. He
admitted it, when I asked him, finally. So did she, later, when upon
my demand, we all three met to speak what was in our hearts.
“That was when I refused to have it so. I wouldn’t keep a man who
loved another woman. I couldn’t, could I? And so I said I would go
away and get the divorce and let them be together and, by and by—
marry.
“It was all to be clean and honourable and fine, Judge. We didn’t
know then the requirements of the law. We didn’t know we shouldn’t
have an honest understanding like that. And I—I didn’t know that I
had to make charges against him that are not true, and that he had
to write me letters to prove he had refused to support me; false
letters; and coarse. He? Coarse? Judge, he——
“But I’m not complaining. We copied, my husband and I, the
letters the lawyer wrote out for us to sign and date back and show to
you. We have done our part. I have lived here, in this terrible place,
among these other—people. I have been here the required length of
time for the ‘residence.’ I have withstood the looks we get from men
—and women. We have obeyed the law, yes, and I will come to your
court and swear—I will swear falsely, Judge, to all you ask. I must,
mustn’t I? I can’t go on this way loving a man who doesn’t love me.
And I can’t keep two lovers apart, can I? When love is so beautiful,
so right, so good. Don’t I know? And it must be pure.
“So I will do my duty, just as my lawyer does his, and as you do
yours. Oh, I know; I know how conscientious you all are, and
especially you, Judge. My lawyer has told me, again and again, that
you know it’s all perjury. Every time I wanted to come to you and tell
you the truth, he has said that you understood. He forbade me to
come; he doesn’t know I am here now. But I had to come. I think I
might not be able to go through with it if I had not told you the truth
myself: How we three have agreed perfectly, he and I and she; how
we are to pay each a third of the costs. They were so generous
about it, begging to pay all. And I want you to be sure we are all
perfectly reconciled to the change; all of us; I, too; perfectly.
“And, Judge, he, my husband, he couldn’t, he simply could not
have written letters like that. Oh, I’ll swear to them; I’ll swear to
anything, I’ll do anything, almost, if—if only you, Judge——”
The Judge rose.
 “If,” he finished for her, “if only I will understand. Well, I will.”
And he went to the door, opened it wide and, as she passed, he
bowed to the woman with the respect which, till that day, he had paid
only to the Law.
 FAITHFUL TO THE END
By Clair W. Perry

Embarkation of the 10th London Reservists for France was the

occasion of a demonstration in the city such as had not been seen
since the Canadian contingent crossed the Channel. The call for
these fresh troops had a sinister significance. It meant the long-
awaited “general advance” from Calais to Belfort was impending. At
the quay, where the dingy transports were swallowing up file after file
of England’s youth, were hundreds of women and girls come to bid a
bitter-sweet farewell to their lads, whose vigorous bodies were to be
crammed into the hungry maw of war.
Lieutenant Topham, Wing Commander of the aerial division with
the 10th, stood apart at the far end of the quay. He had just finished
superintending the loading of his machines. He was watching the
troops file aboard, hungrily absorbed in the dramatic scenes that
passed, one after the other like cinema scenes, when wife, mother,
sweetheart, sister, kissed loved ones good-bye. He moved nearer
the sloping gangway where were enacted these hasty tender
farewells, swift embraces at the foot of the passage, so swift the
progress of the tramping files was scarcely halted, each woman, for
an instant, giving up her soul in an embrace—and the next instant
giving up her son, brother, or mate to his Maker—or his destroyer.
Topham was deeply moved by the scenes. But it was a selfish
emotion. There was no one to bid him farewell. For the first time in
his careless life he felt the lack. He had no mother, no sister, no
sweetheart. His men friends, even, were not there; they had gone on
before.
As he moved nearer the ship on which he was to take passage for
France, and the wild dash in air for which he had been detailed, to
shell the recently established German Zeppelin base near “Hill 60,”
there came over him a premonition of death and a yearning emotion.
He wanted some human being to bid him farewell, some one who
placed his life above all else, a woman who cared.
In his abstracted progress he almost ran into the figure of a girl.
She was standing close to the moving file, and in her searching
eyes, as Topham looked in silent apology, he saw a fire that thrilled
him. He noted, too, beauty, and a band of mourning on her sleeve.
Her gaze pierced Topham with compelling appeal. The bugle was
giving its piercing call, “All hands on.” With a sudden impulse
Topham stepped close to the girl.
“Are you sending—some one away?” he queried.
She shook her head and touched the band on her arm.
“My father—a month ago—at Ypres,” she replied.
“I am going—over there,” eagerly explained Topham, “and I have
no one. I feel that I—shall never return. I wonder if you—— Will you
kiss me good-bye? I promise you I shall never kiss another woman—
that I will be faithful—until the end,” he finished with wistful
whimsicality.
Her smile was like a soft flame. Without a word she stepped close
to him and, as he doffed his cap and bent, she clasped him about
the neck, drew his close-cropped head down, and kissed him on the
lips.
There was no time for words. Topham had to spring for the
moving gang-plank. The bugle had sounded its last call for stragglers
such as he. The girl who had given him his sweet farewell was
swallowed up in the crowd.
Halfway across the Channel Topham found he could not even
recall the girl’s features, the colour of her eyes or hair. All that
remained to him was a dim expression of sweet, yearning
womanliness, an abstract conception.
At the transfer hospital, a week later, Topham’s shattered,
helpless form was laid for a few moments on a cot. His fall from a
great height after a desperate duel with a German Taube left him
victor and hero but with the shadow of death hovering over him.
Numbness mercifully stilled the pain that had gripped him and he lay
passive. It was not until he felt the touch of a hand softer than that of
the hurrying surgeon who had given hasty “first aid” examination that
he opened his eyes. A woman nurse, the only one he had seen so
near the lines, was bending over him. He could see only dimly. A
mist was over his eyes from the explosion of his engine. Her touch,
however, seemed to give him a thrill of vitality. When she moved on
he sank into semi-coma, with the feeling of chill. Death bearing down
on him. She moved again to his side and he moaned. The grim grip
was tightening. Like a boy he was afraid. In the world there was only
himself, this woman, and approaching death.
“I am going,” he muttered swiftly, as the nurse bent near. “Will you
kiss me good-bye? I can promise you—I will be faithful—until the
end.” His smile was a pitiful effort at humour. He felt her warm lips on
his—and then oblivion.
Topham came to himself—save for the memory of a delirium of
travel in motor-ambulance and boat—in a clean white bed in a large,
lofty room. When his senses cleared he knew he was in England.
White-clad nurses moved about the room in which were many other
beds containing huddled or stretched-out figures. At his first
movement one of the nurses came to his bedside. Her keen glance,
under her significant cap, spoke efficiency and warm human
sympathy. A few deft touches, a spoon of medicine, a pat of the
pillow, and she was gone.
Topham awoke again in the dark small hours when man’s vitality
is at its lowest ebb; awoke with that familiar depression, as of a chill
hand gripping his heart—squeezing his very soul. It was Death,
again, groping for him. Only his brain seemed clear. He tinkled, with
a supreme effort, the bell at his bedside. A nurse came, her face
indistinct in the dim light, and bent over him in an attitude of
solicitation.
“What is it?” she asked, and her voice seemed that of an angel
from Heaven.
“I—I am almost gone,” gasped Topham. “My heart is stopping. I—I
am not afraid—but—it is so lonely. I have no one. Could you—kiss
me—good-bye?”
He was halted by a swift movement. She had raised his head and
he swallowed a draft of something that sent a liquid thrill through
him. In a trice his feeling changed from that of a sinking, suffocating
soul to that of a man whose life is rushing back into him. The nurse
was smiling into his eyes.
“You were going to say,” she murmured musically, “that you will be
faithful to the end.”
Topham opened his eyes wider. That face—the ripe lips—the
clear, burning eyes! They were those of the girl at the quay—of the
nurse at the transfer hospital—no, of the nurse who had bent over
him when he first regained consciousness here—yes, of all three. A
deep flush overspread his pallid face.
“You said you would be faithful to the end,” she repeated
roguishly. He groped for an answer.
“In my mind,” he confessed, “I did not know you. But in my heart I
must have known you all the time.”
Then she kissed him again.
 ARLETTA
By Margaret Ade

It was on a Monday morning in August that Miss Backbay climbed

the brownstone steps to the rooming-house conducted by Mrs.
Edward Southend in Massachusetts Avenue, Boston. Miss Backbay
was short, stout, and sixty, and her face was flushed and scowling.
“I wish to speak with Mrs. Southend,” she snapped at the woman
who opened the door. The woman, a middle-aged, quiet-looking little
woman, glanced at the card and said: “I am Mrs. Southend, Miss
Backbay; come this way please.”
In the parlour Miss Backbay and Mrs. Southend looked into each
other’s eyes for a few moments and exchanged a silent challenge;
then Miss Backbay leaned forward in her chair and said: “I have
come, Mrs. Southend, to talk with you concerning this—this affair
between your son and my niece. Miss Arletta Backbay. I have, as
you know, brought her up, and I love her as if she were my own
daughter. She is the last of the Backbays—the Backbays of
Backbay. Our family lived on Beacon Hill when Boston Common was
a farming district. The Backbays are direct—direct descendants of
William I, King of England—William the Conqueror.”
Miss Backbay drew a long, deep breath.
Mrs. Southend was silent.
“I have devoted years of my life,” Miss Backbay continued, “to the
education of my niece. Nothing has been spared to prepare her for
the high social position to which, by her ancestry alone, she is
entitled. I am going into this bit of family history so you will
understand—so you will see this affair from my viewpoint. I have
been exceedingly careful in the selection of her teachers, her
associates, and her servants. Your son came to us well
recommended by his pastor and by his former employer. I have no
fault to find with him as—as a chauffeur, but as a suitor for the hand
of my niece he—he is impossible. Absolutely! The thing is absurd. I
—I have done what I could to break up this affair. I have discharged
him. But my niece has defied me. She assures me that she loves
him and—and will marry him in spite of everything. She is
headstrong, self-willed, and—and completely bewitched. She has
lost all pride—pride in her ancient lineage. Now I have come to you
to beseech you to use your influence with your son. Induce him to
leave the city—he must leave the city, if only for a year. I—I shall pay
——”
“Pardon me, just a moment, Miss Backbay.” Mrs. Southend left the
room, and in a few minutes she returned carrying a large volume,
her fingers between the pages.
“As I listened to you, Miss Backbay, the thought came to me very
forcibly that it is a pity—a great pity—that you could not have
selected your ancestors as you do your servants—from the better
class of respectable working people. But, of course, you could not.
You could, however, try to live them down—forget them—some of
them, anyway. Listen to this biographical sketch of your most famous
ancestor. It is from page 659 of the ‘Encyclopædia Britannica’:
‘William I, King of England—William the Conqueror, born 1027 or
1028. He was the bastard son of Robert the Devil, Duke of
Normandy, by Arletta, the daughter of a tanner.’”
Mrs. Southend closed the book with a bang.
“Not much to boast about, is it? We all have ancestors, Miss
Backbay, but the less said about some of them the better. And now,
if my son wants to go out of his class and mix it up with Robert the
Devil and Arletta—why, that’s his—his funeral. You’ll excuse me now,
Miss Backbay. I have my husband’s dinner to prepare.”
 WHICH?
By Joseph Hall

They were two women, one young, radiant, the other gently,
beautifully old.
“But, Auntie, it’s such fun.”
The older rose.
“Wait.”
In a moment she had returned. Two faded yellow letters lay upon
the young girl’s lap.
“Read them.”
Wonderingly the girl obeyed. The first read:

“Dearest:
“I leave you to John. It is plain you care for him. I love you. Just
now it seems that life without you is impossible. But I can no longer
doubt. If you cared, there would be no doubt. John is my friend. I
would rather see you his than any others, since you cannot be mine.
God bless you.
“Will.”

The other:

“Beloved:
“I am leaving you to the better man. For me there can never be
another love. But it is best—it is the right thing—and I am, yes, I am
glad that it is Will you love instead of me. You cannot be anything but
happy with him. With me—but that is a dream I must learn to forget.
“As ever and ever,
“John.”
 WHAT THE VANDALS LEAVE
By Herbert Riley Howe

The war was over, and he was back in his native city that had
been retaken from the Vandals. He was walking rapidly through a
dimly lit quarter. A woman touched his arm and accosted him in
fuddled accents.
“Where are you going, M’sieu? With me, hein?”
He laughed.
“No, not with you, old girl. I’m going to find my sweetheart.”
He looked down at her. They were near a street lamp. She
screamed. He seized her by the shoulders and dragged her closer to
the light. His fingers dug her flesh, and his eyes gleamed.
“Joan!” he gasped.
 BEN T. ALLEN, ATTY., VS. HIMSELF
By William H. Hamby

“Lawyers always get theirs.” The hardware dealer on the north

side spoke with some bitterness and entire literalness. The check for
one hundred and seventy-five dollars just wrenched from its stub
bore “Ben T. Allen, Atty.,” in the middle, and “Peter Shaw Hardware
Co.,” at the bottom.
Peter, by the aid and advice of counsel, had been resisting the
payment of a merchant’s tax of five dollars a year which the alleged
city of Clayton Center had insisted on collecting. The case had now
been in the supreme court two years. This check was merely “on
account.”
The check had occasioned the remark, but the bitterness back of
it was engendered by another case, in which Peter had been
prosecuting his claims for the affection of Betty Lane, court
stenographer. Attorney Allen appeared against him this time instead
of for him, and in both cases Peter seemed to be getting the worst of
it.
But that, of course, is all in the viewpoint. At that moment Attorney
Allen stood by the front window of his offices, his thick hair tangled
like the fleece of a black sheep after a restless night, his soul
splashing in a vat of gloom. Betty Lane had just passed through the
courthouse yard on her way to work. Nature had made Betty very
attractive, but her job had made her independent.
The lawyer was bitterly despondent. Law practice in Clayton
Center was no longer lucrative. Although Allen was very dextrous in
twisting three-ply bandages around the eyes of the Lady with the
Scales, the Lady with the Pencil at the right of the Judge was not so
blind. The citizens of Clayton Center had developed a spineless,
milksop tendency to settle even their constitutional rights out of
court. Besides Betty’s seven dollars a day Allen’s income looked as
ill-fed as a dromedary in an elephant parade.
The young lawyer’s heart was so heavy over his light matrimonial
prospects that he went out that night with some of the boys and got
drunk. In returning at one A. M., singing “It Was at Aunt Dinah’s
Quilting Party—I was seeing Nellie home,” he fell off the board
sidewalk and broke the established precedent that a drunken man
cannot hurt himself by a fall.
The breaking of one leg was the most fortunate accident upon
which a distressed barrister ever fell. It gave him two legs on which
to stand in court.
He sued the city immediately for ten thousand dollars’ damages
on account of the defective sidewalk. His three companions swore
positively that there was not only one hole in the walk, but two, and
not only two loose boards, but six.
Moreover, it was not a plain fracture of the limb. Allen proved by a
liver specialist that the jolt had permanently deranged his liver; a
spine specialist testified the jar had injured the fourteenth vertebra; a
nerve specialist swore that the shock of the fall and subsequent
anguish of mind in seeing his law practice drop away would probably
result in a total breakdown.
The jury gave him four thousand dollars’ damages—twice what he
hoped. And the city attorney, having a fraternal feeling for fractured
legal legs, advised the city to pay instead of appeal.
One bright morning, fully recovered and adorned in a natty spring
suit, Ben T. Allen went to the courthouse to get an order from the
court to the city treasurer for his four thousand dollars’ damages.
There was a click of a typewriter in an anteroom. Betty Lane, the
court stenographer, was down early working out some notes.
Ben T. Allen went in, laid his hat debonairly on a stack of
notebooks, sat on the edge of her desk, and locked his hands
around his knees and smiled possessively.
“Why, good morning, Mr. Allen.” Betty looked up and nodded.
“Allow me to congratulate you.”
“For what?”
 “Why, haven’t you seen the supreme court’s decision in this
morning’s paper? You won your case. Peter Shaw does not have to
pay his annual five-dollar merchant tax.”
“Good!” exclaimed Allen. “No, I had not seen it.”
“Yes,” nodded Betty, with something not quite transparent in her
smile, “the judge who handed down the decision sustained your
contention, that as the notices of election, at which the town was
incorporated thirty-eight years ago, were posted only nineteen days
instead of twenty, as the law requires, the articles of incorporation
were illegally adopted. Therefore, the town is non-existent. Its
officers have no right to levy or collect taxes, to sue or to be sued, to
receive or pay out moneys.”
“Good heavens!” Allen felt himself slowly collapsing on the table,
sick in every organ described by the specialists.
“Sometimes,” smiled Betty, as she glanced out of the window
toward the hardware store—“sometimes a lawyer gets his.”
 THE JOKE ON PRESTON
By Lewis Allen

“Has the prisoner secured counsel?”

“No, your honour,” responded District Attorney Masters.
Judge Horton looked over the tops of his steel-rimmed spectacles,
first at the unkempt prisoner, and then around the courtroom.
“The court will provide counsel for your defense. Have you any
choice?” he asked the prisoner.
The prisoner had not. He didn’t know one man from another in the
courtroom. A faint suspicion of a smile showed on District Attorney
Master’s face. He winked slyly at several of his brother attorneys,
and even smiled rather knowingly at the judge when he made the
suggestion that the court appoint Mr. Preston attorney for the
defense. A titter went around the courtroom at this, and young John
Preston flushed to the roots of his yellow hair as he arose and went
forward to consult with his client.
“Honest to God, are you a lawyer?” asked the prisoner, in a voice
that carried. It took nearly two minutes to restore decorum.
In spite of his embarrassment young Preston thanked the court
and asked for a day’s postponement in order to acquaint himself with
his client’s case. This was granted, and after adjournment the District
Attorney took young Preston aside, put his hand patronizingly on his
shoulder, and said:
“Great Scott, Johnnie, give the poor devil a square deal! The only
thing in the world for him is a plea of guilty and a request for
leniency.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Preston rather stiffly, “but I at least want to
know something of my client’s case.”
“Now, now, Johnnie, you must learn to take things in the proper
spirit. Every young lawyer must have his first case, and he must
expect a certain amount of good-natured raillery over it, and, believe
me, it isn’t every man fresh from law school who gets a murder case
for the very first thing. Be sensible about it, boy. I’m advising you for
your father’s sake. We were partners, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” answered Preston.
“Oh, don’t be stubborn, Johnnie! Why, dash it all, the prisoner has
confessed!”
“A great many innocent men have confessed under the third
degree,” and young Preston bowed rather too formally and turned on
his heel.
“He’ll get the chair if you fight the case,” snapped the District
Attorney.
“He’ll get the chair—or liberty, sir,” was all young Preston replied,
and he hurried over to the jail, where he was secluded in the cell with
his client, the prisoner.
It wasn’t much of a story the prisoner told. He said his name was
Farral, that he was a plain hobo, and that with another hobo he had
got into a fight with a freight brakeman who wouldn’t let them jump
the train. Both picked up lumps of coal to defend themselves, and in
the mix-up the poor brakeman’s skull was crushed. He managed to
shoot and kill the other hobo, but he died before they got him to the
hospital.
Young Preston said nothing, for five minutes. Farral became
nervous. Finally he said:
“Say, kid, I ain’t blamin’ you any. You gotter have your first case
some time, and so they wished you on me. The only thing to do is to
plead guilty to self-defense——”
“Never do,” said young Preston. “There isn’t a juryman in the
county who would agree to justifiable homicide.”
“But I confessed, kid; I confessed. Whatcher goin’ to do about it
now?”
“Just what did you say? Give me the exact words.”
“I says to the captain, ‘Don’t put me through no third degree. I
killed him!’”
“What made you say that?”
“They’d put it on me anyway. I thought it would help me.”
 “What was the name of the man with you?”
“I don’t know. I never saw him before.”
“His name was Ichabod Jones,” said Preston impressively, “and
don’t you ever forget it. Remember, you have known this man for a
long while and that he went under the name of ‘Black Ike.’”
Preston talked a half-hour longer with the man and drilled him
over and over before he left him.
When the case came up the prosecution introduced witnesses
sufficient to prove that the brakeman had been killed and then
introduced the confession.
“We rest the case there, your honour,” said District Attorney
Masters, with somewhat of a flourish.
Young Preston put his client on the stand without delay and had
him tell his story of the fight, which was to the effect that it was not
he, but the other man, who killed the brakeman.
“What was the other man’s name?” asked Preston.
“Ichabod Jones,” replied the prisoner; “at least, that’s what he told
me.”
“How did you always address him?”
“I always called him Ike.”
“You may tell the court just what you said in this alleged
confession.”
“I didn’t make no confession. I said to the captain, ‘Don’t put me
through no third degree. Ike killed him.’”
And, for all that the prosecuting attorney could prove to the
contrary, Ike did.
 THE IDYL
By Joseph F. Whelan

Let us have a day of idyl, you and I,

Upon some mountain-top, with no one by
Save birds and flowers and waving trees that sigh,
And crooning winds whose lyrics never die.

The Poet handed it to the Girl, with rather a quizzical smile. They
did not know each other. He had seen her walking along one of the
park paths, and the loneliness of her face stopped him. She read the
verse, then gazed at him a few seconds, half amused, half annoyed,
then wholly joyous. He read compliance in her eyes.
“Rather rude, isn’t it?” he asked. “But the desperation of loneliness
is heavy on my soul.”
They sauntered to the gates and boarded a street car, which
whirled them, with twenty other people equally though unconsciously
lonely, toward the mountain. She did not speak until they were zig-
zagging along a bridle path up the mountainside. Then she unfolded
the verse and said musingly:
“A day of idyl! A year ago I thought that every day would be an
idyl.” And the sweet mouth soured in the churn of memory.
“My dear lady,” he said, “memories have no place in a day of idyl.
Oh, let me teach you how to live, live, live, if only for an hour! Let’s
sing the song of nature which is happiness—dance the dance of
winds which is joy—think the thought of butterflies which is nothing!
Oh, there is happiness everywhere, everywhere—even for you and
me!”
They reached a little hillock where a clump of bushes cast a
tempting shadow.
“Let’s sit down a while,” she said, pouring water on a rocket.