Amanda StoNeS
Historical Regency Romance Author
The Duke's ConcealedVow
First Chapters
Prologue
Dalenwood Manor, 1808
Rowan Davenport drew heavily on the fresh pipe that dangled from the corner of his mouth. He held the bowl of it tightly as he glowered out of the window of the parlor of Dalenwood Manor, where he had locked himself in there before. A storm had begun. His cheeks were still hot and his blood still boiling after the argument that had ensued with his father. It wasn’t the first time that the topic of the argument had been discussed between the two men. However, that was the first time it had turned so nasty.
As heir to his father’s dukedom, Rowan was expected to learn everything his father taught him about ducal responsibilities. He was to begin the process of working his way into his father’s business circles, speaking with the duke’s current partners and associates, as well as attending meetings with his father with potential future partners. He had been raised with the understanding of such expectations, and as Marquess of Davenroot, he had learned many similar duties already. He also knew that he was to produce an heir of his own, so that their family’s legacy would continue. And that was the current point of contention between Rowan and the duke.
The Duke of Dalenwood had, since Rowan’s eighteenth birthday, been reminding Rowan about the importance of marrying. And the duke impressed upon him that he needed to marry well. Rowan’s bride, according to his father, needed to be refined, sophisticated and the very soul of propriety and class. She also needed to be the daughter of a high-ranking, very wealthy nobleman from a most respectable family.
“Your wife will be a reflection of your own legacy’s reputation and status,” the duke would always say. Rowan understood what his father meant. However, he did not agree that matches should be made based on the biggest fortune or the highest titles.
That viewpoint was what had led to the argument with the duke. He had summoned Rowan to his study right after breakfast, to discuss business matters, he had said. But when Rowan had taken his seat and the glass of whiskey that his father had poured for him, the duke’s real motivations became immediately evident.
“You are now twenty-one years of age, Rowan,” the duke had said as Rowan sipped his drink. “It is time for you to fulfill the most important part of your ducal duties.”
Rowan hadn’t needed to ask what his father meant. He understood that the duke meant his marriage prospects. Or rather, the lack of them, as Rowan had always felt that he should marry for love. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried to find a woman worth courting. The trouble was that the ones to whom his father introduced him were all the same: shallow, snobby and more desperate to marry someone of high status than his father was for him to do so.
“Father, I cannot just marry a woman because she is pretty and comes from money,” Rowan had insisted.
The duke had waved his hand dismissively at his son.
“So you’ve said before,” he said. “But that is simply the way in our society. You are fortunate that I have not made a marriage arrangement for you already. Heaven knows I have received plenty of offers.”
Rowan had bristled at the thought, shaking his head.
“I am but twenty-one years old, Father,” he said. “I am too young to consider settling down right now. You know that I had plans to travel more for business and see more of the world. And besides, marriage is something that can wait until I have inherited the dukedom after your passing.” And once I have found a woman that I truly love, he’d added silently.
The duke had rolled his eyes at Rowan, further irritating him. He had gripped his glass tightly as his father sipped from his own, waiting for the duke’s counter argument.
“I also know that you would be doing far less business than dawdling in your travels,” he said firmly. “You have a good head for business. That is, when you choose to use it.”
Rowan had bristled at the implication.
“And what is that supposed to mean, Father?” he asked.
The duke had shaken his head and held up his hand in a gesture of surrender. But his expression did not look contrite. Rather, he had looked smug, as if he had accomplished something by insulting his son.
“It means that you could spend a bit more time focusing on the responsibilities that you will inherit as duke,” he said. “There is nothing worse than an ill-prepared duke taking over an entire dukedom, and I only wish to see that that does not happen to my own son.”
Rowan had drawn from his glass deeply, choking on his drink to suffocate the words on his mind. One should think that you had more faith in your own son, he had thought as he swallowed the burn from the drink. He loved his father, and the two of them rarely argued. But the duke was pushing Rowan to his breaking point. And even if it was with good intentions, he had no intention of allowing it.
“I have spent my life preparing to inherit your legacy, Father,” he said, his anger bubbling just beneath his words. “I dare say that I would be prepared to take over the dukedom tomorrow, if I must.”
The duke shook his head, and his eyes grew solemn.
“A duke who would baulk at the idea of taking a wife to be his duchess is hardly prepared,” he said.
Fed up, Rowan had slammed his glass down on the desk. He had considered reaching for the bottle, which sat on the corner on his father’s side, but he thought better of it. He didn’t want his father to think that he had allowed the drink to speak for him. He exhaled sharply and looked the duke directly in his eyes.
“Not being prepared to take a wife at this time hardly makes me ill-prepared to rule as duke,” he said. “In fact, I think it best if I were to get accustomed to the important duties of being a duke before I brought a young lady into my life.”
The duke had looked at Rowan as if trying to determine whether he was serious. When he decided that he was, he had sighed, clicking his tongue.
“That is the kind of thinking that tells me you would not be ready to take over the dukedom in a year, let alone a day,” he said. “I must say that I am very disappointed, Rowan.”
Rowan set a firm gaze at his father. He was finished arguing with his father about the subject. He had made up his mind. And as he had told his father, he had plenty of time to find a bride. He would not be rushed because of some perceived urgency to marry, just because he would inherit the dukedom some unspecified day in the distant future.
“Father, when I marry, it will be for love,” he said. “I cannot bear a lifetime with my ducal responsibilities and my home cold and without love from a duchess who was obligated to marry me, and would most likely harbor resentment about our union for the rest of her life. I will marry a woman with whom I am truly in love. And I will not be moved to change my mind.”
The duke had scoffed, shaking his head at Rowan with a mixture of distaste and disappointment.
“You are a stubborn man,” he said. “You are also foolish and impractical. Love does not matter when it comes to reigning as a nobleman. What matters is prudence, practicality, shrewdness, and refinement. Your bride should reflect those qualities for the world to see because you should possess them. And she should be elegant, respectable and proper, so that you are reflected well. Waiting for love is frivolous, Rowan. And I have no intention of waiting until you find it.”
Rowan had leapt from his seat, his temper bubbling. He leaned over his father’s desk, glowering at the duke.
“I should like to see you stop me,” he said. “I have made up my mind. And there is nothing you can say or do to make me change it.”
The duke also rose, his eyes now ablaze with anger.
“I can, and I shall,” he said. “I shall see to it that you do not inherit one single coin, and you will be stripped of your given rights to my title.”
With that, the duke had stormed out of the study, leaving Rowan furious and ready to raise his voice. He remained bent over the desk until his heartbeat had slowed. Then, he had marched off toward the main parlor, slamming the door behind him hard enough to make the door frame rattle.
Now, as he entered the fourth hour after the argument and the onset of nightfall, the storm picked up in ferocity. Rain pelted the window loudly enough to sound like the glass might shatter, and the wind howled like a pack of diseased wolves. With two more drinks and time to reconsider the words he and his father had exchanged, regret began to take hold. He knew that the duke was looking out not only for Rowan’s best interest, but that of their family’s legacy.
He understood that the dukedom was about more than himself, and that his father, being the excellent nobleman that he was, was simply trying to teach Rowan how to be selfless when it came to the greater good. Rowan did not think he could compromise on his desire to marry a woman he loved. But he was drowning in remorse for the way he had spoken to his father. As the drink, the fading tension from the evaporated anger and the storm made his eyelids begin to droop, Rowan rested his head against the back of the sofa where he sat. I shall apologise to Father first thing in the morning, was his last thought before sleep claimed him.
***
“Lord Davenroot,” said an urgent male voice as strong hands firmly shook Rowan.
Rowan winced, waving his hands to push away the intruder to his sleep, prying his eyes open to see Lawrence, his family’s butler, standing over him. The man’s dark brown eyes were wide and filled with horror. Rowan blinked, trying to shake off sleep and put a hand on the butler’s shoulder.
“Calm yourself, Lawrence,” he said. “What is the meaning of this?”
Lawrence took a step back, taking time to catch his breath. Rowan waited impatiently for the butler to tell him why he would awaken him in such an improper, unorthodox manner.
“Milord, it is…” He paused, swallowing. “It’s His Grace. He’s…”
Rowan rose at the mention of his father, alarm blossoming in his mind.
“Father is what?” he asked, taking a step toward the butler. “What is it?”
The butler’s face fell and his shoulders sagged.
“He’s dead, milord,” he said. “He was found in the lake this morning by some of the servants that your mother ordered to go searching for him.”
Rowan’s head spun and the butler’s voice faded into a dull, unintelligible echo in his ears. His father was dead, that was what Lawrence had said. Surely, he had to be mistaken.
“What?” he asked, feeling as though he was speaking under water. “How? Are you sure?”
The butler nodded once, clasping his hands together in front of him.
“We are quite certain,” he said softly. “It appears that he took the boat out yesterday evening, just before the storm started. From the debris that was found of the boat, it appears that the tumultuous waters destroyed the craft, knocking your father into the water. With the wind and rain as heavy and merciless as it was, your father didn’t stand a chance of reaching shore. It was drowning that claimed him, it seems.”
Rowan’s knees buckled and he fell back down onto the sofa. He felt the color drain from his face and fought against waves of nausea that threatened to push bile from his lips. His vision swam, blurring so that no single thing, not even the face of his family’s butler, could be distinguished from another. He simultaneously felt the horrible ache of the loss of his father and the numbness of the disbelief and shock that came with the news. For several minutes, he sat trying to speak. But no words would come, neither to his mind nor to his lips. He was vaguely aware of the sensation of expectant eyes on him. But he had already forgotten who it was that was in the room with him. And he didn’t care. His father was gone. There was nothing that could be of more consequence than that. Not ever again.
When he could regain some semblance of his senses, he rose on his shaky legs and stumbled his way blindly into the hallway and through the manor. He followed the sound of hysterical sobbing and hushed murmurs until he found his mother in the breakfast room. He fumbled his way over to her, stepping on shattered china and crystal, and what felt like bits of food as he reached her side.
“Mother,” he said, choking.
The duchess wailed, flailing her arms in front of her. Rowan did his best to swallow his grief and embrace her. She did not turn the affectionate gesture, but she allowed him to hold her against him as she cried. Soon, the whole mansion was buzzing with the news of the duke’s sudden, tragic death. Before the time lunch would normally be served, everyone employed for the duke’s family had heard the news.
Word traveled just as quickly through Dalenwood, too, it seemed. Rowan counted how many hours passed by counting every three people who arrived to offer their condolences, noting one guest roughly every twenty minutes. The names of the villagers escaped him as soon as Lawrence introduced them, and he only knew that each one of them gave their own variations of platitudes and offers of support and assistance for Rowan and his family. His mother received the visitors with him for as long as she could. But eventually, he had to send for the physician to call in on her and give her something to sedate her for the night.
None of the condolences helped to ease Rowan’s burden, however. He was consumed by grief and guilt, recalling everything that he last said to his father. He had planned to make things right with the duke that day. Now, he would never get that chance. As he lay futilely in bed that evening, he vowed that he would dedicate himself to nothing but his ducal duties. His final words with his father would keep him guarded and closed off from the rest of the world. But he would fulfill his father’s wishes for Rowan’s reign as duke. Every single one of them. From that point on, nothing else mattered to Rowan.
Chapter 1
Spring, 1816, London
Rowan stared at the elegant white envelope in his hand. The rich purple calligraphy which addressed him matched the script that composed the invitation within the brilliant white envelope. The wax seal, which he had broken to read the contents of the note, was a shade lighter than the ink, and he stroked it idly with his thumb as he stared.
It was hardly the first invitation he had received in the eight years since his father’s untimely passing and his inheritance of the dukedom. However, it was one which filled him with apprehension. It was, in fact, one of a kind. For there was something about Lady Serena that only he knew. He was connected to her in a way that none would suspect. None, except for her own father.
According to the invitation, Lady Serena Yardley, the only daughter of the earl of Lindmere, had come of age and was making her debut into society. In his time as duke, he had sent back many event invitations with the RSVP line reading that he would not be attending. However, balls such as those debuting young ladies carried an unspoken expectation of the attendance of the higher-ranking society members. They also meant the certainty of unmarried young women desperately vying for the attention of all the wifeless gentlemen who would make suitable marriage matches for them.
Rowan shuddered, despite the warm spring breeze blowing in through his study window. He glanced up as movement caught his eye, noticing the hunter green drapes blowing softly against the matching daybed beneath the open panes. The weather was lovely, with a clear blue sky and the foliage a brilliant green in the springtime sunlight. But the beauty did nothing for Rowan as his eyes traveled around the room, lingering on each of the figurines and trinkets that remained that had once belonged to his father.
Father, he thought, clenching his jaw. The late duke had died before Rowan could reconcile with him after their argument about marriage, and Rowan had never forgiven himself for it. It seemed that the dowager duchess hadn’t quite forgiven him, either, as she had grown more distant each year since the passing of her husband. They had once been quite close. But after the duke died, she began closing herself off to Rowan emotionally, avoiding him except at meals and taking frequent trips to Bath to stay with various friends. Rowan supposed he couldn’t blame her. After all, the late duke wouldn’t have been on the lake that day if it weren’t for their terrible fight.
He tossed the invitation to the side, rubbing his temple as his anxiety returned. Not only did he feel anxious, but there was a hint of something more beneath the raw nerves and sadness about his father that he couldn’t quite identify. Suddenly, the study, which had become his own sanctuary from the cold halls of the townhouse and his mother’s colder demeanor, seemed to be getting smaller around him, and his heart wouldn’t stop racing.
Desperate for fresh air, Rowan leapt from his desk and hurried outside, straight for his mother’s beloved rose garden. The garden had long since been a cherished place for reprieve for Rowan, and even more so since his father had died. The tall bushes filled with various shades of red, pink, yellow, white, and crimson flowers including old garden and tea roses muffled the chaotic sounds of the city, and they soothed the turmoil in Rowan’s heart.
The calming effect of the garden did not last long, however. A bush blooming with vibrant yellow roses brought back with force a memory from eight years prior. He stopped in his tracks, drawing in a sharp breath, feeling paralyzed as his mind retreated back to the memory. Back to the week following his father’s death, and to the gardens at Dalenwood Manor.
After his father’s funeral, he had thrown himself wholly into handling the loose ends left behind by the duke’s sudden death. He thought it would take his mind off the loss of his father, and off the guilt he felt at his last words to his father. However, his mother had found him in his father’s billiards room with silent tears streaming down his cheeks and a lost, wounded expression on his face. The dowager had turned herself so that she was directly facing him, her own eyes brimming with tears.
“Rowan, this is not how a duke should behave,” she said. “You must pull yourself together and carry on. Our reputation and your father’s legacy depend on it.”
Rowan had blinked, wiping furiously at his tears with his gloved hands. He shook his head, looking at his mother as though she were mad.
“Surely, even a duke is allowed to grieve,” he said. “I loved Father dearly, just as you did. I admired and respected him, and his loss came as a terrible shock to me, just as it did to you. I do not mourn in public, or in any way that interferes with my duties. But I feel Father’s loss more deeply than you know, and all I ask is time to cope with that grief.”
He had expected his mother to embrace him and at least acknowledge his pain and right to mourn. But her expression had hardened, and she had put her hands on her hips.
“If you loved and respected your father as much as you claim, you would not have spoken to him as you did before he died,” she said. Her tone was cold and unforgiving, and her eyes bore into him with accusation. “If not for that argument, he never would have been so foolish as to take the boat onto the water with an impending storm.”
Rowan had shaken his head in painful disbelief. He had told his mother of the argument between him and his father the day after he died. Never would he have suspected that she would throw such a confession in his face in such a cruel way. Until that moment, he had not blamed himself for anything but being unnecessarily combative and harsh with the late duke. But right then, the weight of guilt for a murder crashed down on him, rendering him both speechless and motionless. All he could do was stare at his mother as she turned on her heel and marched out of the room.
Overwhelmed with despair and loneliness as he realized that he would receive no comfort, he fled the billiard room, flying through the halls with no destination in mind. He eventually found himself stumbling through the Dalenwood Manor gardens, and he stopped, bending over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath.
Once air made its way into his body with more ease, he wandered aimlessly through the gardens, barely taking notice of the lilies, tulips, gardenias, violets and of course, roses that surrounded him. He walked until he found the statue of an angel in the middle of the gardens. He stopped, gazing up at it as if it might suddenly offer the peace he desperately sought.
To his surprise, it did. As he breathed in the fragrance from the circle of white rose bushes that surrounded the statue, and as he studied the angel’s stone face, he was granted the briefest sensation of tranquility and stillness in his frantic, grieving mind. The memory had been as vague as the conversation itself had been, even eight years later. But for a moment, he could allow himself to step outside the heartaches he had suffered since the argument with his father and enjoy the tranquility of nature.
He knew the moment wouldn’t last. The instant he reentered the manor, he would be encumbered by the heaviness of his father’s passing. But he was acutely reminded of the transformative power of a single moment. He would never be able to go back and change the words he said to his father or undo the disrespect that had led to his father storming away from him that tragic day. But now, he would be much more careful about his decisions and actions. And he would certainly never let himself get too close to someone whom he could hurt with thoughtlessness or irrationality. Or who could hurt him by succumbing to death.
“Your Grace?” Lawrence asked, seeming to appear out of nowhere.
Rowan jumped, whirling around to face the man who seemed to float rather than walk.
“Heavens, Lawrence,” Rowan said, exhaling sharply. “You gave me a terrible fright.”
The butler winced sheepishly and bowed.
“Forgive me, Your Grace,” he said. “But it is time for you to prepare for the dinner engagement this evening.”
Rowan shook his head to rid his mind of the horrible thoughts swirling within it. Once his brain recalled to what engagement the butler was referring, he smiled softly. There was very little that brought Rowan any amount of happiness since his father died. But dining with his sister, Louisa Ashford, who had married the marquess of Westenbury, always granted him a little light inside the dark quagmire that was his mind. Harry himself would be joining Louisa this time, as well, having just returned from a business trip a couple days prior.
“Thank you, Lawrence,” he said. “I shall begin readying myself now.”
***
“Mother, we have something we would like to announce,” Louisa said just as the second course of their meal, Louisa’s favorite dish of turtle soup and toasted rolls with garlic garnished butter, was being served. “We were going to wait until the end of the meal, but I’m simply too excited.”
Harry rolled his eyes with exaggerated weariness as he grinned at Rowan. Rowan returned his smile, knowing how his sister tended to favor the dramatic, even when she was happy. He gave his brother-in-law a wink, turning his attention to his sister. He noticed that she was glowing with a radiance he hadn’t seen in her before. Whatever she had to say, it had to be something that brought her a great deal of joy.
Rowan and the dowager turned their attention to Louisa. The duchess smiled warmly at her daughter, gesturing for her to continue.
“Of course, darling,” she said. “What is it?”
Louisa looked at Harry with unbridled delight. When her husband nodded, she took a slow, deep breath, her light blue eyes shining as her perfect smile widened.
“Harry and I are expecting our first child,” she said.
The dowager gasped, immediately leaving her seat to rush to her daughter and take her in her arms. Harry was next, moving from across the table to his wife’s side to share in the joy of their wonderful news. Only Rowan hesitated, longing gnawing at him. But before anyone noticed his long face, he also left his seat, going to his sister and brother-in-law with a bright smile.
“Congratulations, Sister,” he said, kissing her on both cheeks. Then, he turned to Harry, clapping him firmly on the back as they embraced. “I know that the two of you will make excellent parents.”
Harry beamed, clearly already the proud father Rowan could easily imagine him being.
“Thank you, Brother,” he said. “And I have no doubt that you will be the most doting uncle in all of England.”
Rowan smiled, ignoring another twinge in his heart. Harry had been like the brother he had never had from the moment he had asked Rowan’s blessing to marry Louisa. They were close, to be sure, and it was an honor for Rowan to be considered Harry’s brother, as well.
“The most doting in the world,” he said.
“Oh, the two of you will be staying until after the event this weekend, won’t you?” the dowager asked as everyone took their seats. “It is Lady Serena’s debut ball, and the entire ton is buzzing about it.”
At the sound of Lady Serena’s name, Rowan’s chest tightened. He looked down quickly at his plate, trying not to allow thoughts of her to overwhelm his mind. He had made an arrangement, which was to be solidified on the eve of the young lady’s debut ball. And while the invitation had put the reminder starkly in front of him in beautiful script, hearing his mother say it aloud was the final step in making his plans very real to him. Not even his sister knew what was to commence following Lady Serena’s come out. But he knew. And it was all he could do to maintain his composure and shield his inner turmoil from the prying eyes of those around him.
He was only too relieved when the meal concluded and he and Harry excused themselves to the billiards room, while the women went to the drawing room for tea and cakes. Rowan wordlessly arranged the table to prepare for the game, and he could feel Harry’s eyes scrutinizing him. As the guest, Rowan allowed Harry to take his shot first, and the game commenced in continued silence. But as Rowan moved to take his fourth shot, Harry set aside his stick and looked Rowan in the eye.
“Is everything all right?” he asked. “I cannot help noticing that you seem rather distracted and distant this evening.”
Rowan bit his cheek. It would feel good to confide in someone, especially someone he trusted as much as he did his brother-in-law. But he did not want to reveal too much, as his mother still knew nothing about his connection to Lady Serena and her father, and he did not want to risk being overheard.
“Yes, Brother, I am well,” he lied. “I simply have a great number of things on my mind.”
Harry stared at him, clearly unconvinced.
“I see,” he said dubiously. “Well, if there is a chance that there is more to it than that, and you ever need someone to talk to without fear of persecution or gossip spreading, I hope you know that I am always here for you. I will be here to help in any way I can, any time you need.”
Rowan gave his brother-in-law a wan smile. He appreciated Harry’s gesture, and he knew very well that the marquess meant every word. He had been a strong source of support for Rowan as he continued struggling to deal with the late duke’s passing. But he knew that for the time being, he had to keep his true thoughts and feelings to himself.
“Thank you, Brother,” he said. “I assure you, if there is anything you can do, I shall let you know at once.”
Seemingly satisfied, Harry nodded.
“I am glad to hear it,” he said. “Shall we finish our game?”
Rowan nodded, stepping back up to the table to take his interrupted shot. Harry went next, and the conversation switched to silly anecdotes they had heard at gentlemen’s clubs and in taverns. But even though Rowan enjoyed having a good laugh with his brother-in-law, his mind was still plagued with the invitation to Lady Serena’s ball as the game finally came to an end. He knew he had to attend if he intended to keep the promise he had made years ago. But did he truly have to keep his word?
Chapter 2
Serena Yardley sat in the drawing room of her family’s London townhouse with her father, the earl of Lindmere, her aunt, Imogen Hughes, Countess of Silverwood and her twenty-one-year-old brother, Julian. However, she could hardly sit still to have tea with them.
She was filled with enough excitement and trepidation to fill several ballrooms, and it was all she could do to keep from flitting about the townhouse like a child at Christmastide. The earl and Julian were engaged in conversation about something in the newspaper, and the countess was speaking with a maid about some last-minute preparations for that evening. It was Serena’s come-out ball, and it was all she’d been able to think about for half a year.
She stared toward the window and imagined an enchanting evening of dancing with all high society’s eligible gentlemen. She pictured herself in the white satin gown that had been tailored just for her, twirling around the ballroom, and executing perfectly mastered dances that she had been learning since she was a young girl. She could already hear the music and the murmurs of the ball guests when she entered the ballroom. Even though it was merely hours away, it seemed as though her debut couldn’t happen soon enough.
“Serena, darling,” Imogen said, interrupting Serena’s thoughts. “You look positively radiant. It wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain ball this evening, would it?”
Serena giggled, smiling fondly at her aunt.
“Perhaps,” she said, feigning innocence as she batted her eyelashes. “And thank you, Aunt Imogen.”
Her aunt nodded, giving her a warm but sad smile.
“You have grown into a very remarkable young woman, sweet niece,” Imogen continued. “I could not be prouder of you. And I know without a doubt that your mother would be proud of you, as well.”
Serena blinked, her smile wavering. She had thought about her late mother every day for the last years since her passing from a sudden lung illness. But it was only then that she allowed herself to think about how her mother, who had always been very dear to her, would not be in attendance at her debut ball.
She desperately wished that the late countess were still alive, to watch her debut into society hand in hand with her father as most young ladies got to experience at their come-out balls. Her aunt had been a godsend to her for the past years, despite her grief over losing her younger sister. But she still longed to have her mother’s guidance for such a life milestone. Her eyes misted with tears, and she reached for her aunt’s hand.
Imogen, who had been like a mother to her after Caroline Yardley died, squeezed Serena’s hand, and gave her another warm smile.
“Do not cry, my darling,” she said, reaching up with her free hand and stroking her cheek. “Your mother would wish nothing but joy for you today. And she will be watching over you from the heavens. I am sure of that, and you must be, too.”
Serena took a deep breath. She missed her mother; that was true. But she could not let herself forget or take for granted how fortunate she was to have her aunt, father, and brother to support and love her. There would always be a place for her mother in her heart. But she had her living loved ones, and she didn’t want to lose a single moment with them.
“Thank you, Aunt Imogen,” she said again, smiling warmly at her aunt as she allowed herself to feel the nervous excitement once again. “Do you really think that the ball will be a success?”
Her aunt laughed merrily, nodding as she cupped Serena’s face in her hands.
“My dear, it can be no other way,” she said. “With your kind heart, intelligent mind and sharp wit, you will undoubtedly shine.”
Serena flushed at the compliments as she kissed her aunt’s cheek. Julian looked up from his breakfast with a wide grin on his face.
“Do not forget beautiful,” he said, gazing at his sister proudly. “I would wager that Serena finds herself with the title of diamond of the season.”
Serena laughed, but her blush deepened.
“You do think too highly of me, dear Brother,” she said.
Julian shook his head, the amusement leaving his expression, replaced with reverent adoration.
“Not at all, Serena,” he said warmly. “You are the kind of lovely that all gentlemen aspire to find and that all ladies wish to be. But Aunt Imogen is right. Your other qualities alone are enough to earn you the admiration of everyone at the ball, and the regret of any who opt to not attend.”
Serena laughed, but she was touched. With her blond, curly hair and deep blue eyes, she knew she was not unattractive. And she took pride in her intellect, and in her ability to make those around her laugh in any setting. But she was humble enough to know that there were prettier, smarter and more charitable women in the ton. While she was grateful for her brother’s praise, she would never let it go to her head.
“We shall see, Brother,” she said. “But thank you for your confidence. It fills my heart with joy to hear you say such things.”
Julian shrugged, still smiling at his sister.
“I only speak the truth, Sister,” he said. “And I speak it with all the pride and love that you deserve.”
Serena waved her hand to her brother bashfully, her cheeks growing warmer by the second. As she looked away from him, she glanced at their father, who had been notably silent since she had entered the breakfast room. He looked deep in thought, and his features were drawn, as though something was plaguing him. Serena frowned, wondering what could have the earl so preoccupied. She was taken aback by her father’s aloofness during such a happy time. There was a flicker of unease in his eyes, and his features looked strained and tired in a way she had never witnessed.
As though feeling eyes on him, the earl turned his head, catching Serena’s gaze. His cheeks twitched, and he gave her a tight, sheepish smile.
“Oh, yes, your aunt and brother are right, my dear,” he said, sounding hollow and detached. “And my most sincere and doting congratulations to you on such a monumental event.”
Serena bit her lip, studying her father. He had always been warm and jovial when he was with his family. But that day, he seemed as far away from the present moment as the Far East was from London. She opened her mouth to inquire, concerned for her father’s well-being. But he rose quickly from his seat, casting his eyes to his feet.
“If you will excuse me, I must tend to some pressing business matters,” he said, a bit too quickly. He hurried from the room even faster than he had spoken, and Serena watched with mounting dread as the earl practically ran into the hallway. She knew it was silly to be so concerned over what was very likely worry over an important business deal or meeting. But she could not shake the feeling that there was more to her father’s odd behavior than just work concerns.
“Sister, dear,” Julian said, his voice warm and reassuring. “You mustn’t pay Father any heed. You and I know perfectly well that he is a busy man. He simply has something important to handle before your ball tonight. Besides, I suspect that some of his reticence is related to the fact that his little girl is now a woman of the ton.”
Serena slowly drew her gaze from the open door to her brother. She allowed Julian’s words to comfort her, eventually nodding in reluctant agreement.
“I’m sure you are right,” she said, trying to believe the words. “I just worry.”
Julian chuckled and shook his head.
“The only thing you need to worry about is the business venture I delayed for your ball tonight,” he said with an impish grin. “You must understand that that means I fully expect you to save me a spot on your dance card.”
Serena laughed heartily, the dread beginning to release her.
“I would not dream of depriving myself of the chance to watch you step on my foot, Brother,” she said.
Julian pretended to be offended, gasping and looking at her with horror that his sparkling eyes told her he did not truly feel.
“You wound me, little sister,” he said. “It was I who allowed you to step on my feet when you were first learning to dance.”
Serena giggled again, shaking her head.
“I was standing on your feet so that you could lead me in the dance steps,” she said, playfully correcting her brother. “And I will never know how you ever learned, since you don’t seem to have a mind for keeping up with the music.”
Julian rolled his eyes, but his lips were quivering with another smile.
“It has been years since we have danced,” he said. “I shall show you tonight.”
Serena nodded, smirking at her brother, letting their shared affection replace her previous negative mood.
“We shall see, Brother,” she said.
After breakfast finished, Imogen whisked Serena to her chambers, where her lady’s maid, Christine, already awaited her with Serena’s white silk ballgown in her hands. Serena giggled, looking at her aunt with quizzical curiosity.
“Aunt Imogen,” she said. “The ball will not begin until seven this evening. Is it not a bit early to be getting dressed?”
Imogen looked at her as though she were mad.
“Darling, it is already after noon,” she said, pointing to the clock in Serena’s pink and purple room. “You must have your bath drawn, your dress donned and your hair styled to perfection before then. We’ll be lucky if this is enough time.”
Serena laughed. She knew her aunt was exaggerating, if only a little. But she realized that Imogen was right. It was better to begin getting ready right then and not take the chance of running late.
“Very well, Aunt Imogen,” she said. “I shall get ready for my bath now.”
Christine curtseyed to her, giving her a bright smile.
“I already have the staff working on heating your water now,” she said. “I will draw your bath as soon as it is ready. I have rose oil for your water, and the matching perfume for when you are dry, before I dress you.”
Serena and Imogen both nodded. Imogen gave her niece a hurried kiss on the cheek and an anxious smile.
“I will tend to the last-minute arrangements and decorations,” she said. “All you need to do is shine, my darling.”
Serena laughed at her aunt lovingly once more. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought that it was her aunt’s debut ball.
“Thank you, Aunt Imogen,” she said. “I shall be ready well before time for the ball to begin.”
Imogen nodded, hurrying from the room. When the two of them were alone behind her closed bedchamber door, Serena and Christine burst into laughter.
“She is rather beside herself, isn’t she?” Christine asked, covering her giggles with her hands.
Serena nodded, pressing a gentle hand to her stomach, which was beginning to ache with laughter.
“She is, indeed,” she said.
Christine dabbed at her eyes and nodded.
“Then I suppose I best see to your bath water, milady,” she said as she, too, prepared to leave the room. “I laid out your fresh, clean robe and fresh towels for you, as well as the sweet soap you enjoy so much. You can go into your bathing room and undress and wait if you wish.” And Serena did just that.
***
Serena finished getting ready about fifteen minutes before the ball officially began. Christine had helped her into her white dress, and expertly coiffed her golden hair, adorning it with one single white rose, which had been spritzed with a little of the perfume she wore. Powder and rouge were lightly, almost imperceptibly dusted on her face and cheeks, respectively, and Christine had advised her to chew on her lips to give them a natural reddish pink hue.
As she sat in front of the mirror, Christine pulled out the pearl necklace and bracelets to complete Serena’s look.
“You are absolutely ravishing, Lady Serena,” she said as she gently helped her mistress don the jewelry.
Serena smiled, sitting still so that Christine could make any final touches necessary. However, as the hour of her ball approached, her nerves began to get the better of her. It was the night she had looked forward to her entire life, and her heart longed to find a true love and a perfect companionship. She would settle for nothing less than to marry for true love. And yet, she couldn’t stop the uncertainty that crept into the back of her mind. With all her excitement and the step from girl to grown noblewoman imminent, why did she feel the shadows of doubt and dread?
“My darling Serena, you look positively exquisite,” Olivia Sinclair, Serena’s best friend gushed from the door as she burst through it. Her vibrant personality and joyful, loving energy immediately filled the room. She wasted no time rushing over to Serena, barely giving her friend a chance to stand from the chair in which she sat for Christine before throwing her olive-tone arms around Serena. “Are you excited? This is it, dearest. The night your life changes forever, and I am bursting with excitement for you.”
Serena nodded, but she found it difficult to manage a smile. Despite being thrilled to see her best friend, she couldn’t stop thinking about her father and his strange behavior. He had seemed burdened by something. And as crazy as it sounded to Serena, she couldn’t help thinking that it was regret that weighted the earl so. For a moment, she wondered if he was regretting throwing her such a lavish ball, that it was the need to make her debut in society as memorable and extravagant as possible.
She also understood that now that she was a marriageable young lady, there would be expectations for her to marry soon, before she had spent too many seasons without any matches. All her worries were becoming overwhelming, and it was all she could do to keep the smile on her face. She looked into Olivia’s light brown eyes, desperately trying to take solace in the love and joy she saw there.
“Thank you, darling,” she said, embracing her friend once more to ground herself before she forced herself out of her chambers. “Shall we head to the ballroom now?”
Olivia dipped into a grand, exaggerated curtsey, gathering up the skirts of her deep green satin gown as she did so.
“Yes, Lady Serena,” she said, trying to keep the laughter out of her voice. “We shall, indeed.”
Olivia offered Serena her arm, which Serena took with another laugh. The earl would be waiting for her at the entrance to the ballroom. But with the strain of her smile already making her cheeks ache, she could use the comfort of her friend’s hand on her. She allowed Olivia to lead her to the ballroom, where she could hear guests talking amongst themselves and awaiting her entrance. She desperately wished her apprehension would release her. Was she ready for such a major life change? What would happen if the night didn’t go well? And what was it about her father’s recent actions that had her so on edge?
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Great start to a love story. Cannot wait to read the rest.
What can awai serena