Partridge and the Peartree

by Patricia Kiyono

Published by Astraea Press

www.astraeapress.com

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2012 PATRICIA KIYONO

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

PARTRIDGE AND THE PEARTREE

Copyright © 2012 PATRICIA KIYONO

ISBN 978-1-62135-093-4

Cover Art Designed by Elaina Lee

To my marvelous critique partner Marti, who literally pulled this manuscript out of the trash and helped me fill in the holes. Thanks for your faith in me, and for your willingness to use your eagle eyes to turn a hodgepodge of ideas into a story.

Chapter One

Phillip Peartree, Tenth Duke of Bartlett, squinted as he scanned the titles on the dusty shelves of his favorite bookstore. He needed something new to read, something to help him relax and forget the depression weighing him down ever since he'd inherited his burdensome title. Phillip had been aware of his father's extravagant tastes, but he'd had no idea about the extent of debt they'd caused. Debt that had become his worry and responsibility. In the two years since his father's passing, the young duke had managed to satisfy most of his creditors by selling off part of his estate and working hard to improve what was left. Needing a respite, he'd decided to spend the holiday season in London, near his sister and nieces.

London offered plenty of activities for an eligible bachelor, but the social whirlwind was something Phillip avoided. Not that he wanted to be alone. He'd always dreamed of having a contented, if not happy, life with a suitable mate. Ideally, he'd prefer to wed someone with charm, looks, and intelligence. His hand went to his face, tracing the scars left from the hunting accident that had changed his life several years before. He sighed. How could he hope to win the hand of such a woman once she compared him to the good-looking members of the ton? There was no shortage of handsome single men who knew exactly how to converse with a woman, how to charm them, and how to woo them.

So he lived vicariously through the characters in his books. They were his friends. Although he'd already read nearly every title on the shelves, he'd come to this quiet little shop, on the edge of town, hoping find something new. There had to be something...

"Oooof!"

The missile hitting his abdomen doubled him over, knocking the breath from his lungs. When he'd recovered enough to straighten, his eyes focused on the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Had the punch to his stomach addled his brain, or did a halo surround this woman's face? The lively young thing waved her arms as she talked, and judging from the way her mouth moved, she spoke as quickly as she moved. Shiny golden curls tumbled from her bonnet, and her deep brown eyes radiated with intelligence and purpose. Fascinated by the way her luscious lips formed her words, he forgot to pay attention to what she was saying.

The lips stopped moving, and her eyes widened. She must be waiting for him to reply, but he had no idea what she'd just said.

"Er — pardon me, miss. I didn't see you. I sincerely hope you're not injured." Spying a handful of books scattered near her feet, he quickly bent and retrieved them for her. "Here you are."

Her lovely brown eyes narrowed. Had he said something stupid? Sometimes he did, especially when he hadn't followed a conversation closely. Since he'd lost most of his hearing in the accident that had disfigured his face, he'd learned to read lips quite well, but occasionally he'd get it wrong, much to the amusement of his cousins, who would tease him mercilessly.

"I'm fine, good sir," she said, taking the books he offered. "And I thank you for retrieving my books." She took them and whirled away without so much as a goodbye.

Phillip stood transfixed, staring after her.

Slowly, common sense returned, and he sighed regretfully. Such a lovely woman would never consider a friendship, much less a courtship, with someone like him.

Remembering his reason for entering the bookstore, Phillip continued to peruse the titles. At the back of the store, he found the section from which the lady had emerged. Here he found an assortment of slender books like those she had dropped. They were children's stories. Of course. She was married and probably had been there to purchase books for her children. He'd best forget about dreaming of a life with her.

Chagrined, he moved on to the next section. His eye caught a familiar name from his youth. An elegantly bound volume held a collection of poetry by Robert Burns. He remembered his grandmother, when she still lived, sitting on a bench in the estate gardens, reading her own well-worn book of Burns' poetry. Later, when she fell ill, Grandfather would go to her chambers and read to her, his gentle voice caressing the words as if singing a love song. Grandmother would lie back with her eyes closed, an ethereal smile lighting her face. It was his favorite memory of his grandparents and the love they shared.

Warmed by the memory, he picked up the volume, took it to the shop clerk, and purchased it.

****

Robert Townley, the duke's valet, stayed close to his master, but not so close as to intrude. The duke managed to get around quite well on his own, reading lips and using his other senses, but he couldn't hear warning shouts or the rushing carriages traveling the busy London streets. Though Robert hadn't been instructed to do so, he'd made it his mission to protect Phillip whenever the young duke went out.

Robert's father and grandfather had both served the duke's family. Robert himself had grown up on the estate, spending his youth with the young heir. He'd been allowed to sit in on Phillip's lessons, never letting on that he was learning as much as Phillip. When Phillip had left for Eton, Robert had continued his own education by reading the duke's discarded newspapers and everything else he could get his hands on.

When Phillip's gun had misfired, leaving him scarred and deaf, he'd come home to convalesce, and Robert had been one of the few people he'd allowed in his rooms. The two men had forged a bond more akin to friendship than the usual relationship between servant and master. Now, he noted Phillip's dazed expression.

What happened in that bookstore?

He reached out a hand and lightly touched the duke's sleeve to get his attention. "Your Grace?"

Phillip blinked several times, seeming to bring himself into the present. "Yes, Townley?"

"Is everything all right? Did something happen in there? You look rather… dazed."

Phillip sighed. "I suppose I do. I just caught a glimpse of heaven."

Chapter Two

Lady Amelia Partridge paused outside the bookstore to put her new purchases into a leather satchel she'd borrowed from her brother. Edward hadn't known about the loan, of course. But he was off on one of his hunting trips with his friends. She supposed she looked silly, carrying it about; however, the books wouldn't fit in her reticule, and she didn't want all of London to know about her reading selections. The books were for some special children in her life, but she didn't want to explain to her friends if they should happen to see her.

She handed the satchel to Giles, her young footman, and led the way back to the high street, where she had arranged to meet her coach near the park. From there, she rode in comfort back to her brother's home.

It had been her home, too, for the past twenty-three years. But now she was going to have to find another place to live. Despite the forty-odd rooms in Sudbury House, there was not enough space for two women. At least, not when one of the women was her brother's fiancée, Colette.

Amelia's Edward, Earl of Sudbury, had suggested she marry. But she absolutely couldn't bind herself to some fop who thought of no one but himself, or worse, one who dictated her every move. She led her own life and didn't want someone else telling her what to do, the way her father had run her mother's life. The poor woman hadn't had a moment to herself until the day she died. It was a lesson well learned.

Edward would give her an allowance, of course, and he'd offered to let her have the cottage in Oxfordshire. But she would need more than what he'd be able to give her, especially if Collette had anything to say about it. Besides, the cottage was far away from her friends. Recently, she'd had some success writing books, keeping her identity hidden by using a pen name. If she lived frugally, perhaps she'd be able to support herself, especially if Edward would help her purchase a small home in London.

Her impending move had been in her thoughts when she had run into the man in the bookshop. He'd looked familiar, but since she avoided most social events, she had no idea who he was. The gentleman's face had been kind, full of character and compassion. The scars on his left cheek did nothing to detract from his looks, and his deep blue eyes had shone with intelligence. He'd been standing in the philosophy section, perusing the titles on a high shelf when she'd bumped into him. She'd been mortified and had sputtered an apology, but he hadn't responded to that. Instead, he'd simply picked up her books and handed them back to her. Perhaps he hadn't wanted anyone to know he was there, either.

Arriving at the townhouse, she instructed Giles to take the satchel to her sitting room. She would have two or three hours to herself before dinner, and then she would have to get dressed to go out again. Tonight was the Linden daughters' recital, and though she preferred to stay at home, she felt obligated to attend. Desiree, the girls' mother, had become a good friend through the Ladies' Literary Society, and both Laurel and Merilee had become dear to her.

Perhaps, if she could shut out enough of the music, she could plot out her next novel in her head. She had a good memory and could write down the details when she got home.

****

Jeanne Brown inspected her mistress's cloak with distaste. Why did Lady Amelia insist on trudging through the back streets of the city, where the walks were strewn with debris? It would take her the better part of a day to clean the hems of this garment. Thankfully, she had Lady Amelia's clothing for this evening ready, including a new, clean cloak.

She wondered about the books her mistress had purchased earlier. She'd seemed flushed when she'd returned from her excursion, but it hadn't been from exertion. Her brother's satchel had been stuffed, probably with new books, but the pink in her cheeks seemed more from a heightened emotion. Had the lady met with an unsavory character? Or were the books themselves of a scandalous nature?

Rising, Jeanne took the garment to the kitchen to search for the lye soap. Perhaps she could get most of this dirt out before dinner. When she'd last looked in on her mistress, the lady was seated at her writing desk. Lady Amelia was always writing, and sometimes when Jeanne went to fetch her for dinner she had to speak several times to gain her attention.

Lady Amelia didn't socialize much, preferring her own company to the social events of the holiday season. But her best friend had entreated her to attend her daughters' piano and dance recital, and she had agreed. She would wear the lovely gown Jeanne had carefully pressed, don the soft matching slippers, and have her hair arranged. Jeanne enjoyed creating elaborate coiffures and bemoaned the fact that her employer did not make use of her talent. If given the opportunity, she would ensure Lady Amelia's golden tresses were the talk of the ton.

Perhaps tonight Jeanne's creation would catch the attention of a dashing gentleman who would sweep Lady Amelia off her feet. Then the two of them could move to that gentleman's estate, and they could be rid of this place. Lord Sudbury was all right, but his future bride was a dragon who'd done nothing but undermine Amelia, changing the décor, contradicting her orders to the staff, and even lying to the earl to make Lady Amelia look bad. Her mistress would be better off leaving Sudbury House.

Entering the kitchen, she inhaled the savory smells of the delicious meal Cook prepared, and her stomach rumbled.

"Good afternoon, Cook."

"Good afternoon, Jeanne. What brings you — Oh," Cook exclaimed, spying the soiled cloak Jeanne carried. "I see Her Ladyship has been traipsing through muddy sections of town again."

"Yes. She came back with another satchel full of books."

Cook shook her head. "Such a waste, a lovely young lass like her, shut up in her room, reading and writing all day. At her age, she should be married, with a nursery full of children."

"I agree. But at least tonight she's going to the Linden children's recital."

"Lovely. Well, do your magic and make her look beautiful."

Jeanne sighed. Magic wasn't needed to make Lady Amelia beautiful. What she needed was the lady's cooperation.

Chapter Three

What the devil am I doing here?

Philip adored his nieces, but he preferred to support them in ways that didn't require his presence at a social function. Laurel was a beautiful girl and a fair dancer, though she'd never perform on a true stage. He wasn't as sure about Merilee's piano playing, although people other than her own mother had said she was quite good. No matter, he was here now, so his sister wouldn't be able to badger him too much for the next month or so. Desiree was a good sister, but she could be a mother bear sometimes, especially when it came to her children. As if conjured by his thoughts, Desiree Linden, Countess of Milburn, appeared at his side.

"Phillip, how good of you to come." She took his arm and steered him toward the chairs set up for the audience.

"I wouldn't dream of doing otherwise."

"Of course you would." She chuckled at his sarcasm. "But I'm glad you chose to come, instead of closeting yourself in your study. I'm giving you the choicest seat, right here in the front."

"Marvelous. Everyone will be able to see me."

"Don't be silly. They're here to see the girls, not you. Besides, you'll be off to the left, so your good side will be all they see. You might be lucky and not have to interact with anyone."

"How kind of you," he said through his teeth.

He settled himself in his seat, turning sharply when someone behind him tapped his shoulder. The Duchess of Camden bent her head to speak to him, and the feathers on her oversized hat tickled his forehead. "Your Grace, it is so good to see you again. I've heard you were at your estate, and we assumed you were still in mourning—"

Desiree rang a crystal bell at that moment, interrupting the duchess, and all heads turned toward the stage, where Merilee had seated herself at the pianoforte.

"Friends, thank you so much for attending. Please make yourselves comfortable. Merilee and Laurel have a lovely program for you this evening. Merilee will open the program by performing Sonata in G minor by Muzio Clementi."

Phillip prepared himself for an hour or two of boredom, schooling his features into a polite show of interest. Just as Merilee raised her hands to place them on the keyboard, he felt the air stir to his right, and the aroma of roses assaulted him. He glanced in that direction and beheld a vision of loveliness seated beside him. She wore a fetching gown of midnight blue satin, and her honey blonde curls framed her heart-shaped face. She nodded a silent greeting to him then directed her attention toward the stage. Phillip dutifully turned his head as well, but his thoughts remained on the woman beside him. It was the woman from the bookstore. Where was her husband?

****

Amelia kept her eyes focused on the performer, though she barely heard a note from the pianoforte. She kept her mouth closed, breathing deeply as her heart calmed to a steady beat. Her brother's insufferable fiancée had, as usual, not been ready to leave at the appointed time, so she'd taken a footman and hired a hackney, arriving at the last moment. She'd tossed her cloak at the surprised butler and scooted to an open seat at the front, sitting down just before Merilee began to play.

The man beside her was a distraction. She'd only caught a glimpse of him before the music started, but she was certain it was the same gentleman from the bookshop. She felt her face heat. Why on earth would she have such a reaction to a man?

The music stopped, and the people around her applauded politely. Amelia, embarrassed to be daydreaming, lifted her hands to do the same. But she realized the gentleman beside her was later than her to clap his hands. Perhaps he also had wayward thoughts.

Merilee rose from the bench and executed a prim curtsey then reseated herself at the bench. This time, she played a gentle introduction then played a lovely piece for her sister's dance.

Though she kept her eyes forward, she knew the ballet was more to the gentleman's liking. He sat up straighter, and his facial features lifted from its boredom into pleasure. Was it the dance itself, or was it the dancer who caught the man's fancy? Laurel was almost seventeen now and would probably be ready to enter society in the next season. But if the man next to her had set his sights on her, she might be married before ever having a season of her own.

A jab to her midsection had her massaging it. Had she eaten something unsettling this evening? She scarcely remembered what she had consumed. She'd been so distracted by her new story she had simply eaten what was placed before her. Surely that was it. Indigestion made much more sense than jealousy over a young girl garnering the attention of the handsome man next to her.

The dance concluded, and the audience applauded politely. Desiree announced a short intermission, and the guests rose to chat and partake of the sumptuous refreshments spread on the banquet tables. Amelia wasn't particularly hungry or thirsty, but she rose, needing to stand and use her legs. As much as she loved writing, it caused her to sit for long periods of time. She didn't enjoy the small talk — it bored her. But she put on her public face, for her friend's sake. If nothing else, perhaps she could get some fodder for her next book.

"Excuse me, miss."

She spun around, and her eyes locked with the same mesmerizing gaze from the bookstore. He seemed even taller than he had that afternoon, and in his formal dress he looked quite dashing. "Yes?"

"I believe you dropped this." He held out a satin scarf. She'd forgotten she'd removed it during the recital.

"Thank you, sir. Once again, you've come to my aid, saving me from my clumsiness."

"I was in the way. I should know better than to stand in one spot in the bookstore."

Amelia put a finger to her lips. "Shh. My brother doesn't approve of me frequenting that shop. It's not in a fashionable area of town."

He nodded. "I understand. Incident forgotten."

Desiree, ever the hostess, appeared suddenly. "Phillip, I see you've met my dear friend, Lady Amelia Partridge. Amelia, this is my brother, the Duke of Bartlett."

Phillip bowed deeply. "How do you, do, Lady Amelia?"

Amelia curtseyed. "I'm honored to meet you, Your Grace."

"I am surprised we haven't met before. Have you and my sister been friends for a long time?"

Desiree chuckled and touched his arm, causing him to turn his attention back to her. "How diplomatic, Phillip. You can see Amelia is closer to Laurel's age than mine. Amelia is a fellow member of the Ladies' Literary Society, and she's been a boon to us. She has a way with words, and has written our newsletter and other promotional tracts for our organization."

Phillip turned back to Amelia. "Very impressive, Lady Amelia. The Literary Society is one of my sister's passions, and anyone who forwards their cause is a treasure."

Amelia felt her face warm, and she scolded herself. She was normally immune to flattery, but the duke's praise made her feel almost giddy. Why was she acting like a silly, lovesick schoolgirl? She held herself regally and just managed to keep her voice from rising to a giggly pitch. "Thank you. I am honored to be associated with such a worthy cause."

"May I fetch some refreshments for you ladies?" Phillip offered.

Desiree nodded. "Thank you, Phillip. I would love some tea."

Amelia shook her head. "Nothing for me, thank you."

As soon as Phillip left, Desiree laid her hand on Amelia's arm. "Thank you so much for coming, Amelia. Laurel and Merilee both look up to you."

"How kind of you to say so, Lady Milburn."

"Please call me Desiree. Let me introduce you to another friend of mine, Lady Diane. Well, it's something like that. She's French, and I can never pronounce her name to suit her. I understand you speak her language..."

Lady Dionne, betrothed to the Earl of Warwick, stood off to the side of the room, next to her fiancé. The beautiful young girl brightened considerably when Amelia began a conversation in her native tongue.

****

A few minutes later, Phillip handed his sister a cup of tea.

"What do you think of her?" Desiree demanded.

"Who?"

"Amelia, you twit. Isn't she lovely?"

"Of course."

"You two have a lot in common. But she's quite headstrong."

"I didn't realize you had set up shop as a matchmaker. Besides, I thought she was married."

"Amelia? No, she's happily unattached. As you are," she added when Phillip started a retort. "And I think both of you would be even happier with someone to share your interests."

"Put away those dreams, Desiree. If she's going to be happy with a man, you will need to find someone else for her."

"Not interested?"

"Not — qualified."

Desiree's brows rose, but she said nothing.

****

Amelia enjoyed her conversation with the future countess, but her mind was on the handsome duke across the room. How had she not recognized him? Had the incident that caused his scars kept him bedridden? Her curiosity was stemmed when Desiree rose to the platform to gather her guests for the second half of the program.

"Dear guests, the performers have made their costume changes and are ready for the second half of the program. Please be kind enough to take your seats."

The audience members made their way back to their chairs, but a shrill voice from the ballroom's entrance had them freezing mid-step. Amelia recognized the voice and winced as everyone swiveled to see what had caused the commotion.

Edward Partridge, Earl of Sudbury, had arrived, along with his fiancée. The poor servant who'd had the misfortune to take her cloak cringed in front of her as she fired a barrage of insults at him.

"Don't hold my cloak like that! Have you no sense at all? You are crushing the fabric. Edward, we will have to bring my servants here from France. They know how to take care of fine clothing!"

Edward tried desperately to end her outburst. "Yes, my dear," he answered quietly. "Why don't I take your cloak for now?"

"Never mind. I will buy a new one when I go back to Paris. I need something to drink after the ride in that dreadful carriage. Where is the wine steward?"

One of the waiters hadn't disappeared quickly enough. "Ah, there he is! Please come and bring a glass for Mademoiselle Colette." The earl's voice sounded across the ballroom. The rest of the guests, having already given up their drinks, resigned themselves to waiting for her. The young servant cautiously approached her with his tray, holding it as far from him as he could.

"This is French wine, no?"

"Yes, mademoiselle." It wasn't, but the young man was in no mood to invoke her wrath.

Colette sipped and breathed a sigh of satisfaction. "Only the French know how to make a proper wine." She savored the flavor, pointedly ignoring the impatient stares around her.

She took her time, knowing full well she was holding up the concert. When she finally finished, she took the earl's arm and walked regally toward the stage. She stopped when they got to the seats.

"Edward, surely you do not expect me to sit on such awful chairs?"

If Edward was mortified at his fiancée's question, he contained it well. He looked around him and spied a love seat along the edge of the room.

"Will that do, my love?"

Colette sighed heavily. "I suppose it will have to do. Have them bring it over here." She pointed to the front of the stage.

There were several gasps from the other guests. And then murmurs. How dare she sit right in front, after having made everyone else wait for her?

But Colette was oblivious to the hateful stares and mumbling. She waited for the hastily summoned servants to move the love seat.

"Edward, you will have to sit on the left, so I do not have to see that horrible looking man." Though Colette's statement was uttered in a stage whisper, it was clearly heard in the waiting silence.

Amelia stood, stepped behind her seat, and lifted her chair.

"My dear Amelia, whatever are you doing?" Edward asked. "There's no need to move your chair. I believe there is plenty of room for this in front of you."

Amelia plastered on a semblance of a smile for her brother. "Perhaps there is, Edward, but I believe Mademoiselle Colette would be much more comfortable if I move my chair. That will, er, give her more leg room."

Phillip popped up from his seat. "Allow me to assist you."

Amelia started at Phillip's announcement. She hadn't expected help. She simply wanted to watch the program without a view of Colette and the love seat in front of her. The chair wasn't heavy, though a bit unwieldy. But Phillip took her chair with one hand and his own with the other, and walked ten feet to their left. He set both chairs down then gestured for her to resume her seat.

A flurry of activity had her turning her head and nearly gasping with surprise. The entire audience followed Phillip's suit, wordlessly moving their own seats approximately ten feet to the left. The action left Colette and Edward sitting alone on one side of the stage, and the rest of the party on the other.

Desiree, standing on the edge of the stage, watched the proceedings without comment, though Amelia thought she noted a smirk on her lovely face. Laurel and Merilee, having already taken their places on the stage, cast curious looks as they observed their audience's migration to one side. They were young, but they knew the significance of the action. It was as good as a cut.

As soon as the group re-settled, Desiree clapped her hands for attention. "Dear friends, thank you for returning. The Linden girls have some more entertainment for you. They will now perform together the Andante movement from Mozart's Piano for Four Hands in D Major."

The girls plunged into their music as if to stave off another disruption. Amelia stole a glance to her right. Colette lounged regally in the love seat, either blissfully unaware of — or stubbornly unconcerned about — the discontent she had caused. But Edward, seated in a regular chair beside her, squirmed uncomfortably. He knew the audience had snubbed him. Hopefully he had finally come to his senses and realized the damage his fiancée could do to him.

She turned her attention back toward the stage. Beside her, the tall man sat, at a respectful distance from her, yet so close the nearness produced heat.

Perhaps she needed to wear lighter clothing.

Chapter Four

Amelia settled her bonnet over her curls and reached for her gloves. She didn't call for Jeanne. Getting herself dressed for an outing, especially when the weather outside was sunny and relatively warm, wasn't that difficult. It had always seemed a waste of time to wait for servants to assist her with tasks she was perfectly capable of doing on her own. Besides, if Jeanne knew she was going out, the rest of the household would find out, and she didn't want everyone knowing about her excursion.

She had almost reached the gate at the street when a dreaded voice from the house halted her.

"Lady Amelia!"

She froze. Marks, the butler, was a stickler for convention. As a woman — especially an unmarried woman — she shouldn't leave the house unattended. But a companion would slow her down and make it more difficult to go and do as she wished.

"Lady Amelia, Giles is ready to accompany you. Kindly wait a moment." He didn't have to add a reprimand, though displeasure was evident in his voice. There would be a dressing down later on, from her brother.

Seconds later, the gangly young footman rounded the house from the servants' entrance, hastily adjusting his hat as he ran. He skidded to a stop a respectful three paces from Amelia and bowed respectfully.

"Apologies, my lady, for keeping you waiting."

Amelia suppressed a sigh and resumed her walk toward the street.

"Lady Amelia, please allow me to carry your satchel for you."

She paused. The satchel wasn't especially heavy, but it was large and awkward.

"Thank you, Giles," she said as she handed the bag to him. "But you must let me take it myself into the, er, establishment where we are going."

The young man frowned but nodded.

Amelia led the way, plotting as she went. Though she usually took time to observe the changing of the seasons, today her mind focused on one thing: how to get rid of Giles. The young footman was relatively inexperienced, so it should be easy to dupe him.

She took a circular route, hoping to lull her companion into thinking she was merely out for a stroll. Pausing at a popular milliner's, she made a show of looking in the window then turned to the young footman.

"I think I'll go in here for a while. I need a new hat. I'll take the satchel now. You may wait for me out here."

Giles bowed his acquiescence and handed the satchel to her. She hoped he wouldn't question her need for a satchel in the milliner's shop, and like a good servant, he didn't. At least not aloud.

She carried the satchel into the shop. Madame LeFevre, the proprietor, rose to greet her potential customer.

"Bon jour, mademoiselle."

"Bon jour, Madame LeFevre. I wish to place an order for a hat. Er, something to go with my new winter cloak."

"Oui, mademoiselle. Ze new cloak, it is in your bag?"

"My bag? Oh, no. I, er, forgot to bring it along. But it's... blue."

"Blue is an excellent color for you, mademoiselle. What shade of blue?"

"Ah, it's…a deep blue. Rather like—" She cast a quick glance around the shop, and her eyes caught a bright, peacock blue felt hat. "That one."

Madame blinked, obviously swallowing her distaste. "Oui, mademoiselle. Ze entire cloak is that color?"

"Perhaps I should return another day and bring the cloak with me. Forgive me for wasting your time this morning. I'll just get going." She strode toward the back of the shop.

"Er, mademoiselle? Ze door is this way."

"Yes, but my next errand is on the street behind your shop. If you don't mind, I'll just use your side entrance to get there more quickly. Thank you for your time." She scooted out the door, mindful of the lady's stare. She probably wouldn't be back, at least not this season. But she'd accomplished her goal and left Giles waiting at the front entrance. Hopefully, she'd have her errand completed by the time he realized her duplicity.

The side entrance of the shop emptied on a quiet street. No traffic here, but Amelia cast a cautious look about her before proceeding. She had an important errand, and nothing was to be gained by dawdling.

With renewed purpose, she marched toward her destination. She arrived at the offices of Culpepper and Winston Publishing without incident and presented herself for her appointment.

Phineas Culpepper looked up from his ledger at Amelia's entrance. "Prompt, as always, Lady Amelia."

"Of course, Mr. Culpepper. I've brought the edited manuscript, as you requested." Reaching in her borrowed satchel, she removed the bulky package and handed it to the editor. "I trust the revisions I've made will be suitable for your markets."

"I'm certain they will be. You're an excellent writer, as I'm sure you've been told."

She hadn't been told that. No one but the editor knew of her double life, but that was all right with her. She was able to get much more fodder for her stories when people didn't think their dirty laundry would be featured in a book.

Mr. Culpepper opened his desk, pulled out a thick envelope, and handed it to her. "Here are your earnings for the past month. Your romance stories are so popular I have my printer working six days a week now."

Amelia took the envelope and hefted it to gauge its weight. Her eyebrows rose and she drew a quick inward breath. "I had no idea my stories were this successful."

Mr. Culpepper chuckled. "Thanks to you, I may be soon able to move my operations to a more respectable area of the city." He paused and studied her over the rim of his spectacles. "You did bring someone with you this time, didn't you?"

"Oh, yes," she reassured him. "He is waiting for me at the door."

She wasn't actually lying, she told herself. Giles truly was waiting for her at the door. Just not at the door to Culpepper and Winston.

Stepping out on to the street, Amelia walked with a light step toward the millinery. Her mind whirled with the impact of the news Mr. Jones had given her. With the income from writing, she could afford to live on her own. Edward had agreed to set her up in a small house on the outskirts of London, with a minimal household staff, but she would need her own money.

She could just imagine what would happen if her staid and proper brother heard of her secret career as a writer. Even though Edward was six years her junior, he acted more like he was sixteen years older. Perhaps having had to take over the title at the tender age of twenty had soured him. Whatever the reason, he'd taken his duty seriously, and in turn he expected all in his household to behave properly. It was well known that not a hint of scandal had ever been associated with the House of Partridge. Now everyone – including Amelia – wondered why he had he aligned himself with a flamboyant and unpleasant woman like Colette.

Lost in her thoughts, she failed to notice a trio of street urchins loitering nearby. A silent nod from the tallest one had them following Amelia, who suddenly found herself surrounded. Her hands instinctively lifted to her chest, and she clutched her reticule and satchel closely.

"Beggin' the lady's pardon, but methinks ye might 'ave a spare coin 'r two in that little bag 'o yers. Ye wouldn't want ter see the loiks of us starvin' now, would ye?"

Amelia schooled her features into a calm she didn't feel. "Kindly let me pass, please."

The leader tipped his head back and howled. "As soon as ye 'kindly' give us yer coins, we'll 'kindly' let ye pass!"

"You boys will need to find a more honest method of getting your money," she told them. "Otherwise I shall have to seek assistance from that constable over on the next corner."

The younger boys started to back away, but their leader was undeterred. "There's no officer on the next corner. Yer jus' tryin' ter distract me so's I'd look away and you kin scoot off."

Amelia searched her brain for a way to escape, but a deep, masculine voice stopped them all.

"Leave the lady alone."

Amelia breathed a sigh of relief. The duke! But the ringleader was undeterred. "And 'oo're ye to threaten me, mister? It's one a' ye aginst three."

"On the contrary, there are two of us. And the lady was correct, there is a constable on the next street." At the second male voice, the two younger urchins disappeared, and the leader found himself facing Phillip and his valet alone. The lad's bravado faded, but only for a moment. Raising his cap, he executed an exaggerated bow and gave her a cheeky grin.

"Beggin' yer pardon, miss, I didn't know ye were travelin' under the gentleman's protection. I'll be off now," he said. And he scooted back into the shadows.

Amelia let out the breath she'd been holding. Wanting to thank her rescuers, she turned and stared into a pair of familiar blue eyes. Her lips curved into a rueful grin.

"It seems you are forever coming to my aid, Your Grace."

Phillip's attention was focused on the young hooligans, and he didn't answer. When he finally returned his attention to her, his expression was serious, and she expected a lecture about being in such a neighborhood.

"Did they harm you in any way?"

"No, Your Grace. Your arrival was quite timely. Please accept my deepest gratitude."

"It was nothing. Robert and I had just left my solicitor's office. Allow us to escort you to…your destination."

"My footman is waiting at the milliner's shop, not two streets away."

Phillip frowned, but he offered his arm and they began the walk. "Why didn't your servant accompany you here?"

"I, er, also had business with my solicitor and did not wish to subject him to such drudgery."

"Nevertheless, he should have come with you, at least to the solicitor's storefront."

"I shall certainly take your advice into consideration, Your Grace," she demurred.

How like a man, she thought, to tell me what to do.

This was why she had refused to accept offers during her seasons. Never would she give up her freedom and subject herself to a man's power.

Although Phillip — or rather, the Duke of Bartlett — was certainly a handsome man. And it was quite flattering, the way he looked at her so intently as she spoke. It seemed he genuinely wanted to hear whatever she had to say. His rebuke hadn't been harsh either, considering the risk she had taken with her safety. Perhaps she should consider heeding his advice.

Arriving at Madame LeFevre's Millinery, they found Giles waiting patiently at the door. "Here you are, Lady Amelia. Safe and sound." He paused before adding. "As much as I enjoyed our walk, I cringe at the memory of those ruffians accosting you. Please give me your word that if you should require the services of your solicitor again, you will not visit him unaccompanied. If your footman is not available, please call on me. It will be my pleasure to accompany you, or to see that one of my staff is available if I am not."

Amelia blinked and nodded. He bowed and then walked away, followed by his valet. It was only when she felt the coldness in her mouth that she realized she'd been gaping at him, quite at a loss for words.

Chapter Five

Amelia wore a drab brown dress, totally devoid of embellishment. She donned a pair of hard-soled, sensible shoes she'd scrubbed with dirt from the garden to remove their shine. Giles accompanied her, but he wore his own clothing rather than his servant's livery. The people she planned to visit tonight loved their children and most were appreciative of her efforts, but they had a distrust of the nobility and the wealthy. So she did her best to downplay her social position and blend in with theirs.

With Giles carrying her heavy satchel, Amelia slipped out a side door of Sudbury House and hurried out to the street. Before proceeding further, she donned an old, mismatched scarf to hide her features in case any of her brother's neighbors happened along. As a further precaution she abandoned the straight-backed posture she'd perfected in finishing school and hunched forward as she walked.

When they reached Saint Paul's Cathedral, Giles stepped ahead of her to open the heavy wooden doors. Amelia nodded her thanks as she stepped inside. She continued on to a smaller chapel reserved for her use.

A dozen eager youngsters greeted her as she entered. "Evenin', Miss Partridge," they chorused. She'd instructed them to use her family name, rather address her as Lady Amelia, to gain the trust of their families.

"Good evening, children. Are you ready to learn more letters tonight?"

An eager affirmative filled the room. Amelia reached in her bag for her supplies — paper, pens, and ink.

The children sat quietly as she prepared for their lesson. They'd learned if they behaved themselves, they would be rewarded. As Amelia worked, she noticed a few adults sitting quietly on the outside of the room. She rejoiced to see the parents appeared as eager to learn as much as the children, maybe even more. She cleared her throat so that her voice would project without seeming to shout.

"All right, children. Let's review the letters we learned last time."

For the next hour, Amelia took her students through a drill of learning their letters, and then had them read combinations of those letters. Then she distributed the paper and writing utensils so the children could practice forming those letters. Beginning with the eldest, she worked with each child, patiently guiding their fingers around the pen so they could write their first words: cat, bat, and hat.

As she worked with the children, guiding their hands, encouraging them, reveling in their warmth, she wondered what her life would be like if she had accepted one of her offers of marriage and started a family of her own. She might now be sitting with her own children, guiding them through their lessons.

When the last child had written the letters to her satisfaction, Amelia pulled a pile of napkins and from her satchel, and then a bulky packet that gave off the delicious aroma of cinnamon and oranges. Last of all, she removed a well-worn book.

"Children, I brought along a book of my favorite stories to share. Would you like me to read one of them while you're eating your treat?"

The children's enthusiastic response warmed her heart. Hopefully, they would someday enjoy reading stories as well as hearing them.

"Well, then, remember what we learned about eating politely."

Napkins were distributed and placed carefully over the children's laps before she untied the bundle and handed each child a scone, waiting for and accepting polite thanks before going to the next child. She mentally cringed as the scones were immediately stuffed into their mouths and gobbled but schooled her features to maintain a pleasant smile. Manners could be taught a little at a time — right now it was enough that she was staving off the children's hunger.

Extra scones were offered to — and eagerly accepted by — the adults present. She made a mental note to bring more treats the next time. If word spread that she distributed food along with the lessons, there was certain to be more hungry people attending next time. Amelia made a note to tell Cook she needed twice as many treats for her next lesson.

****

Phillip watched the lesson from a spot just outside the archway into the chapel. He'd been on his way home after visiting his sister when he'd seen two dark figures leaving Sudbury House. Despite her disguise, he'd recognized Amelia when she'd paused to don her scarf. He'd wondered where she was going dressed in such a manner and couldn't stop himself from following.

His curiosity had increased when she'd slipped into a side door of St. Paul's Cathedral. Why ever would she dress so plainly for a visit to the church? Was she meeting someone?

Amelia had indeed been meeting someone. Nearly a dozen little someones. Now, he watched, entranced, as Amelia led the students through their lesson.

He started when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Turning, he saw Robert had brought him a chair. He nodded gratefully and sat in the dim hallway where he could continue his observation. Lady Amelia was a wonderful teacher. She kept her students engaged, encouraging them with a gentle smile or a pat on the shoulder. So unlike the stern taskmasters who had come to Bartlett Manor to teach him and his siblings. His knuckles still smarted from the many raps they'd received when his letters hadn't been formed properly!

She ended her lesson by reading aloud to the students while they ate treats she provided. There had been extras, enough for the hungry adults who had observed from the back of the room. She's made friends for life, he thought. Feeding their bodies as well as their minds.

This was a remarkable woman. While other women of the ton were primarily concerned with their looks, wardrobe or the latest gossip, Lady Amelia had a cause, a purpose. She was as unique as she was lovely. How proud he would be to have such a delightful creature standing by his side. But his disfigurement would preclude that from happening. Even a kind-hearted woman like her would be repelled at the thought of him as a mate.

Phillip stood and beckoned for his valet. He waited while Robert returned the chair to where he had gotten it then stepped toward the door. Robert stopped him with a light touch on his sleeve, nodding to a point behind him. Turning, he saw Amelia walking toward them.

"Good evening, Your Grace. I trust our lesson didn't interfere with your evening prayers?" she asked as students and parents made their way past them.

"On the contrary, Lady Amelia. Observing your lesson was the highlight of my evening. You have some eager young pupils. How did you come to teach them?"

"I happened to be here when one of the priests was conducting a lesson. He was using ancient materials, text children didn't understand. And he was horrid to them! Smacking their little hands when they didn't form their letters correctly. I was appalled, and was ready to go to the Cathedral Council, but decided to speak to the instructor himself. The poor man was in over his head! He was a Latin scholar and had no idea what to do with small children who couldn't even name their letters. I volunteered to help and started teaching them the next day."

"How fortunate for them."

"Thank you. I do what I can," she responded, a becoming blush staining her cheeks. "It's not much, and we need more books and materials. And it would be wonderful if we had a place to meet that wasn't quite so dark. But for now the children are at least learning to read. I believe a little education will give them an opportunity for better jobs."

"I would be happy to assist you."

Her eyes opened wide. To be honest, his offer had surprised him as much as it had her, but the smile lighting her face made him glad he'd voiced it.

"That would be wonderful, Your Grace. I'm sure the boys would welcome a masculine figure such as you. So many of them don't have a father figure in their lives, you know."

"Er — I meant I'd be happy to sponsor your teaching. I have a great many books in my personal library, and it would be a privilege to supply the paper and pens."

"Oh! Thank you for that, Your Grace." She bowed her head and turned to gather her supplies, but as she packed her bag Phillip couldn't stop the feeling that he would soon be helping her with more than just the supplies.

Chapter Six

It was a brisk December afternoon, and a light snow during the night had put a freshness in the air. Now it was sunny, and Amelia decided it was too nice to stay indoors. Despite the cold, she donned her cloak and took one of her new books, settling on a bench in the private garden behind her brother's home.

She had just begun to read when a tiny fur ball dashed across her line of vision and scampered up into the wild pear tree growing next to her bench. It was Colette's newest kitten, Sophie. Of course, once the little thing got up in the tree, she didn't know what to do. Frightened, she howled for help

"Oh, you poor dear," Amelia crooned, setting down her book. "Let me help you." She climbed onto the bench and reached up toward the branch, but the kitten backed away from her and climbed higher.

"Come here, sweetheart. I won't hurt you," Amelia cajoled. Standing on tiptoe, she stretched her arm farther, but she still couldn't reach the kitten. Exasperated, she stepped up onto the lowest branch, but the kitten was still out of reach. Worse yet, the little creature kept backing farther away. Amelia took a tentative step along the branch, and then another…

And then found she couldn't move.

The lace of her petticoat had tangled in the gnarled branches of the tree, effectively pinning her in place. She couldn't move her legs to go either way.

"Lady Amelia Partridge? How ever did you get caught in that pear tree?"

"Are you all right, Lady Amelia?"

Startled, she turned her gaze downward. The Duke of Bartlett and his niece, Laurel, stood next to her bench, looking up at her. Amelia was torn between relief at being rescued and chagrin at being caught in such a predicament.

"Good day, Your Grace. Please excuse my lack of manners, but I seem unable to curtsey at this moment. Mademoiselle Colette's kitten climbed the tree and was unable to get down, so I came up here to rescue her. And yes, Laurel, I'm fine. I'm just…stuck, as well."

Laurel tugged at her uncle's arm until he looked down at her. "Uncle Phillip, you must help her get down."

Phillip nodded and stepped up onto the bench. His height allowed him to stand on the bench and easily reach the branch that had caught her skirts. Leaning against the trunk for balance, he reached a long arm out and carefully detached her skirts from the tree's grasp. As soon as she was free, she took a step down, but a pair of strong hands grasped her waist, and she found herself lifted off the branch and settled safely on the ground.

Amelia stammered her thanks, but Phillip climbed up into the tree and caught the kitten by the scruff of her neck. Holding Sophie carefully, he dropped lightly to the ground and offered the shivering kitten to her.

Amelia could barely meet her rescuer's gaze. Heat flooded her cheeks – was it from embarrassment, or was it excitement from the physical contact with the handsome duke?

"Thank you again, Your Grace. And I know my future sister-in-law will be most grateful to you for rescuing her Sophie."

Phillip bowed. "I assure you, it was my pleasure."

Before Amelia could frame a response, Laurel took Amelia's arm. "I'm so glad we found you at home today, Lady Amelia. I need to speak to you. I've talked to Uncle Phillip, but he says I need a woman's view, so I asked him to bring me here right away."

Amelia couldn't imagine what advice she could give the distraught young woman, but she invited her to sit on the bench with her. "How can I help, Laurel?"

The girl launched into her tale. "It's Mama! She wants me to have a season next year, and she has lots of plans for dresses and parties, but I don't need all that to find a husband. I don't want to marry anyone but Nicky!"

Laurel's anxiety tugged at her heart. She could sympathize with the girl's dilemma, having had wishes totally against those of her parents. Amelia's own mother, rest her soul, had cried endlessly at her only daughter's total lack of interest in the selection of eligible bachelors attending the balls during her season. A few of the gentlemen had even offered for her hand, but she simply couldn't muster the enthusiasm for any of them and had turned them down. "Why should I marry simply because a man asks?" she'd said when her mother had pressed.

But now, Amelia needed to choose her words wisely. The young girl gazing her hopeful eyes toward her was the daughter of her close friend, and probably as close to a daughter as she would ever have. Her wishes might be different from those Amelia had had as a young girl, but like hers, they were opposite what her parents wanted. Or so she thought.

"Have you explained how you feel to your mother, Laurel? Does she know the young man?"

"She knows him, but she thinks this is simply a schoolgirl whim and that I should see what real gentlemen are like. Oh, Lady Amelia, I don't need to see anyone else. No man would ever compare to my Nicky!"

She glanced at Phillip. "Nicky?"

The duke cleared his throat. "Nicholas Kentridge, second son of the Earl of Dunham."

Though his voice had revealed nothing, his dark expression told Amelia exactly what he thought of the young man. Knowing the boy's identity, Amelia had to agree. The earl was a rake, and according to rumor, his sons were cut from the same cloth. But the love-struck girl wouldn't want to hear that.

Amelia covered Laurel's hand with her own. "Does Nicky feel the same? Has he expressed a desire for the two of you to marry?"

"Well…no, but I'm certain he will. It just wouldn't be fair for me to encourage anyone else."

"You wouldn't have to encourage anyone during your season. But if you go along with your mother's plans, you can show Nicky exactly how lovely and suitable you are."

"Nicky's not interested in beauty." Laurel's eyes gleamed, and her posture straightened as she spoke of her intended beau. "He told me he admires my intellect and my artistic talent." Amelia noticed Phillip turn his head away and guessed it was to hide the derision in his eyes. Thankfully, Laurel was too lost in her own thoughts to notice her uncle.

"Perhaps not, but it would be a shame to deny your mother the joy of seeing her daughter as the beautiful debutante you would be."

"But, Lady Amelia—"

"Hear me out. Even if your parents approve of — er, Nicky — you are not yet at the legal age of consent. Why not take a year and let your parents dote on you? I know you'll have a lovely time."

"But you didn't," Laurel protested. "I've heard you complaining about it to Mother."

Amelia pursed her lips. Her family had always chided her about her runaway mouth. Now, it could cause a problem for her friend.

She cleared her throat, hoping the inspiration would come. "Laurel, dear, I was wrong to protest against my mother. Had I simply gone along with her wishes, I would have made her happy, and she would have seen for herself how unsuitable the young men in my circle had been for me. It would have saved us both a lot of unpleasantness."

Laurel sighed. "So you think I should just let Mother have her way and make me spend an entire season being nice to mere boys in whom I have absolutely no interest?"

"Mmm, there are some good things to consider."

"What would those be?"

"Well, as a debutante, you will be presented at court. That's quite exciting."

Laurel's face brightened. "Oh, yes. I'd forgotten about that."

"And you'll have a beautiful new wardrobe."

"Well, that would be nice, but Nicky says I'm beautiful even without the fancy clothes."

"That's quite…gallant of him. But think how much more beautiful you'll be in a lovely new wardrobe. He'll probably be invited to attend many of the same events as you, and then he'll be able to see how lucky he is to have your affection. Besides, the season is only a few months. If you don't do it, you'll disappoint your mother, and you may regret it later. If you go through with your season and make her happy, you'll also have some wonderful tales to share with your own daughter someday."

The girl frowned. "I suppose you're right. It is only for a little while. Nicky says he doesn't enjoy the social life, but perhaps he'll attend a ball or two to please me."

"Undoubtedly."

"I'm still not certain I should dance with other men besides Nicky, but I suppose I could go through with the presentation at court. Just to please my parents, of course."

"Of course," Amelia replied. "And I know they will be so proud of you."

The girl surprised her with a quick hug, and then launched into a flurry of plans, pacing excitedly in front of the bench. Amelia listened for a few seconds, but her attention was diverted to her other side when Phillip leaned toward her and whispered, "Well done, Lady Amelia."

Despite the cool weather, Amelia felt a definite rise in the temperature.

Chapter Seven

Phillip sat beside the young boy, his large hand gently covering Bertie's smaller one, helping the child form the letters of his name. The lines were shaky, but the letters were recognizable.

"Excellent, Bertie. Now, can you do it by yourself?"

The six-year-old nodded and pursed his lips as he gripped the quill tightly and concentrated on his task.

Phillip wasn't sure how he'd come to actually help Amelia in this makeshift schoolroom. He'd merely wanted to see that she'd received the supplies he had sent. And then suddenly she'd had to deal with a little girl's tears, and Bertie had needed help. She'd turned to him, but he'd hesitated. He'd turned to her footman, who had shrugged.

"Beggin' Your Grace's pardon," Giles had said. "I'd like to help, but I can't read. I help Lady Amelia carry her supplies and watch out for pickpockets and lowlife, but I can't help her in here."

With a sigh, Phillip had seated himself next to the child, showing Bertie again and again how to form the letters of his name.

A sixth sense told him someone stood behind him. He twisted around and saw a man watching Bertie's work intently. One hand was raised, his index finger tracing a path in the air.

Realizing the duke had spotted him, the man put his hand down and lowered his eyes. His cheeks reddened. "Sorry, Yer Grace. little Bertie's me nephew, and since we share the same given name, I thought so's I'd learn along with 'im how ta write it. That way, I can sign me own name, rather than just a mark."

Phillip's mind whirled at the man's words. Reading and writing were so much a part of his life that he couldn't imagine not having the ability to do so. And being able to sign one's own name to a document was a basic skill this man didn't have.

"I have plenty of paper here and another quill," he told the older Bertie. "Why don't you sit down and join us?"

The older Bertie's jaw dropped. "Me? Sittin' down wi' a duke? Truly, Yer Grace?"

"Truly. I'd be honored to help you."

Big Bertie promptly plopped himself on Phillip's other side. "Thank ye, Yer Grace," he said. "Me name's Bertie Jones, and if ye ever need yer chimney swept, I'm yer man." He was soon hard at work writing the letters of his name, his face as determined as the younger Bertie's.

The boy finally finished writing the last letter and looked up with pride shining from his dark eyes. "I wrote my name all by myself," he cried. "Mama will be so proud of me."

Phillip shared in the boy's joy. "Perhaps she'll give you a treat."

Bertie's face fell. "Maybe. If Mama can get enough washing to buy food this week."

"What about your father?"

"Papa is sick. He got hurt at his work. He has marks like yours all over his whole body." He pointed to the scars on Phillip's face.

"How did he get them?"

"He was working in a factory, and the furnace exploded. Now he can't walk. Mostly he just stays in the bed, because he can't see and he can hardly hear." Bertie reached up and gently traced a scar on Phillip's cheek. "Does it hurt?"

Phillip shook his head. "Not any more."

Bertie nodded. "Mama said someday soon, Papa's sores won't hurt him any more." He turned his hopeful eyes back to Phillip's. "Do you think that will be soon?"

Phillip's heart ached. Bertie's father didn't have long to live. What were a few facial scars compared to the agony this boy's father had had to endure? He swallowed. "I hope so, Bertie. I sincerely hope so."

****

"Thank you again for helping little Bertie Crabtree, Your Grace," Amelia said as he escorted her out of the cathedral to his waiting carriage. "I know he looked up to you. He misses interaction with his father."

"Yes, he told me about his father's accident. I would like to do something to help his family."

"How generous of you, Your Grace. I know they would appreciate your donation."

"I could donate, but I thought perhaps I would see if Bertie's mother could join my household staff. He told me she presently takes in washing."

Amelia stopped in her tracks. "What a wonderful idea! I'm sure that would help the family immensely. I have been trying to think of ways to help the students and their families. But giving them positions would benefit them so much more than simply giving them food and money."

Her mind raced with new ideas. She bubbled with excitement as he handed her into the carriage. "I can't offer positions to every family, but I think I can persuade Mrs. Garrett, our housekeeper, into hiring one or two more maids," she declared. "And I shall speak to some of my friends about it, too. They're always complaining about how difficult it is to get good help. I shall have to gather the children's parents together and find out what their talents are. If there are men who have training of any kind, that will make them more marketable…"

Before she knew it, they had arrived back at Sudbury House, and she bade the duke a good night. She went straight to her room and gathered her writing materials. She had work to do.

Chapter Eight

Phillip handed Amelia into his carriage and climbed in after her. He sank into the seat, exhausted. Several new students had come for tonight's session, and they had both kept busy trying to get the new children caught up with the more advanced.

Drawn by the eagerness of the students, as well as the dedication of their teacher, Phillip had attended nearly every session since his meeting with the two Berties, and he had faithfully supplied materials for each lesson. He'd even produced an easel to make it easier for her to instruct the entire group. And each time, his cook had sent tasty sandwiches for the children and the increasing number of parents who came to observe. The food was as much of an attraction as the lessons, but knowing he was feeding their stomachs as well as their minds gave Phillip a sense of purpose he'd never known.

He sensed she had spoken, so he turned to get a clear view of her mouth. "Pardon me?" he asked.

"The children should have a Christmas party," she declared. "I imagine their holiday isn't nearly as merry as ours. Most of their parents can't afford gifts. We could give them a nice meal and some small gifts — as a reward for doing so well on their lessons."

"Excellent idea," Phillip agreed. "I have several books I could contribute as gifts. When should this celebration take place?"

"It would be nice to have it on Christmas Eve, but I'll have to plan it for the day before. My brother insists on my attendance at the Kringles' Ball at Holly Hall. He says that since Colette has left him, we must attend several major functions to reassure the ton he is not distraught over her departure."

"I think it would be safe to assume no one would think of him that way. But I sympathize for him. I didn't realize Mademoiselle Colette had left."

"Yes, Edward mentioned something to her about financial losses. Apparently he made some investments that didn't prove to be profitable. The losses weren't that great, but it was enough to send her packing."

"Ah. Well, I'm sure you will be an excellent substitute for your brother. But I hope you will save a dance for me."

****

Amelia and her lady's maid Jeanne entered the foyer of Bartlett Manor, gazing about them at the somewhat shabby splendor. Here and there, she could see places where it was evident that renovations were underway. Amelia's artistic mind whirled as she imagined homey touches she would have added. Over here is a nice spot for a comfortable seating arrangement. This room needs new draperies and perhaps a more calming color on the walls.

Utley, the butler who had let them in, took their cloaks and bowed. "I shall inform His Grace you have arrived. Please wait here," he instructed, gesturing toward a pair of comfortable chairs.

She was about to sit when she heard a rustling of skirts. Absently, she looked up and then blinked when she recognized the maid. "Mrs. Crabtree. How nice to see you."

The woman turned at Amelia's greeting, and her face lit in a wide smile. She rushed forward and held out her arms to Amelia, but stopped short and dropped into a curtsey instead.

"Oh, Miss Par — I mean, Lady Amelia, I can't thank you enough for bringing the good duke into our lives. 'E told me you was a real lady, not just a miss — oh, I knew it was so, they way you was always so proper, like. Anyway, 'e got me this job doing the laundry 'ere, and when I had trouble travelin' from Cheapside, 'e moved our whole family 'ere to this house! Little Bertie is gettin' his lessons from the valet, Mr. Townley, and the duke's own physician is seein' to my Arnold. I fear 'e'll never be able to walk again, but 'is sight is gettin' better, and 'is spirits are risin' each day. Oh, My Lady, the duke is a true godsend!"

Amelia offered her congratulations, and Mrs. Crabtree left to attend to her duties. Left again with her thoughts and the silent Jeanne, she paced. Today was the day she would tell Phillip about her other life — that of a writer. What would his reaction be? Would he be disgusted? Worse yet, would he demand she stop writing before their association continued? Or would he accept it and encourage her, as he had done with her efforts to help educate the poor children?

She didn't think she could bear it if he rejected her other life. Over the last few weeks, he had become so important to her. Who would have known that a duke could be so compassionate for the poor? He'd been so wonderful with the children from the first day he'd visited and had returned several other times to help. He'd listened patiently, interested in their stories, and his big, strong, capable hands had guided theirs as they'd written their letters in the notebooks he'd bought for them.

He'd been wonderful with the parents, too. True to his word, he'd helped the Crabtree family. Learning that Bertie Jones was a chimney sweep, Phillip had promptly hired his services and arranged for several other adults to assist with repairs to the manor.

The handsome duke was fast becoming her life. But writing was her life, also. She had stories to tell, and she enjoyed writing. She had to be honest with him, and if he rejected her, she would be devastated. But she would carry on. Alone.

She heard the click of a door opening, and then he was there. His handsome face broke into a smile, and he reached out to take her hands.

"Good morning, Lady Amelia." He glanced a teasing glance at Jeanne. "And I see you have brought a suitable chaperone for your visit to my home."

"Good morning, Your Grace, and thank you so much for your generous offer to supply books to the children. They will make wonderful Christmas gifts, and I know they will be appreciated."

Phillip executed a half-bow. "It is my pleasure, Lady Amelia. Please come with me to the library and assist me in picking them out." He turned to Jeanne. "Please come in with us. Lady Amelia mentioned you enjoy reading. Feel free to browse whatever shelves you like. Perhaps you'll find something to your liking."

Amelia, followed closely by Jeanne, followed him down the hall to a wide set of doors, which he opened then gestured for them to precede him. They stepped through the threshold but stopped in awe.

The Peartree library was nearly as large as most ballrooms Amelia had seen. Bookshelves covered nearly every inch of the walls, and each shelf was overflowing with books.

It was Paradise.

"Er, it might be easier to select the books if you stepped a little closer to them," Phillip murmured from behind them.

Prodded back to the present, Amelia stepped into the room. She started to peruse the shelves to the right of the doorway. Jeanne, more interested in the décor than the books, went to the left. Phillip followed Amelia.

"The children's books are over here," he said as he guided her toward the window. She walked with him to the bookshelf, preparing herself for what she had to say.

"Your Grace—"

"Here are some nice books I enjoyed as a youngster," he told her, pulling them off the shelves. He stopped when he reached a well-worn volume. "This one was my favorite. I'd like to keep this one — for my own children," he added, casting her a heated gaze.

Children with Phillip! What an incredible thought. She took a deep breath and scrambled to recall the line of conversation.

"Oh, yes, Your Grace. You must surely keep your treasured volumes for your own family." She cleared her throat. "What about some of the adults? Do you know of some easier books or magazines they might enjoy?"

Phillip turned back to his bookshelves. "Yes, I had thought about that. I remember some adventure stories my brother and I enjoyed when we were young. The vocabulary in them might be easy enough for beginning readers."

Quickly, she told herself. Tell him now, before you lose your courage. "Your Grace, I have some books I've written myself. I — write love stories. I'm going to give some of them to some of the women in the group."

The duke said nothing, but he continued to peruse the books on the shelves.

"I hope you're not appalled at my vocation. I know my brother would insist I stop if he knew. But I've enjoyed a measure of success, and I'm actually starting to make some money from sales of my stories."

"This is not good. I can't believe it."

Not good? He's not willing to accept my writing?

"I know I saw those books just last week. Perhaps I set them aside already."

She didn't understand. Wasn't he going to reply to her admission? Or was his ignoring it tantamount to a dismissal? She was used to that. Edward tended to ignore her whenever he disagreed with her, and her father had done the same. She'd expected different behavior from Phillip.

She sighed. Well, if that was how he was going to react, perhaps it was better for her to limit her interaction with the handsome duke. She'd best be on her way as soon as possible.

Somehow, she managed to remain cordial as they finished selecting gifts for the children and their parents. But as soon as they were finished, she hurried with Jeanne to the door, not answering his reminder about the Kringles' Christmas Ball.

****

The chapel was abuzz with activity. Garlands of pine, adorned with flowers and ribbon, cascaded from every wall sconce, and similar decorations brightened the candelabras on two long tables. Robert supervised a group of servants carrying in a giant Christmas tree. Jeanne stood with another group, ready to trim its branches with colorful garlands.

Amelia stood in the center of the room, directing the entire production. She didn't look at him, but her senses were all too aware of Phillip as soon as he entered the room.

"Everything looks lovely, Lady Amelia. I know the children will be delighted with your efforts," he said near her ear.

His warm breath sent a delicious shiver down her spine. Would he always have this effect on her? No. She had to be strong. If Phillip couldn't accept her as a writer, she couldn't afford to encourage him.

She took a deep breath and pasted a smile on her face before turning to Phillip. "Thank you, Your Grace. This couldn't have been done without your generous contributions."

"It was my pleasure," he replied. "Now, how can I be of assistance?"

"Hmm. Perhaps you could help place the gifts under the tree." Phillip nodded and set the gaily wrapped packages in place.

As the light from the windows faded, Robert and several others lit the candles, casting the room in a soft, magical glow. All was ready.

The guests started to arrive. Some of them came in boisterously, excited at the promise of food and gifts. Some came in timidly, as if expecting to be disappointed. But children and parents alike gasped with pleasure as they beheld their transformed schoolroom.

"Mama! Look at the beautiful tree! Just like in the story Miss Partridge read to us! And there are presents under it!"

There was a mad rush for the tree, but Amelia stood in front of it. "Children, there will be plenty of time for gifts after we've had dinner and a story. Let's take our places at the table. Parents, please come and sit with us."

Benches scraped the stone floors as they were pulled back and the families settled themselves. All stared expectantly at Amelia.

"Welcome, everyone, to our Christmas gala. We have a marvelous feast for you this evening. But first, perhaps His Grace would like to offer a word of thanks?"

All heads swerved to Phillip, who had bent to retrieve a child's spoon that had fallen off the table. Robert, standing beside him, touched his arm and spoke to him softly. Phillip started and he cast a terrified glance toward Amelia but recovered quickly.

"Er, yes, of course." He bowed his head dutifully, and everyone else in the chapel followed suit. "Thank you, Lord, for this food we are about to receive. And for — for our friends all around us this evening. And — and — Christmas. Thank you especially, for Christmas. Er, Amen."

As the room echoed with a resounding "Amen," a parade of servants entered, bearing platters of roast goose and mincemeat. Others carried trays of goblets filled with cider. The food was set before the stunned guests. Several people looked to Amelia as if waiting for permission to eat.

"Please enjoy the meal," she insisted.

"But, Miss Partridge, aren't you and the duke goin' ta eat?" asked one of the adults.

"Of course we will, later. But you're our guests now."

"Tain't right," insisted another. "We can't eat before you."

"Oh! Well, all right then," she conceded, taking a spot between two of her students. "We'll be happy to dine with you."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Phillip had taken a spot on the other end of the long table. Good. She could enjoy her dinner without having to look in those soulful blue eyes.

Chapter Nine

Jeanne descended the staircase from her mistress's chambers. Lady Amelia didn't look ill, but she had decided against attending the ball tonight. She wouldn't give a reason, but had sent Jeanne to notify her brother not to wait for her.

The earl was probably in his study. Hopefully, he wouldn't be angry about Her Ladyship's change of plans. She raised her hand to knock on the door of the study and nearly leaped out of her slippers when the earl himself spoke from behind her.

"Miss Brown, is my sister nearly ready?"

Jeanne spun around to dip into a curtsey. "My Lord, Lady Amelia has decided not to attend the ball. Perhaps you would like to speak with her?"

"Blasted women," the earl muttered. "One can never rely on them! I told her I needed her to make an appearance with me at the Kringles' Christmas Ball. Bartlett will probably be disappointed, too. It seems he's taken quite an interest in her. I suppose he's one of the few men who could put up with her chatter and preposterous ideas, since he can't hear anything she says."

Jeanne's head popped up, and she stared, momentarily forgetting protocol. "Can't hear, My Lord?"

"Hunting accident at university. His gun misfired, and he ended up losing most of his hearing. I hear he's a top-notch lip reader, but if he can't see your face, he doesn't know what you're saying. Nice fellow. I wouldn't have minded him as a brother-in-law. But knowing my sister, he's probably better off." Shaking his head, he called for Marks to have the carriage brought around.

Jeanne's mind whirled. The day before, when they had left the duke's home, Lady Amelia had been upset. Jeanne had thought perhaps Her Ladyship had been unwell, but that hadn't been the case. The duke was just like all other men in her life, Lady Amelia had said. When he didn't like something she had said, he had simply ignored her.

But the duke hadn't been ignoring Lady Amelia. He simply hadn't heard her! And what had the earl said, about having the duke as a brother-in-law? Had he asked for her hand? She whirled around to find her mistress.

She found Amelia in her study, absently staring at a blank page in her journal.

"My Lady! Please forgive me for intruding, but I must share something His Lordship told me." Quickly, she relayed her conversation with the earl.

****

Amelia gasped, suddenly understanding the reason Phillip hadn't responded to her confession the day before. He'd been facing away from her when she'd told him. He hadn't ignored her! How could she have misjudged him so badly?

It all made sense now. The times when he'd seemed distracted, and she'd had to repeat what she said. The way he watched her carefully whenever she talked. The way Robert and Desiree always touched his shoulder lightly and waited until they had Phillip's attention before speaking. She'd thought he didn't approve of her writing career, but he simply hadn't heard her.

She had to get to the ball, quickly.

"Jeanne, have Marks summon a carriage, and then come back here to help me get dressed."

"Yes, my lady. Right away."

Amelia was half dressed by the time the servant returned. If she'd had her way, she wouldn't have done anything to her hair. But Jeanne reminded her the carriage would take a few minutes to arrive, so she'd impatiently submitted to her maid's primping and arranging.

The moment the butler announced the carriage was ready, she flung her cape over her shoulder and nearly flew down the stairs to the marble tiled foyer. A hastily summoned Giles barely had time to stuff his hat on his head as he hurried to accompany her.

****

Phillip took another pastry from a passing waiter's tray. He paced, partly to keep his mind off his nervousness, and partly to keep from being stopped by every matron with a marriageable daughter. A part of him was flattered. But there was only one with whom he wished to share his title.

Where the devil is she? Colorful gowns swirled all around him, and beautiful women descended the staircase, but he didn't notice any of them. He searched the faces of the guests as they arrived, but the one he needed to see wasn't among them. Was there some problem at Sudbury House?

Last night at the children's Christmas party, she'd been a wonderful hostess. After the dinner, she'd gathered the children around her and read the Christmas Story from the Book of Matthew. And then she'd reminded them of their manners before handing out their gifts. The children, as well as their parents, had appreciated the books.

He noted several heads turning toward the staircase. A new arrival must have been announced. He turned, and his spirits lifted. Amelia's brother, Edward Partridge appeared at the top of the stairs. Amelia should be right behind him. His heart beat faster as he waited.

But the earl descended the stairs alone. His heart stopped for a moment.

Where was Amelia? Had she decided to come later, by herself? It would go against convention, but his Amelia wasn't one to follow the rules. Perhaps he'd better speak to Edward.

He made his way to the earl, who, now that he was no longer betrothed to the Dragon Lady, was a commodity among the unmarried ladies of the ton. Edward was surrounded by the mamas of available women, and Phillip had to wait his turn. Some of the mamas cast a welcome toward the duke, and he did his best to greet them properly. He finally reached the earl.

"Sudbury."

Edward turned around and executed a small bow. "Good evening, Your Grace. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you, too. Er, has your sister arrived?"

"Amelia? No, she has apparently come down with some sort of affliction. Her maid told me she didn't feel well enough to come. She sends her regrets."

"I… see. I trust she recovers soon."

Phillip backed away. What would he do now? He had no desire to stay and socialize with anyone else. Parties held no appeal for him without Amelia there. With her, he felt like celebrating. She had seemed healthy this afternoon. What could have happened to her? He wanted to ask, but Edward was already in conversation with someone else. But Phillip could see Edward's mouth and easily deciphered the earl's words.

"Of course, Amelia never was one for parties and dressing up and such. My mother had an awful time getting her to cooperate during her season. She finally had to give up when Amelia told her in no uncertain terms she had no intention of getting married." Edward paused. "Of course, I thought perhaps she might have been interested in Bartlett."

Might have been?

"Well, she had been looking more…girlish, lately. You know, with the hair and the lace and such. She behaved like a young girl. But today she came down to breakfast in one of her drab old frocks. It was almost like she was in mourning."

Could she have been upset with him about something? He searched his mind. What could he have done?

His first reaction was to admit defeat. How could he have thought he could win the hand of a woman as special as Amelia? What would she see in him?

But another voice reminded him of her sunny smiles whenever they were together. The way she worked hard for people less fortunate than her. There was no better woman to head Bartlett Manor than Lady Amelia Partridge. He needed to find her and fight for her. Was there even a chance for them? He went in search of a servant to fetch his coat.

Chapter Ten

The carriage ride seemed endless. Along the way, she mentally rehearsed what she would say to Phillip. "I'm so sorry to keep you waiting, Your Grace." No, that wouldn't do. What if he hadn't been waiting for her? Hopefully he wouldn't have found it odd that Edward arrived before her. Perhaps she could simply say, "How lovely to see you again, Your Grace."

The carriage drew up before the Kringle mansion, and the door opened. A gold-braided cuff decorated the wrist of the hand extended to her. She took a deep breath and rose to climb the steps down. "Please be there," she whispered.

She would surely be one of the last to arrive at the party. Would Phillip still be waiting for her? A servant took her cloak, and she braced herself. Another servant waited at the ballroom's entrance, and when he saw her he reached for her card, but she shook her head. "I — I need a moment." The man nodded and stepped back.

A bank of potted pear trees festively decorated with ribbons and ornaments for the holiday graced each side of the wide arch leading to the ballroom. Amelia decided to look for Phillip through the branches of the trees, so she could go to him immediately.

She leaned forward, trying to see the partygoers through the branches of the tree. But it was nearly impossible to make out any one figure through the sea of humanity. She should have known. The Kringles' party was the prime event of the holiday season. Lord and Lady Kringle held court in one corner of the room, greeting their guests. She took another step but froze when she realized her hair had caught in one of the ornaments on the pear tree. She tried to disengage herself but managed only to get herself more firmly entangled. Embarrassingly, the skirt of her dress, in her twisting and turning, had caught on some lower branches and was pulled up into the tree, exposing a shocking amount of her legs.

Goodness! How ever would she get out of this? Absently, she recalled a song she'd heard about a partridge in a pear tree. She wasn't sure whether to giggle at being part of a Christmas carol or sob at her dilemma. Should she call out to one of the servants in the foyer? Would they even hear her?

Suddenly, her skirt fell back in place. A second later, the ornaments released her hair. A deep voice behind her murmured, "There you are, Lady Amelia. I trust you and your lovely gown have not suffered any ill effects from your mishap."

"Phil — Your Grace!" She dampened her excitement and cleared her throat, dipping into a deep curtsey. "Again, you have rescued me. Thank you."

He executed a formal bow. "It was my pleasure. Your brother told me that you were ill, and I feared you would not be here tonight." He extended his elbow. "Shall we join the ball?"

"I would love to, but first I need to tell you something. I tried to tell you earlier, in your library, but I'm afraid you may not have heard me."

"I apologize. I am listening now."

She faced him directly so he could see her lips and understand what she said. "I — I write books. Love stories. I like to write them, and my publisher tells me they are becoming quite popular. I don't want to stop writing them. I have a pen name, so no one needs to know, but I wanted to tell you. Would that bother you, knowing what I do?"

"I have already read some of your stories. They're quite wonderful."

Her jaw dropped. "You — you knew?"

"Yes. A few weeks ago, when you read aloud to the students, you hardly looked at the page. You didn't have to, because they were your own words. The next day I went to the bookstore and purchased every available title by A. P. Worthington."

"And…the idea doesn't repulse you?"

"I shall be proud to be associated with the author of such tomes as The Demure Duchess and The Tempestuous Ton. He sobered. "Would it repulse you to be associated with a disfigured, hard-of-hearing duke who must work hard with his hands to restore his crumbling estate?"

Amelia held her hand to her heart. This must be the kind of love she'd read about, even written about, but never experienced.

"I would be honored at such an association, Your Grace."

He stepped closer, wrapping his arms around her. "Shall we seal this agreement with a kiss?"

About the Author

During her first career, Patricia Kiyono taught elementary music, computer classes, elementary classrooms, and junior high social studies. She now teaches music education at the university level.

She lives in southwest Michigan with her husband, not far from her children and grandchildren. Current interests, aside from writing, include sewing, crocheting, scrapbooking, and music. A love of travel and an interest in faraway people inspires her to create stories about different cultures.

Another great read from Astraea Press!

Prologue

December 27, 1812

Chairs weren't the only things flying at this year's annual Kringle Ball. Throw in a duke, two appallingly outspoken ladies, an earl, a young naval officer, and enough fists to make Gentleman Jackson proud, and you have successfully recounted every delicious detail of this past season's unmatchable scandal.

One has to wonder how it all started. Some say Gatewood was merely defending his sister's honor. Others say Norcross seduced the wits out of not one but two women in the very same night! And the worst of the gossip, though it pains me to admit to it as such, comes to us in the form of a first-hand account. Miss Tess Warren was seen smiling, yes smiling (such a vulgar act to begin with) at the Duke of Gatewood not minutes before he was beaten with a chair. Now, what the devil (and please pardon my language, it really is inexcusable, but given the circumstances it must be said) does Miss Tess Warren have to smile about? And what, dear readers, has caused the good duke to lose his impeccable manners, not to mention his mind?

~Mrs. Peabody's Society Papers

Chapter One

London, England

December 24, 1820

It had come to this. Confining himself behind the walls of his study to avoid the festivities of the Christmas holiday.

Donovan Ellis, Seventh Duke of Gatewood, wanted nothing more than to forget this season and all the foolery that went along with it. There would be no wreaths hung on the doors and no candles adorned with greenery would line the mantel. He'd threatened to dismiss Cook if she served him syllabub or Christmas pudding. Even so, I wager one of the servants will at least put a Yule log on one of the fires.

Donovan lounged in his high-back chair, sipping brandy and watching the fire. The snapping and crackling of the logs soothed him, broke the eerie silence of the townhouse.

He glanced sideways at the polished walnut table on his left, and his gaze settled on the silver tray bearing the decanter of brandy. Firelight flickered off the cut crystal and splintered, sending amber glints dancing across the floor. When Lawrence, the butler, had brought the spirits, Donovan had told him not to bother lighting the oil lamps, just one of the candles on the mantel and another on the small table by his chair. The dull glow did no more than place the study in shadow. That was fine with Donovan; the dark ambiance fit his grim mood.

A draft swept through the study, dimming the fire. The flames on the candles swayed, and the darkness swooped closer. Shadows climbed from the corners and loomed over him. He glanced toward the bay window, checking that it was securely latched. But the reflection of the fire in the panes was all he could see.

As he started to turn back toward the fire, a circle of bright light, high up near the top of the glass and just beyond the window, caught his attention and he squinted, trying to make out what the object was. Perhaps starlight? Even as he tried to convince himself of that, the orb grew bigger, floated closer and lower to the ground.

Donovan sat transfixed, unable to look away as an illuminated figure approached the window, passed through without pause as if the glass and wall weren't there, and glided across the room, stopping close enough to the fire to be cast in its light.

Donovan blinked several times, his mind warring with what he saw. He glanced down at the glass in his hand. "I could have sworn this was my first brandy." Lifting his head, his gaze again met the vision. "But I must be foxed and seeing things. Or my eyes fool me."

Dark brown eyes — his dark brown eyes — stared back at him. Had it not been for the fact that he was sitting and the phantom was standing, he could have been looking in a mirror. The vision before him had the same dark wavy hair, broad shoulders that seemed to fill the room, and chiseled jaw.

The apparition crossed his arms. "Could there not be another explanation?"

Hearing the phantom speak with his voice unnerved Donovan, gave him pause. It took a moment for understanding to sink in.

"Ah. Dreaming, then. And not a very good dream, since I'd never wear such an outrageous burgundy tailcoat." Donovan gestured in the specter's direction with his glass. "Then again, I suppose I'm not actually wearing such foppish attire but having a nightmare."

A smile tugged at the corners of the ghost's mouth. "So you'd prefer to reason that you're dreaming—"

"Having a nightmare… and a bad one at that."

"Very well, having a nightmare, rather than actually believe I'm real?"

Donovan drained his glass then reached for the decanter, desperately in need of another. "On the contrary, I'm a logical man. And as such, I know it's impossible for me to be lounging in my chair and standing in the middle of the room at the same time. Not to mention that you cannot be me if I'm me, unless this is a bad dream."

"Yet you see me… you're speaking with me."

Donovan waved his hand. "That proves nothing." He brought the refilled glass to his lips and drained the contents.

"Well then, you won't object if I pour myself a glass of brandy."

"Not at all. Happy to share," he said. The initial shock of seeing a ghost glide through the wall had scared him, had been frightening indeed. But having a drink with himself as if they were old chums from University? Donovan smiled at the situation's inherent humor.

The apparition walked over to the ornate walnut cabinet and retrieved a wineglass. He strode back, hefted the decanter, and poured a generous amount into his glass. Then the specter sat in the black leather high-back chair opposite Donovan's.

"Forgive me, where are my manners. Please, have a seat."

The phantom met Donovan's stare over the rim of the glass. He lowered the drink and smiled. "Think nothing of it. I hardly need an invitation to sit in my own home."

What an arrogant, obnoxious — His home? Donovan opened his mouth to give the ghostly figure the set-down he deserved then shut it almost as fast. I think I need another as well.

He filled his own glass again then watched, a bit surprised, as the spirit swallowed down the liquor. But then again, if this is a dream, he didn't really pour the drink, did he?

"A very nice brandy, your grace."

Donovan chuckled.

"Is something amusing?"

"I was just wondering what I should call you."

"You may call me your grace."

Donovan snorted. "Your grace indeed."

"I see your point. Very well, you may call me Past Duke," the specter said.

"Why should I call you Past Duke?"

"I'm the past you, or rather the you you should have been," he explained.

Donovan furrowed his brow. "I beg your pardon?"

"Isn't the past the reason you're sitting alone in this dungeon of a study on Christmas Eve? Aren't the events that took place, what happened between you and Delia, what didn't happen between you and Tess, the reason—"

Rage coursed through Donovan's veins, the memories once again clawing at his heart. He slammed his fist down on the arm of the chair. "Silence! Don't speak of them." With a trembling hand, he set the glass on the tray and stood. "I believe my imagination has been entertained enough for one evening. It's long past time for me to retire."

Past Duke rose slowly. "You don't think I'm real."

Donovan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. His anger drained away, leaving him with a heavy heart. He had enough demons to fight without adding arguing with himself to it.

Past Duke drew his foot back and planted a hard kick to Donovan's shin, making him curse.

"Whyever did you do that?" he demanded, rubbing his throbbing leg.

"This isn't a dream. Although I'd be more than happy to punch you in the nose if you need more convincing."

Donovan glared at him. "I don't advise that."

"Avoiding me won't make me disappear. I'm here to grant you one wish."

"Then I wish for you to go away."

The room fell silent; the other him seemed to blur, become faint. The embers in the fire dimmed to no more than tiny sparks. Both candles went out. A draft swept through the fireplace, sending a chill through Donovan's body. He shivered.

"What the devil?"

The room fell black and the air stopped moving, forcing Donovan to draw in deeply to fill his lungs, making him dizzy. He tried to move but was frozen in place. Almost as if he'd been glued to the spot, as if the darkness was a prison.

Panic spiked through him. His sanity had clearly deserted him, leaving him trapped in this nightmare. Wake up. Wake up now.

Donovan seemed to be spinning, then suddenly the fire crackled to life and the candles again illuminated the study. He whirled around, searching the shadowy corners. Relieved no demons were lurking about, he let out the breath he'd been holding. Just as I suspected. A dream. A drunken hallucination, had to be. One that sobered me quite fast.

Conversing with myself. What a ridiculous notion. He retrieved the candle from the table. When he turned toward the door, Past Duke was there. Donovan's body trembled and his heart thumped erratically, seeming to skip more than beat. The lightheaded sensation from a few moments earlier returned with a vengeance, and he dropped to his knees. The monster blocking his exit was Death, come to collect him. He had to get out of there, get away before the demon took his life.

But isn't that what you want? To leave this world? Leave the loneliness of having lost all those you love?

The fear coursing through his body seemed to answer back, No! I want to live! Get up!

Past Duke tilted his face toward the ceiling. "Why did I think this would be easy?"

Donovan lurched to his feet and backed away. The vision of himself filled the doorway, the room, demanding his full attention. "W-what do y-you want from me?"

The ghost stalked him. "I want the same thing you want. The life I should have had — could have had, if you hadn't been such a fool."

"I-I-I don't understand." Donovan collided with the wall. His body shook so violently that his teeth banged against each other.

Past Duke stopped in front of him. "You will soon enough. You, my dear fellow, are going to go back to the past and fix it."

"Fix the past? Fix what?"

"You're going to set right what you did wrong."

"I've gone mad," he whispered.

"Your heart cries with the regret and sorrow from the past. I'm the person you should have been, still can be. But only if you can set the future on the right course," Past Duke said.

A shiver ran up Donovan's spine. "What foolishness is this? I beg you for mercy. Let me awaken from this nightmare."

"You've spent eight years punishing yourself far more than I ever could." Sorrow crossed the past duke's face. The lines on his brow deepened; his lips turned down slightly.

"So your intentions are to make my suffering worse?" Donovan snapped. No one needed to remind him of what he'd lost… what he didn't have.

"Of course not. I intend to send you back to Christmas Eve 1812."

Donovan hrumphed. "And how would that be?"

"Like this."

Past Duke shoved him hard in the chest, pressed so forcefully Donovan was sure the apparition's fingers touched his heart, causing it to momentarily stop. Then his thoughts ceased and darkness consumed him.

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