Prologue

 

Millcastle 1839

 

Alice Collins stepped out of the mail coach and looked apprehensively around her. The George and Dragon coaching inn was an old black and white building set low in the ground with a small and remarkably crowded cobbled yard to one side.

“Mind out, miss.”

She instinctively stepped back as one of the ostlers moved past her and dumped the baggage from the top of the mail coach to the ground beside the door. She spied her bag, quickly reclaimed it, and headed inside the inn.

“Are you wanting a room, dear?” A blond woman Alice assumed was the proprietress came over, her smile welcoming.

“No, thank you. I merely wished to ask for directions to Grafton Hall.”

“You’ll need to rent a gig for that journey. It’s too far to walk.”

“I… don’t have sufficient funds to do that.” Alice gripped the handle of her bag more tightly. “But thank you, anyway.” She glanced at the door. “Can you at least advise me as to which direction I should take?”

The woman sighed. “Go out of the stable yard, turn right, and follow the lane back up the hill until you come to the common. Keep the high hedge on your left and go on about a mile until you see a stone gatehouse. That’s the entrance to Grafton Hall.”

“Thank you.” Alice nodded.

“Do you have business with his lordship, then?” The landlady’s tone turned slightly sharper.

“You could say that.”

“You do know he is happily married with a child?”

“I’m very glad to hear it.” Alice curtsied. “I won’t keep you from your customers any longer, ma’am.

She escaped through the door and studied the scene in front of her. The mail coach was being readied at some speed for its onward journey. New horses had been hitched and the coachman was intent on gathering his flock of passengers by threatening to leave any latecomers behind. Alice wondered how long the mail coach would survive after the new-fangled railway came to town.

She’d already spotted the massive construction works in the valley leading up to Millcastle, a brash new scar through the hills that looked as if it would never heal. From her view of the town below, she saw half the old market square was in the process of being torn up to create the necessary grand station. The air tasted acrid, and her clothes were already dirty from the spoil billowing out of the numerous factory chimneys. The mill owners would probably welcome the railway to improve their businesses.

A harsh place, Millcastle, and not one she would’ve chosen to visit unless desperate. She turned right and began to trudge up the hill. At least it took her away from the town limits and back into the countryside. A glance up at the cloudy sky told her that she would be lucky to avoid the rain, and that if she didn’t pick up her pace, she would arrive in the dark and possibly miss the entrance to the estate.

Her boots were already patched, and she hoped they’d last the journey. What would happen if she was sent on her way again? How would she survive? Alice quashed down her fears and concentrated on the uneven path ahead of her. One thing she had learned in the last painful year was not to look too far ahead or court trouble.

 

“Francis?”

Viscount Grafton-Wesley, who preferred to be known simply as Captain Grafton, looked up as his wife Caroline came into his study.

“What’s wrong, my dear?”

“Barker just informed me that a woman arrived at the front door and asked to see you.”

He set down his pen. “What kind of woman?”

“Young, beautiful, and soaked to the skin.”

“And you believe I invited her here?”

“You’re not that foolish.” She regarded him steadily. “But this wouldn’t be the first occasion when one of your previous paramours has unexpectedly dropped by for a visit, would it?”

“That is true.” He stood up. “Do you want me to tell Barker to throw her out?”

“In the rain?” Caroline looked appalled. “Perhaps you might consider speaking to her first.”

He sighed. “As you wish.” He offered her his arm. “Where is the girl?”

“In the small front parlor.”

“You will accompany me.”

“Naturally.” She sniffed. “I had no intention of allowing you to go in there alone.”

“How is our son?”

“Sleeping soundly for once, which is why I was downstairs and able to intercept Barker before he came to get you.”

“In case I threw our uninvited guest out in the rain or ran off with her?”

“Exactly.”

He bowed and held the door open for her. The woman standing by the fire swung around to stare at them. She was indeed both young and beautiful, with fair hair and very brown eyes. She was also soaked to the skin and dressed in garments that, in his opinion, should’ve been torn up and sold to the rag man years ago.

“Viscount Grafton-Wesley?”

“Yes. What do you want?”

She took a deep breath, straightened her back, and looked him right in the eye. “I believe we might be related.”

Aware of his wife stiffening beside him, he held up his finger. “How old are you?”

Her brow creased in apparent confusion. “I’m twenty-six, but I’m not sure what that has to do with anything.”

“Not my child, then. I wasn’t even in this godforsaken country when you were conceived—unless your mother came out to India?”

“She… did not, sir, and I am definitely not claiming to be your child.”

“Thank God for small mercies.” Francis nodded. “Continue.”

“After her recent death, I found out that the man who… kept my mother was a gentleman called Thomas Grafton.”

“Ah, now it begins to make sense.” Francis turned to his wife. “My father was a randy old bugger.”

“This woman is claiming to be your half-sister?” Caroline asked and turned to the woman. “Do you have any proof?”

She took out a letter and offered it to Francis, her hand shaking the paper so hard it fluttered like a fan. “My mother wrote this on her deathbed.”

Francis quickly perused the letter and handed it to Caroline. “I’ll get my solicitor to look into the matter. Is this your previous address on the letterhead?”

“Yes, sir. When she died, the bailiffs came and told me I had to leave because the rent hadn’t been paid for months.” The woman swallowed hard. “They said my mother had considerable debts and that they would sell the contents of the house to recoup her losses.”

“And left you out in the street?” Francis inquired. He wasn’t shocked. He’d had to deal with plenty of tenants in the past and evicted more than a few. “I assume you have no other relatives?”

“Not that I am aware of. My mother’s family refused to acknowledge her.”

“Sanctimonious old pricks,” Francis muttered. “Then you will stay here until the matter is resolved to my satisfaction.”

“You… aren’t going to throw me out?”

“Not immediately.” Francis turned to his wife. “Can you find her some clean clothes and somewhere to sleep until we resolve this nonsense?”

“Of course.” Caroline smiled at the younger woman. “What is your name?”

“Alice Collins.” She looked from Francis back to Caroline and her voice broke. “I can’t believe you are allowing me to stay.”

“Neither of us are of a mind to send anyone in distress away, Miss Collins. We know desperation when we see it.” Caroline placed a gentle hand on Alice’s shoulder. “Now, come with me and I’ll help you settle in for the night. Everything will look far better in the morning.”

“Somehow, I doubt that,” Miss Collins said. “But I have had little reason for optimism in the past few months.”

“I’ll be in my study.” Francis kept the letter and followed them back out into the hall. “Collins…” For some reason the name sounded vaguely familiar.

He lit another branch of candles after returning to the study and set it beside the bookcase containing his father’s estate records. Despite his dislike for his old man, he had to admire his meticulous record-keeping. If there was some record of Alice’s mother in the papers, it would be within the pages of these leather-bound volumes.

He returned to his desk and spent a few minutes writing to his solicitor about the matter in hand and was just sealing the letter with his signet ring and red wax when Caroline returned.

“How is she?”

“She is well spoken, obviously hasn’t been eating properly, and her clothes have seen better days.”

“That wasn’t what I asked you.”

“I know.” She sighed. “She reminds me of myself when I first met you—full of pride and not much else.”

“You had much more than that to offer, my love.”

“No, I didn’t. I was terrified all the time.” She met his gaze, her expression thoughtful. “I suspect Alice is in a similar situation.”

“Penniless and desperate?”

“Exactly—except there is no Captain Francis Grafton around to entice her into a devilish alliance.”

“I certainly hope not.” Francis addressed the letter and set it to one side.

“Francis… if she proves not to be related to you at all, would you still consider allowing me to help her?”

“Allowing you?” He raised an eyebrow. “When have you ever done anything I have asked you to? If you wish to keep her and find her a useful occupation, I will hardly object.”

“Thank you.” She came over and kissed him full on the mouth.

“You’re welcome. Shall we go to bed?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled. “Yes, please.”

 

Alice got out of the bath and wrapped herself in the large drying cloth the maid, who had identified herself as Martha, had left warming by the fire. There was also a long linen nightgown, a dressing gown to put over it, and a pair of knitted socks. Alice was beginning to feel as if she was dreaming. She hadn’t dared to think beyond handing over the letter to the current viscount. On first seeing his harsh face, she’d assumed she’d be shown the door immediately, but he had proven to be not only extremely direct, but gruffly kind.

She climbed into the large, comfortable bed, discovered someone had warmed the sheets, and almost cried. Despite the hall’s closeness to Millcastle, there was no noise and no glow from the factory furnaces to disturb her rest. She settled against the feather-filled pillows and closed her eyes. Tomorrow she would be more in command of herself. Before she could even manage another thought, she fell asleep.

 

Alice smoothed down the skirt of her new day dress and followed Caroline into the viscount’s study. She’d been at the hall for over two weeks and had just begun to feel safe again. She loved spending time with Caroline and Ivy, who was Caroline’s sister, and also the viscount and Caroline’s son, Joseph. She already knew she would miss them if she had to leave.

Viscount Grafton sat behind his desk, a cigar in one hand and a letter in the other. “Ah! There you are. I believe we finally have an answer as to your parentage.”

Alice sat down before her knees gave way. Despite Caroline’s assurances that whatever the outcome she was welcome to stay, she still had her doubts.

“Mr. Palmer helped me discover the necessary documentation held in my father’s accounting books and supplemented the information with correspondence between your mother and my father. He definitely paid the rent on your mother’s house. When I claimed the title, my solicitor stopped the payments. He had no idea who your mother was until I enlightened him.”

“Then it is true?” Caroline asked.

“Indeed, it is. Welcome to the family, Alice. I can only apologize for my father’s appalling behavior.” He glanced over at his wife, who nodded for him to continue. “I intend to offer you an allowance, of course, and if you wish to continue to live here, we would be delighted.”

“But… I’m not legitimate.” Alice finally managed to speak.

“So what?” Francis raised an eyebrow. “I don’t care about that.”

“Most families would.”

“Well, we’re not most families,” Francis said firmly. “Now, if you will both excuse me? I have business in town that can’t wait.” He stood up. “If you wish to read through the correspondence, it’s here on my desk.”

“Thank you,” Alice said. She waited until he’d gone out of the room before turning to his much more approachable wife. “I know you cannot possibly share the viscount’s attitude to my status.”

“Why can’t I?” Caroline looked amused. “I have two sisters. Adding you to the family will be a blessing.”

“But—”

“Alice, dear. Why don’t you read through the correspondence from the solicitor and come and find me if you have any further questions? I’ll be in the nursery.”

 

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