“There was simply no reason for my father to be on those cliffs, no reason for his horse to be spooked, no way that, even if the horse had scared, my father would have lost his seat. In all our years of knowing each other, have you ever known my father to take a fall from the saddle?” He looked at the others, all of whom shook their heads.

“This report,” he said with quiet conviction, “is wrong. I can’t prove it, but I know it.”

He looked at the others in the room, each quiet, each waiting for another to speak first. He saw the shock in their faces, their concern, their uncertainty, and he checked himself. “Christ, this whole thing is taking its toll, isn’t it?” With a deep breath, he crossed to the hidden door that led back to the billiard room. Tripping the switch to swing the door open, he turned back to his friends. “No more macabre conversation. Fancy another game?”

There was a deep pause, as the Staffords considered the impact of the scene that had just unfolded and their own next steps. Will stood first and broke the silence; recognizing Blackmoor’s embarrassment and desire to end the awkward moment, he spoke with his trademark arrogance: “Certainly, if all of you don’t mind being roundly trounced…again.” Taking their cue, Nick and Kit groaned in mock disgust and, matching their older brother’s grin, stood up to follow Blackmoor back to the billiard table—just as friends should.

five

This whole process is really quite ridiculous, isn’t it?” Alex stepped from her scalding bath, receiving a large linen bath sheet from Eliza, who, seeing her charge wrapped in the dry cloth, wasted no time in guiding her to sit by the roaring fire on the other side of the room.

“Head down.” Alex flipped her hair over toward the heat of the flames, and Eliza went to work combing the long auburn tresses free of snarls and knots as the fire dried the wet curls. “Ridiculous?” the maid queried.

“Quite,” Alex said, her voice muffled by the curtain of her hair and the strange contortion of her body. “I mean, how long was I in that bath? An hour?”

“No’ even a quarter of that,” Eliza said, unable to keep the humor from her tone.

“Well, it felt like an hour,” Alex said grumpily. “I feel as though every inch of my skin has been scrubbed off. And all for what?”

“For beauty,” the maid spoke, focused entirely on her task. “The Prince shall think you the most beautiful lady he’s ever seen.”

Alex replied wryly, “Let’s hope that’s not the case, Eliza. History teaches us that things never end well when royalty set their eyes on ‘the most beautiful lady’ they’ve ever seen. Have a care; if you perform your tasks too well, I could be haunting the Tower of London without a head, alongside Anne Boleyn.” She looked up through her tresses at Eliza, eyes dancing with amusement the maid did not share—and received another shove, reminding her to keep her head down.

“Fine. For beauty, then,” she continued, waving one arm, her tone rich with boredom. She stayed quiet for a few moments, allowing the scent of the lavender soap Eliza had used so forcefully to envelop her before picking up her head and continuing, “Am I nearly done?”

“Nay. Head down.”

Alex sighed. “I hate this.”

“Yer in a funk.”

“I am not in a funk.”

Eliza made a noncommittal sound and Alex lifted her head to look at the maid, only to have her hair tugged. “Ow!”

“That wouldn’t ‘ave happened if you’d kept your head down.”

Alex snorted in disbelief but kept her head still. The truth was, she was in a funk. Eliza was right. Eliza was always right. Just three years older than Alex, Eliza had grown up alongside the Stafford children in the Essex countryside, the daughter of the cook and the stable master at Stafford Manor. While the difference in their stations was always clear, when the two girls were alone, they were as equal as they could be. From their earliest days together, the young maid had always had the uncanny ability to understand Alex’s moods—often before Alex understood them herself.

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re in such an ill humor?” Eliza prodded, continuing to comb Alex’s hair, which was drying quickly in the burning heat.

“I don’t really know,” Alex admitted. “I am rather dreading this day, this presentation, this…pomp and circumstance.”

“Whatever for? It’s your first day as a real lady. I’ve ne’er seen your mother so…well…she’s proud as a peacock. I should think you’d be excited. Up.”

Alex sat up and spun around on the little stool upon which she was perched, repositioning herself to dry the rest of her hair. Eliza kept combing the long tresses until they shone brightly.

Alex scoffed. “My first day as a real lady. What on earth does that mean? And my mother is excited because I’m one step closer to being married off.”

“You know that is no’ what she is thinking.”

“Not consciously. But it is there. Lurking in the background. A smart match is the future she’s always wanted for me. And today is the beginning of that future.” She paused, stretching out her legs and leaning back into the heat of the fire. “If only I wanted it as much as my parents do.”

“Perhaps tonight you’ll meet someone who’ll make you want it that much.”

Alex rolled her eyes at the idea. “It’s a night at Almack’s, Eliza, not an enchanted ball. Let’s not get too carried away.”