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Chapter One
Hartwell Green was a shabby little place in the midland countryside. The town was not too big, but not too small either, declining in popularity over the past several decades as more townsfolk moved to the larger cities for work. That said, the place still held its country charm that defined the local identity.
Smoke rose from the thin, cobbled chimneys, and a light Autumn rain pattered on the red roof tiles while the sounds of chickens going about their business bounced between the cottages. At least, that was the usual sleepy scene in the medium-sized community, but that day was the Mop Fair.
All the farmhands in the neighboring swatches of land had come to the Green for their annual work search, in an effort to secure a contract for the coming year and the Autumn planting. It was a glorified job fair, to be sure, but it was an excuse for everyone to gather in town, pass around mugs full of the latest brewer’s batch, and enjoy a variety of festival foods from handcarts pushed between the lanes.
Arabella enjoyed a good fair; she was not a prude or anything of the like, but that day she was not her complete self. She stepped around a small puddle in front of her and tucked a stray strand of her honey blonde hair back beneath the edge of her brown, woolen bonnet, pausing for a moment as she waited for her small entourage to catch up with her.
“You have a brisk pace!” Nathaniel quipped, jumping forward to keep stride with her. “How can your ladies keep up with you?”
“I have only the one,” Arabella remarked, glancing back over her shoulder. “Mrs. Farleigh possesses more fortitude than you might expect.”
Mrs. Farleigh was trailing at an expected distance for a chaperone, walking beside a poor lad from the manor who had been tasked for the day with carrying any parcels that might be required. He bore bundles under both arms, and he stumbled along the best he could to keep up.
“I should say so,” Nathaniel said, trailing beside her as she began to peruse some of the scattered pieces for sale on that stretch of the lane. The commonfolk knew they were of the aristocracy—their fine clothes were enough to give them away, but beyond that her family was known to the area.
The woman at the trinket stand smiled wide and bowed her head as Arabella thumbed through some of the crochet swatches, and she heard Nathaniel muttering something behind her, likely finding something to complain about.
“You are not a fairgoer, I take it?” she asked, turning back to him and continuing their stroll.
“Not by usual practice,” he admitted with a brisk shake of his head. “And you?”
“And I, what?” she asked, shooting him a short glance out of the corner of her eye. Time spent with him was exhausting.
“You enjoy the fair?” he managed to say, and she could see by the tension in his cheeks that this was not the sort of conversation he was used to carrying on.
“We are here, are we not?” she asked faintly, cocking her head.
“Pardon?” he strained his ears to hear her subtle reply, but as he did so she saw his eyes inadvertently following a particularly beautiful townswoman that walked past. Arabella could not help but smirk at his reaction.
“You know her?” she asked, pointedly.
“Whatever are you talking about?” he asked, cracking an innocent grin as if his rakish reputation was nothing more than a simple joke between friends.
“Any other lady might find your behavior upsetting,” she remarked, approaching a small market stall displaying simple, hand-wrought pewter jewelry. “In fact, I have heard as much.”
“The lengths some go to with their slanders,” Nathaniel replied, shaking his head. “How am I to live with such rumor mills churning against me.”
“You will live, I am sure,” Arabella shot back, and then began thumbing through some of the simple, chain necklaces on display.
The woman working the stall was elated at Arabella’s interest, and began fussing with the jewelry, waving over her sister to help. Arabella laughed and joked along with them as they held several pieces up to her skin, chattering on about her beauty and grace. Arabella knew they were just buttering her up to make a sale, but beyond that there was true affection. She knew the families of the town, and they knew her, and she was going to enjoy the fair as best she could despite her unusual company. She bought a necklace and overpaid by a pound, much to the merchant’s delight and gratitude, and handed her latest parcel to the manservant who had just managed to catch up.
“Thank you, Jonathan,” she said as he took the small package.
“You are far too polite to commonfolk,” Nathaniel interjected with a soft shake of his head. “There is a separation, you know, between them and us.”
“Oh?” Arabella asked, dropping one eyebrow. “And what is that?”
“What is that?” Nathaniel repeated back to her, almost laughing with amusement. “We are the nobility, we are above them, it is the way things are, how they have always been.”
“You do not think we are all equal creations?” she asked, continuing their walk. “Just because we were born into wealth does not make us greater beings. In fact, I find a layman to often have a better understanding of humanity, rather, morality, than many in our social standing.”
Nathaniel stopped and looked at her for a moment, blinking as he tried to process her words. It was clear to her that he had never spent much time on such thoughts, not that she had expected otherwise. As he tried to calculate a proper reply, she saw his eyes flicking to the right, and his chin followed. Arabella let off a light scoff as she saw him gazing after a woman in a blue dress, though he seemed not to hear her.
His supposed interest in her had been a surprise, to say the least. Everyone around knew of his reputation as a womanizer and an altogether unserious gentleman, but her aunt had pressed her to accept his invitation. Even thinking briefly of her aunt caused Arabella’s face to flicker; the woman was driving her to the brink. She did not care how many seasons she missed, she refused to marry for practicality, and she certainly would not be marrying Nathaniel, not that he had any true interest in her romantically. At least it was an excuse to visit the Mop Fair.
“Well,” he said with a shake of his head, trying to think of something clever. Then his eyes lit up again as he spied an acquaintance across the lane, a few paces behind the woman in blue. “Is that Gerold?” he wondered aloud. “Gerold! Wait up!” he looked back to Arabella quickly and said, “I must say hello briefly, if you would excuse me.”
“You can go where you like,” she answered with a soft smirk, releasing him from their arranged stroll. There was a flash of relief in his face, and then he jetted across the street to join Gerold in the common house.
She let out a steady breath of relief as she watched him disappear into the pub. She did not hate him, not by any means; it was cruel to hate, and she was not cruel. In some ways she found him amusing, at least in an observatory fashion, even if she found his personal character off-putting. She had never spent so much time with him in such a setting; at least it was a memorable experience.
As she watched him go, the smell of hot honey wafted into her nose, and she let her sweet tooth steer her toward a small food cart selling fresh pastries and snacks. She bought a small sweet roll with a honey topping and smiled as she took a large bite, letting the honey squeeze out of the corner of her mouth as she savored the delicious treat. Sweets had always been one of her vices, much to her Aunt’s declarative horror.
As she savored the small snack and turned slowly in place, she heard a sudden familiar voice that sent an unexpected shiver through her spine. She had admired the duke from afar in the odd lecture hall, listening to his theories and then reading his works. It was not a voice that she had expected to encounter in Hartwell Green, but it was certainly a voice she knew, and she knew it well. Her eyes widened as she recognized the Duke of Kingsmere, a dashing scholar of a nobleman whose work had been an obsession of hers for some time.
He was classically tall, his frame thin but sturdy and well-built, and she stared at the back of his head with cautious fascination as he purchased a pastry, trying to think of what to say. It was not every day she ran into one of her academic heroes in public, and she was completely unprepared for the interaction. Even still, she knew she could not let the opportunity pass her by.
“Beg pardon,” she said, unable to maintain her silence. “You are the Duke of Kingsmere, are you not?”
He turned to her with a surprised look, and she was immediately undone by his sharp blue eyes and cutting jaw. She had admired him from afar in London, but being up close like that was utterly disarming, and suddenly she found herself stumbling for words.
“Yes?” he asked gently, meeting her gaze. He offered her a soft, sympathetic smile, and she felt herself melting a bit, captive in his stare.
“I just wanted to say how much I admired your work, Your Grace” she finally stammered, settling on a line of conversation. She was caught off guard by the intensity of the butterflies fluttering around inside her torso; it was not a thing she experienced with any sort of regularity. When she finally did speak, the words began tumbling out.
“I have seen you speak in London on multiple occasions, and once at Oxford. The sciences are a field of great interest to me, though I found your notes on Darwin to be the most interesting. To be frank, I could listen to you speak for ages and it would not tire me.”
As she finished her last sentence, her eyes widened with the realization of how it must have sounded, and she felt her embarrassment rising within her chest. Luckily, the duke seemed to take it in stride with a tender, thoughtful demeanor.
“That is very kind,” he said, his voice smooth and calming, but then a shade of embarrassment flashed over his face and his eyes tilted downward as he said, “Pardon me, My Lady, you have some…” and he gestured to the corner of his mouth.
“Oh, goodness,” she said, her face flushing red as she rushed to wipe the small patch of honey away from the corner of her mouth. “I am so thoroughly embarrassed.”
“Was it delicious, at least?” he asked, cracking a thin smile. He held up his own pastry as an example, trying to lighten the situation.
“Quite,” she stuttered.
“Sebastian,” he said, his eyes softening as he squared his shoulders to face her.
“Pardon?”
“My name is Sebastian Halford,” he went on. “If you do not mind, that is. Terribly improper, I know. I grow tired of all the Kingsmere business; I am sure a lady such as yourself can relate to such a thing.”
“Of course,” she said, still blushed and completely collapsing inside. His dashing looks had collided with her mental encapsulation of him, and that alone was enough to leave her at a loss for words. She was utterly petrified.
“And you are?” he asked. “You are a lady of the area, that much is plain.”
“Arabella,” she said quickly. “Arabella Montrose. I live just over the Western hill.”
“A pleasure,” he said with a little bob of his head. “You say you know my work?”
“Yes,” she paused, trying to collect herself. The situation had already spiraled past anything that she had briefly imagined. “Forgive me, I must go,” and she turned in a hurry trying to extract herself from the situation with as much dignity as she could muster, but as she turned, he called after her.
“Wait!”
Arabella stopped in her tracks, her heart thumping as she slowly looked back at him. A soft breeze tickled her cheek as she looked.
“Yes?”
“It is not every day I meet an admirer at a mop fair,” he said, taking a step after her. There was a spark of something in his eyes, and it gave her a stirring feeling. “Perhaps I could borrow you for just a moment longer.”
“Well,” Arabella gushed, the redness in her cheeks beginning to subside. When would she get another chance to meet one of her personal heroes? It was even less likely that he would be more charming than imagined. “How could I say no?”
OFFER: A BRAND NEW SERIES AND 2 FREEBIES FOR YOU!
Grab my new series, "Whispers of Regency Love", and get 2 FREE novels as a gift! Have a look here!
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