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Prologue
Marianne Wentworth turned and, to her own surprise, caught the bouquet of roses which the bride, in an obvious show of happiness, unexpectedly threw toward the guests gathered outside the church. Inside Marianne felt nothing.
I didn’t even want to catch that bouquet. I’m only here for my best friend’s wedding. The day when she marries the man whom I love.
The fragrance of the roses scented the air, and she forced a smile to her face.
Keep smiling, she told herself. Keep hiding how you feel in the same way that you have since the day Lydia told you she was engaged to be married. No one needs to know that your heart is broken.
“You’ll be next Marianne. Love will find you,” Lydia called, smiling brightly as she climbed into the carriage beside Frederick Jackson, who put his arm around her as they set off on their journey into married life.
“It’s so lovely to see them married,” said Mrs. Tripp, her father’s housekeeper, who stood next to her. “They make such a perfect couple.”
“It was a perfect day,” Marianne said, forcing out the words though all she wanted to do was hide away and sob.
“It’s going to be a big change. You and Miss Lydia have always been inseparable. People have always said you are like sisters,” Mrs. Tripp told her.
Today Marianne didn’t feel like Lydia’s sister. She felt like an island, separated out in the middle of the sea, disconnected from everyone including her family. This is what the books she read called being heartbroken.
She felt a hand on her arm and turned to see her father’s concerned face. He must have guessed how she felt, though he’d never once spoken of it to her. Her mother had died when she was five years old, and it was her father who had always been there for her as long as she could remember. Occasionally she remembered her mother’s voice singing a lullaby as she drifted off to sleep.
Her father, Mr. Anthony Wentworth, had led the musicians in the small orchestra, which had played for the wedding ceremony in the abbey church. She would usually have joined them and played second violin, but today she had been part of the wedding procession.
She had walked up the aisle toward the man whom she had loved devotedly for the last two years and seen him smile lovingly into the eyes of her friend.
Frederick loved Lydia. The brief flirtation between herself and Frederick had been just that. When he had come to work in her father’s workshop just over two years ago, she had fallen in love with him at first sight.
Then one day Lydia had walked into the workshop, and she knew immediately that she had lost Frederick. Today a year later the couple had married.
This wasn’t the only change. Frederick had learned all he could from her father, and he had earned a position in a prestigious establishment making violins in Cremona, in Northern Italy, now that travel to that part of Europe was possible again.
As the war ended, with Napoleon Bonaparte held on the Isle of Elba, the world was changing, and opportunities were opening up across Europe. She forced herself to feel happy for her friends as they drove off to their adventurous future.
I shall remain in Nottingham and live quietly. Maybe one day I will meet someone and marry. If not, then I shall continue to keep house for Papa and play and sing alongside him. Many have a much harder life, and I should be grateful for what I have.
Today, though, I can feel sad about Frederick Jackson marrying my best friend Lydia, and my envy of their happiness and future in Cremona.
Chapter One
“This can’t continue Adam,” came the sharp voice of his great aunt, Lady Derwent. “That’s another governess left after less than a month at Farfield Manor.”
“I’m sorry, Aunt Maude. What happened this time?” asked Adam Loxley, the Duke of Ferrenby, continuing to examine the violin on the table in front of him.
“More of the same,” his great aunt said in exasperation. “I do wish you would pay me some attention, Adam.”
“I’m sorry Aunt Maude, but this arrived today from Italy, and I need to check there are no hairline cracks in the wood,” Adam explained.
“There is always something connected with one of those musical instruments,” she said, coming to stand close to him so that he was forced to look up at her.
“This time it was Master Christopher and a mouse on a chair and then in her bed,” his great aunt told him. “I wish the children would be a little more imaginative with their exploits. When Miss Carstairs came to tell me she was leaving, I found myself saying, ‘Oh dear was it a mouse again?’”
“They do seem fond of mice,” Adam said, still absorbed in scrutinizing the violin.
“Fond? Fond my foot! The children are behaving despicably and driving away these poor women as they don’t want to do lessons. If you recall, we lost Miss Bridges and Miss Probert due to mice.”
“I’m sorry Aunt, I don’t know what I can do to improve things. They’ve lost their mother. We must be patient with them,” said Adam gently.
“My mother died when I was six and I don’t recall getting up to this sort of mischief,” replied his great aunt. “The older children desperately need an education,” she continued, determined that he would listen to her this time.
“Can’t we let them have a summer of freedom? It might help them to adjust, and then they can start formal learning with a governess again in the Autumn?” suggested Adam.
“I’m going to be honest Adam. I’m exhausted with continually chasing after them. I’m not as young as I was, and neither is Jane. She didn’t become my companion to chase unruly children.”
“I think that’s a little strong,” he said quietly.
“I don’t agree. I love all four of them, but since Penelope died, they have become unmanageable.”
“They have Nurse Aster. She’s more experienced with children than anyone I know. Penelope always said we should always trust Nurse’s judgement,” Adam told her.
“If the children were not behaving in this unruly way, then I’d agree. Have you looked at Nurse Aster recently? She is almost seventy and should be thinking about retiring to a cottage on the estate,” his great aunt said. “Of course, she never will, but we have to take her age into account, and being in sole charge of four children, who are determined to do what they want when they want, really isn’t fair to her.”
“Very well. I’ll give it some thought. Now if you will excuse me, I have to write to this collector in Perugia and secure this viola which is incredibly rare,” Adam tried to end the conversation.
“Adam, you may be Duke of Ferrenby, but that doesn’t stop me giving you a piece of my mind. These children are more important than a viola, and I don’t care how rare it is,” replied his great aunt, refusing to back down.
“Aunt, I can only do this my way. I wish Penelope were here. I never expected to live life without her. I didn’t expect the children to be without a mother.”
“All you do is stay in this library and write letters about musical instruments. I love music as much as you do. Your grandfather started a tradition here at Farfield Manor by building the collection and then adding the theatre as a recital room.” She looked at him with exasperation before continuing. “But you have to start to live again. The children need their father.”
“I’m doing as much as I can,” said Adam, his voice broke as he spoke the words.
“I know how much you miss Penelope,” said his great aunt sympathetically. “It’s as though a light has gone out in all our lives.”
“She would have known exactly what to do. She always knew exactly what to do.”
“Well as Miss Carstairs has left, we need another governess. It can’t wait,” his great aunt told him.
“Just do whatever you think best, Aunt Maude,” conceded Adam.
He stood up next to his great aunt. “Please don’t think I don’t appreciate having you here. I’ve no other family and I don’t think I could manage without you,” he told her.
Lady Derwent pressed his arm affectionately. “I like your idea about the summer months,” she told him. “I have an idea which might work very well indeed, and I’ll advertise for a governess to begin lessons in the Autumn.”
***
Why can’t they leave me alone? All I want to do is focus on the collection and shut out the pain of the world.
A few nights earlier Adam had woken in the night and reached across, speaking to Penelope before remembering she was gone. He knew there were tears on his face, and he felt more alone than he ever had in his life.
For thirteen years they had been inseparable. He’d fallen in love with his golden-haired beauty the moment he heard her signing an aria. It was love at first note rather as much as love at first sight, but it was a deep and lasting love.
Then one January day just over a year ago she had complained of a headache and retired to bed early. During the night she had awoken with a raging sore throat and fever and gradually lost consciousness.
Doctor Barton, a friend as well as the local physician, had diagnosed the morbid sore throat, which some were calling diphtheria. As her fever raged, he offered little hope of recovery. The children had been moved to the east wing as the disease was highly infectious, and Adam had stayed by Penelope’s bedside hoping that she would rally and recover.
She’d died within less than forty-eight hours of becoming ill, and the light had gone out of his life.
He’d tried to find solace in their four children, the babies Penelope had given birth to and loved so dearly. He knew they needed something more from him, and there was a gap in their lives, but he couldn’t work out how to fill it.
A sharp knock on the door and a voice calling his name brought him out of his memories. He looked up to see Mr. Howton, his butler, with a concerned expression on his face.
“I think you’d better come, Your Grace. There’s been an incident in the east wing.”
“In the collection?” asked Adam.
“I’m afraid so,” responded the butler.
Adam stood immediately and joined Mr. Howton on the walk to the other wing of the building. It was newer, in a classical style, contrasting with the original Tudor manor house. His grandfather had built the extension specially for his collection of musical instruments and the small theatre where he hosted recitals.
“Is anyone hurt?” he asked.
“No, Your Grace. The children wanted to see the collection and Nurse asked Dorcas, one of the parlor maids, to take them. They often go in there, and there is never any trouble,” Mr. Howton told him.
“And today?” said Adam.
“It seems Master Michael told Miss Lottie that she was too young to play the violin. You have to be five to play it apparently. Miss Lottie told him that Mozart had played musical instruments when much younger than she was, and he didn’t know anything about music. When Miss Lottie reached to take a violin Master Michael and Master Christopher tried to stop her and pulled the violin out of her reach.
“Dorcas doesn’t know exactly what happened, but the violin dropped to the floor and the neck has snapped in two. Miss Lottie is distraught and screaming that it wasn’t her fault. She refuses to stand up. Master Michael is standing looking quiet and says it is all his fault, while Master Christopher has run into the garden. Miss Claudia is helping Dorcas bring calm to the situation.”
“I see,” said Adam. “It sounds as though they have broken one of the jewels in the collection, but it can’t be helped.”
“If you don’t mind my saying so, things have been more difficult since Mr. Flaxton came as curator to the collection,” said Mr. Howton. “He is very impatient with the children and has put away all the instruments they used to play with. It’s only the special instruments on display now.”
“Thank you, Howton, it’s good to have the background. The children have always played some of the instruments and we’ve encouraged that. I must speak with Mr. Flaxton about why he put those away.”
Adam felt exhaustion spreading through every bone in his body. He had refused supper the night before, and it occurred to him that he hadn’t really eaten for a couple of days. He needed to come out of the lethargy, which had taken over his life, and begin noticing what was happening around him. He should have known that the new curator had removed the instruments that his children played.
He heard the shouting as they turned into the east wing. The acoustics were excellent, and the sound carried perfectly, Adam noted as they walked along.
“I shall tell your father that you should never be allowed near a musical instrument again,” Adam heard someone, he assumed Mr. Flaxton, saying in an angry tone of voice.
“I didn’t mean to do it. It was an accident. I wanted to play like Mozart,” came Lottie’s voice in a wail of anguish.
“Mama always let Lottie play the violin,” said Claudia.
“This is a collection of antique instruments and not a place for children to play,” said the man’s voice. “You must all leave now.”
“I think you should speak with his grace about this,” came Dorcas’ brave voice. “He’s always encouraged the children to visit and play.”
“I’m not going to be told what to do by a parlor maid,” said the man, “and that child can stop blubbering and leave now.”
Adam walked into the room to see Lottie lying on the floor clutching the bowl of a broken violin. At that moment Mr. Flaxton lunged forward to try to take the violin from her as he told her she was an unpleasant, evil child.
“Mr. Flaxton,” said Adam, in a voice of steel “Please step away now.”
“But Your Grace …”
“Step away, pack your bags and leave the premises. You are dismissed, sir. I love my collection, but my children’s welfare comes first,” Adam told him.
“I refuse to lose my job due to a naughty little girl who has no idea how to show respect to adults,” Mr. Flaxton hissed and reached again to pull the broken violin away from the tiny child.
Adam felt dizziness overcome him as he stepped forward to intervene. Lottie was so tiny, and Mr. Flaxton had shown himself to be so obsessed with the collection he curated, that he had lost a connection with common humanity.
“People come before objects,” Adam said as he kneeled down next to Lottie and shielded her from Mr. Flaxton.
Flaxton left the room muttering to himself, and Adam hugged Lottie close.
When the children had gone with Dorcas to the kitchen in search of the cook’s special chocolate cocoa, Adam was left alone with Mr. Howton.
“That isn’t what I expected to happen today,” he told the butler.
“If I might say so, Your Grace, you were quite right in what you said about people being more precious than objects,” said Mr. Howton.
Adam nodded. He felt the dizziness again, and a sensation of the world spinning around him.
He began to walk forward and slumped, falling forward and hitting his head on the side of the oak table which housed a display of instruments. He crouched on the floor in a kneeling position and put his hand up to his eyes, aware he was seeing bright lights, almost like tiny stars shining against a night sky. For a moment he felt an intense sharp pain in his head before he collapsed, falling to the ground unconscious.
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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