Blossoming into a Lady (Preview)

Chapter One

It was during the last ball of her debut Season that Lady Daphne Westbrook’s world had shattered. 

The Season was, according to all veterans, the best Season yet, and the balls, dinners, and parties had been even more lavish than previous years. 

And though Daphne had nothing to compare it to, she could say without a doubt that she had had the time of her life. She had been on top of the world, and she had believed that nothing could bring her back down again. 

Yet she couldn’t have been more wrong. 

When she had noticed her best friend, Adrian Fairbourne, sneaking out of her parents’ ballroom, she had finally plucked up the courage to do what she had been too scared to do for years. 

Having seen how all the ladies flocked around him for the last few months, she had allowed her cousin, Lydia, to finally talk her into taking a chance before it was too late. After all, how would she have felt were she to let some other lady snap him up before she had at least given him the truth of her own feelings? 

And stupidly, she had allowed her cousin to make her believe that he felt the very same way, that the very last ball of the Season would be made perfect by their finally coming together to profess their long and undying love to each other so that she could finally be the envy of all others just as her sister had been before her. 

She had followed the duke’s son from the ballroom, out onto the west terrace with her maid Betsy following loyally behind. 

“Please, will you give us a little privacy?” she whispered to the maid when she spotted Adrian leaning with his elbows upon the balustrade wall. 

“Of course, my lady,” Betsy said, dipping her head. She remained there in the shadows as Daphne stepped into the lantern light, clearing her throat. 

“Adrian?” she said gently so as not to startle him. 

“Daphne!” the joy in his voice warmed her heart. She approached with her gloved hands clasped before her, her heart hammering. She had played this moment out so many times in her head, each time more amazing than the last, and the fact that it had finally come made Daphne lightheaded. 

“Daphne? Are you well?” Adrian asked, the concern in his tone suggesting he had seen the nerves on her face. 

“I am,” Daphne said, smiling up at him. Just gazing into his hazel-green eyes, she would always be well so long as she had him. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as she admitted, “Adrian, I have a confession to make.” 

The way his brown eyebrows rose made him even more handsome, as he towered over her with such an illuminating presence that she ought to have felt small and insignificant, but the way he looked at her caused her to feel as though she was truly the only woman in the world who mattered. 

“What is it, Daphne?” he asked, clutching hold of both her hands. They stood nearer than was perhaps appropriate, but they had been friends for such a long time, since they were babes-in-arms, thanks to their mothers being close friends, and their markers on what was appropriate were perhaps somewhat skewed over the years. 

“I…Adrian, I cannot go another Season, nay, another day, without telling you the truth,” Daphne said. A flash of something, perhaps panic, lit Adrian’s shining eyes, but Daphne smiled on. “Adrian, I would never forgive myself if we ended the Season without my telling you that I love you with my whole heart. Being in your company is the happiest I have ever been, and I—” 

“I love you, too,” Adrian said, cutting her off. Joy spread through Daphne with such a fierce nature it was like a wildfire. But it was quickly doused by his next words. “You have always been a sister to me.” 

A sister? The rejection that Daphne had felt that night had been all-encompassing, the heartbreak so sharp that it was still painful two years later. 

She had not set foot in London since that night. Too heartbroken, too humiliated, too sick, she had taken a self-imposed exile to Brighton to live with her aunt and uncle, to keep her cousin company, rather than watch Adrian flaunt about with a different lady at each occasion. The gossip had still reached her ears plenty, but it was better that way, dealing with it alone in the comfort of her uncle’s guest room rather than having to smile through the heartache during another Season. 

And for two years, she managed it. She avoided Adrian and all those associated with him, only hearing about him through the grapevine and from her cousin Lydia, who was adamant that hearing all his exploits would one day make her pain bearable. 

But so far, her cousin’s plan had not worked, and returning to London for her sister’s upcoming wedding was a journey almost as painful as that night had been. 

The road from Brighton to London had once seemed long to Daphne, but now it seemed far too short. When last she had been there, things had not gone well, and the thought of returning left her trembling. 

Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw the bright, shining memories of her first Season. The lavish parties, the beautiful people, all of the fun she and her friends and family had shared, all of it came rushing back to her. 

“Look, there is Hyde Park!” her cousin Lydia exclaimed as she half-hung out of the carriage window, pointing to the wrought iron gates of the large park. 

Daphne barely heard her, and what she did hear only caused her to think of all the walks around the park she had taken during her debut Season, the only Season she had spent in London. 

It felt like a world away now. 

She hadn’t been to a grand ball, gone to promenade in the park, or had luncheon at the manor of a highly esteemed lady for so long. 

“Oh, and there is Lord and Lady Walters’ house,” Lydia continued. “Oh, do you remember the punch they served?” 

Daphne remembered it well. Someone had clearly spiked the already alcoholic punch and made it so strong that it was almost unbearable to drink. The evening might have been ruined if not for the fact that Lady Walters always insisted it was better to have too much fun than not enough. 

And it was a good thing, too, as that night had turned out to be one of the best nights of the Season. She and Lydia had danced until they thought their feet might drop off. 

And though she remembered it fondly, Daphne could not imagine ever being that happy again. It pained her to have known such happiness, to have lost it, and to feel it just out of reach as she watched everyone else around her smile and laugh with merriment. 

“Oh, and there is the Duke of Fairendale’s house!” 

“Lydia!” 

Daphne wasn’t sure what was more painful. Her cousin’s pointing out the duke’s home or the scolding tone of her mother’s voice. For the most part, Lord and Lady Grey had been silent, with her uncle even sleeping some of the way. But it appeared that Lydia’s mother, as always, had one ear open for her daughter’s tongue. 

“What did I say?” Lydia asked, looking startled. She leaned back in her seat and turned her gaze upon Daphne. Then, understanding lit in her brown eyes. They became so huge that they looked like they might pop out of her skull. 

“I’m sorry, Daphne. I did not upset you, did I?” Lydia asked. “I was merely trying to refresh my memory.” 

Daphne shook her head, lips pursed. It was better not to speak when it came to the duke. 

“He is a fool anyway,” Lydia continued, ignoring the warning look her mother gave her. “I am sure that this Season, you shall make him rue the day he ever rejected you!” 

Daphne’s throat constricted. Though she tried her hardest not to think of that night, it was all too easy to remember.

It had been a chillier evening than most, and when she had followed him out for a breath of fresh air, she had been able to imagine all too easily how she would tell him the truth and then fall into his arms to be warmed by his embrace, never to feel the cold again.

Instead, she felt as though she had been cold since that very night, unable to repair the damage he had done to her heart when he had told her they shared nothing but the kind of love experienced by siblings. 

That had been her last night in London. And since then, she had not seen hide nor hair of Adrian Fairbourne, the now Duke of Fairendale, since the death of his father a year ago. 

“Your return shall be a painful and regretful reminder of what he has lost!” Lydia declared, still seemingly oblivious to her mother’s warnings looks.

Daphne nodded her acknowledgment, unsure as to whether or not her cousin spoke the truth. Whether she did or not, Daphne wasn’t certain that she wanted it to be. Whether he regretted it or not, she did not care. All she wanted was to be able to forget about it. 

Yet, for two years, even away from London, she had not been able to forget. Her shattered heart would not let her. 

“Oh, heavens! Look, we are almost there!” Lady Grey said, jamming her elbow into her husband’s ribs. “My lord, wake up! We approach Westbrook House!” 

Daphne’s stomach threatened to upend. She had not seen her home since that fateful night when all she had dreamed of had been crushed to dust. 

As she leaned out of the carriage window to get a better look, she saw that her parents and her sister, along with all of the servants, were already standing on the steps of the house, waiting to greet them all. 

No doubt her mother had posted several poor footmen out in the rain that had been a constant drizzle all morning, to send word the moment their carriage was sighted close by. 

“Your sister looks well,” Lady Grey commented, looking past Daphne. 

“Indeed,” Daphne agreed. She did not need to look at Fiona to know that her aunt’s words were true. Her elder sister had always been filled with grace, beauty, and light, always the talk of the town from the moment of her debut Season. And she had been the talk of the country for the last few months as they eagerly awaited her wedding to the Marquess of Thornbridge, Philip Brentwood. If it had not been for her, Daphne might have managed to go another entire Season without setting foot in London. 

However, when she saw her family standing on the steps awaiting her, she felt a gentle warmth in her heart that caused her to realize she had quite missed them all. 

“Oh, Daphne! It is so wonderful to see you!” her mother cried, rushing gracefully down the stairs to meet her from the carriage. “Let me look at you!” 

Begrudgingly, Daphne stood to be judged, already certain she knew what was coming. 

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t you look thin?” 

“Mama, Daphne is beautiful as always,” Fiona insisted, her tone reproachful. “Besides, she has always been willowy.” 

Daphne’s mother turned to her sister, Lady Grey, and asked, “You have been feeding her?” 

“Of course!” Lady Grey gasped. 

“Mama!” both Daphne and Fiona said in unison.

“I am certain your sister has been caring for our pride and joy just as we shall now that she is finally home!” Daphne’s father said, joining them to greet Daphne with a fatherly hug. “Let us get you inside for some tea and biscuits. I am sure you have much to tell us of your time away.” 

Daphne smiled gratefully to her father, pleased he still seemed more than happy to ward off her mother’s constant nit-picking. 

“Yes, come and tell us everything,” Fiona insisted, gripping hold of Daphne’s arm. She guided her up the stairs, where the servants all greeted her with courteous curtseys and bows, smiles, and kind words. 

And Daphne had to admit she had missed them all. The number of friendly faces was soothing to her soul, though it did nothing to ease her anxiety when she thought of all that might happen whilst she was back in London. 

Had Adrian been invited to the wedding? She was certain that he likely had been, though she was too nervous about the answer to ask. 

How many balls, dinners, and luncheons would he be at that she was forced to attend in the wake of her sister’s nuptials? 

She shivered at the thought.

“Let us get you in out of the cold,” Fiona said, pulling Daphne nearer as if she had felt her trembling. 

Lydia followed, along with all of their parents. As everyone started to pile back into the house, the servants hurried to go about their business. 

“It is good to have you home, my lady,” Mr. Fendy, the butler, said as he held out his hands and added, “May I take your coat?” 

“Thank you, Fendy,” Daphne said, smiling. It was impossible not to smile, even a little, when it came to the old, rosy-cheeked butler who had become somewhat family over the years, much like all of the servants. 

It was only now, as she handed her coat over, that she truly realized how much she had missed home and all of the people in it. 

Her heartache had masked her homesickness perfectly, though she was sure she would have rather felt the latter. 

“Fendy, we shall take tea in the drawing room, please,” Daphne’s mother announced as the butler took everyone else’s coats. 

“Right away, my lady,” Fendy said, bowing low. He carried the coats away to hang and fetch the tea whilst everyone piled into the drawing room. 

Betsy, Daphne’s maid, who had ridden on ahead to make sure everything was prepared, appeared at her side as they walked down the hall. 

“I do hope your journey was pleasant, my lady,” Betsy said, dipping her head and offering her hand to take Daphne’s gloves. 

“It was pleasant enough.” 

Though Betsy had been with her a long time, she could not even admit her true feelings to her. It was best to keep her mouth closed rather than admit the journey had been as painful as every other day since her leaving London. 

“It would have been much quicker if not for all of the rain,” Lydia said, catching up to them as they reached the drawing room. “At one point, we thought the carriage would get stuck, the country lanes got so muddy.” 

“Thank heavens it didn’t, or I do not know what we would have done,” Lady Grey admitted, handing her own gloves and hat to her lady’s maid. 

“Well, you are all here now,” Fiona said, gripping hold of Daphne’s hands in hers as they sat down side by side on one of the couches. “And it is a good thing, too. There is a great deal happening before the wedding, and I would have hated for you to miss it all.” 

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Daphne assured her sister, squeezing her hands in return.

“How go the preparations?” Lady Grey asked, sitting down opposite the sisters with her own beside her. Lydia took to an armchair, leaving both of their fathers to stand beside the roaring fireplace. 

“Well, Aunt, though there feels as though there is still so much to do,” Fiona admitted. “It is very stressful.” 

“I keep telling her it need not be,” their mother stated, looking between her eldest daughter and her sister, Lady Grey. “But she insists upon doing everything herself.” 

“I am happy to do it all myself,” Fiona stated, head held high. “I just wish there wasn’t so much to do.” 

“You are happy though, aren’t you?” Daphne asked, watching her sister’s face closely. Fiona’s match had been one made out of love, the kind of match Daphne had been dreaming of ever since she was a little girl. But after Adrian’s mistreatment, she feared there was no such thing. 

Fiona looked at Daphne with such a smile on her face that it made her heart ache. 

“Oh, Daphne, I have never been happier,” Fiona cried happily, and she hugged Daphne with such ferocity that it made her ribcage ache. “I only hope that one day you shall be as happy as I!” 

Daphne’s insides tightened into knots. At this point, she did not dare to hope for happiness. All she wished for was peace. And perhaps a Season in London that would not increase the pain she felt in her broken heart. 

“Daphne and Lydia are both still very young,” Lady Grey pointed out. “There is plenty of time for them to find the happiness you have found. In fact, I think you are rather lucky to have found it so early.” 

“Indeed, I am, Aunt,” Fiona said, nodding vigorously. She looked at Daphne with blazing happiness in her eyes and a smile that lit up the entire room. “But I have a feeling that this Season, Daphne shall be just as lucky.”

Daphne bit back the urge to scoff. She had come for her sister’s wedding. That was all. As soon as it was over, she was entirely prepared to crawl back into her hidey hole in Brighton, hopefully without any further humiliation. 

“I am sure there shall be plenty of young and eligible gentlemen at the betrothal ball,” their mother announced, and Daphne’s temples started to pound. Why did everyone assume that her happiness hung upon whether or not she would be married?

But truly, how was she supposed to make it through an entire visit in London without cracking under the pressure of the ton? It had been two years, and yet she suspected that as soon as her return to the capital was made common knowledge, the rumors would begin again. She could only hope the excitement of her sister’s wedding would overshadow her embarrassment, just as Fiona had always so expertly done in previous years. 

For the first time in her life, she longed to be swallowed by her sister’s shadow.

 

Chapter Two

The mountain of paperwork before Adrian Fairbourne, the Duke of Fairendale, might have been a welcome distraction from all the thoughts in his mind, if indeed he had been able to concentrate. But he found that more and more difficult nowadays, especially with the London Season in full swing. He found that he had so many new responsibilities now that he had taken on his father’s dukedom. 

Could their family maintain their respectability? Would he manage to find his younger sister a suitable match during her first Season out in society? Were their finances shaping up? Would he manage to find a match of his own after several Seasons on the market himself? 

All these questions and more were constantly floating about his mind, making it almost impossible to rest or concentrate on the very important matters that sat upon his desk in his study. 

He felt the watchful eyes of his father’s portrait gazing upon him always, from above the mantelpiece. And not for the first time, he considered removing it entirely from the room. After all, it was his now; his portrait ought to hang there. 

Yet, he knew his mother would never forgive him if he touched a single thing that reminded them of their father, the man who had made him the man he was today, be that a good thing or not. It was a matter of opinion, depending upon who was being asked. Had his late father been asked, it would likely have been a very disapproving answer. 

Never had he been able to do anything right in his father’s eyes, not manage the dukedom and the estate or associate himself with the right people, not play games the proper way, or hunt in an appropriate manner. No matter what the task, he was not up to scratch, and even now, with his father long buried, he could hear his father’s voice offering blame or scolding disapproval on near everything that he did. 

With a deep exhale, he leaned back in his seat, dropping the paperwork back on the desk. It was no use. He could not concentrate, not with that portrait watching his every move, offering silent judgment. 

“That was an awfully deep sigh.” 

He almost jumped out of his skin. His head snapping up, he found his mother standing in the open doorway. Grace Fairbourne, the dowager Duchess of Fairendale, though mature was exceptionally beautiful with long blonde tresses always expertly pinned up and shining hazel-green eyes. Those eyes were the only thing that Adrian had inherited from her, save for his sharp bone structure. 

“Mother, I did not notice you standing there,” Adrian admitted, straightening in his chair. “Please, come in.” 

He gestured for her to enter. His mother hesitated only a moment, raising a brow before she said, “Clearly, you did not, or you would not have sighed so deeply. I know you try to keep your troubles to yourself, but you need not. You know I am always here, my darling boy.” 

Adrian cringed inwardly. With his father having been insistent that he learn responsibility from a terribly young age, and his mother always acting as though he was still a child, he felt as though he was always on edge. Somehow, now that his father had passed, his mother’s affection and care were even more grating at times. 

He was the man of the house, the duke, yet his mother still insisted upon talking to him as though he were only a boy. 

“It is nothing that I cannot handle,” Adrian assured her. He focused on straightening the piles of paperwork before him so as not to look his mother in the eye. 

“Your father would be proud,” his mother stated, and Adrian bit back laughter. He had never heard something so ludicrous. 

“I am sure,” he sighed, struggling not to shake his head. 

“You are much like him, you know,” she said, arriving opposite him so that she could run her finger over the small wooden ornaments that adorned his desk. “He often locked himself away in here, too.” 

Adrian remembered it well. It was one of the reasons he never fully closed the study door, hoping that his family would never feel they could not approach him while he was at his work, just as he had felt with his father for so many years. He had stood outside that door, quietly awaiting his father’s approval, only to find that it had grown too late, and he was always ushered up to bed by his nanny before his father deemed him important enough to offer any attention. 

He would never allow himself to be that way. 

“I have not locked myself away,” Adrian protested. 

As if she had not heard him, his mother said, “The Season is not the time for solitude, my love.” She reached across the desk and brushed back his dark brown hair, ruffling it a little between her fingers. Before he could say anything, she sighed. “Perhaps you ought to get a haircut before the betrothal ball?” 

Adrian’s stomach twisted at the reminder of the upcoming event. It was one of the things upon his mind that he had been trying his hardest to forget. 

“I do not think it overlong,” Adrian responded, leaning back to run his own fingers through his hair. 

“We must have you looking your best this Season,” his mother insisted, offering a kind smile. 

“Do you not insist we always look our best?” Adrian remarked, laughing a little. 

“Always, but this Season especially,” she said, looking at him pointedly. 

His anxiety only grew. He opened his mouth to speak, unsure exactly what to say. But before he could do so, his mother straightened, offered a small curtsey, and silently departed from the room as if she had said all she wished to say. 

Unable to sit still any longer, Adrian removed himself from his chair and instinctively turned toward the fireplace. 

Regret clawed at him. His face turned up to meet that of his father’s portrait. The stern countenance appeared to press upon him, cold regard and silent judgment apparent. 

That look upon his face had been a constant in Adrian’s younger years. Disapproval over the friendships he had chosen to make, the topics he had chosen to focus upon in school, the childish things he had done in order to have just a little fun. 

He remembered well all the times he and his mother had traveled to the home of her closest friend, Lady Westshire, and his own close friend, her daughter, Lady Daphne Westbrook. And how, upon their return home, they would be met by disapproving scowls and unwarranted questions. 

He scoffed, looking up at the portrait as he imagined what his father would say about their attending Lady Fiona Westbrook’s betrothal ball. 

Though she was marrying a highly respectable nobleman, his late father still would have found something to disapprove of. His long-standing discourse with Lord Westshire, over some business deal once gone awry, had never allowed him to approve of anything where the Westbrooks were concerned. 

Had he not made a total fool of himself two years ago where Lady Daphne Westbrook was concerned, he might have spent far more time at their home since his father’s death. Maybe then he would not feel quite so isolated. 

Maybe things might have been different if you had not disapproved of them so. Maybe they might also have been different if Adrian himself had not paid so much heed to his father’s desires and disapproval. He truly had only himself to blame. 

“You know, Adrian, the more you stare at him, the worse you shall feel.” 

Again, Adrian was startled by the woman standing in the doorway. This time, it was his sister, Victoria, who, much like their mother, was quite beautiful. With the same golden blonde hair and hazel-green eyes, she was sure to be a favorite amongst the ladies upon the marriage mart. And silently, that worried Adrian, for she was his responsibility now. And the glaring of his father’s portrait seemed to deepen at the thought. 

She swept into the room with a gentle smile upon her face, carrying with her the scent of patchouli and orange. 

“You need not look at Father with such concern,” Victoria announced, standing beside Adrian to look at the portrait herself. “You are nothing alike.” 

“I am not concerned about that!” Adrian snapped, perhaps a little too quickly. 

“If that were true, Mama would not be keeping such a close eye upon you,” Victoria said, and out of the corner of his eye, Adrian saw her watching him. He tried his hardest not to respond over-quickly again. 

“Mama shall always worry,” he said, and Victoria nodded. 

She reached out and placed a gloved hand upon his forearm. “She shall always worry, but remember, your journey is all your own. Do not let father influence you even now.” 

Adrian glanced down at her hand, then back to her face. “When did you become so wise?” 

Victoria smirked at that. “Have I not always been?” 

Together, they laughed. 

“I suppose you have,” he admitted, shrugging. Laying his hand atop hers, he squeezed her fingers and added, “I am sure one day you will make a gentleman very happy indeed.” 

Victoria blushed. “With you and Mama in my corner, I am certain. Though I wish you would stop focusing so much on my prospects and look to your own.” 

Adrian raised a brow. “Who says that I am not?” 

Victoria cocked her head to the side and sighed deeply. “I know you, Brother, and I know you have not been the same these last two years. Not since Daphne left.” 

Adrian flinched at her words, gritting his teeth. 

“You are perhaps the most eligible bachelor in London, and yet you show no interest in any of the ladies who practically throw themselves at your feet,” Victoria continued. This time, it was Adrian’s turn to blush. 

“They do not throw themselves at me.” 

“Perhaps not physically, though I am sure some of the mamas would be willing to hurl their daughters at you if they thought one might stick.” Victoria laughed, and Adrian could not stop from chuckling himself. The image her words conjured was definitely an amusing one. 

“I have more important things to concern myself with than marriage,” Adrian said, though, even as he said the words, he felt a touch of longing in his heart. 

As though she sensed it, Victoria’s gaze filled with sympathy. She moved her hand to his shoulder and squeezed. “Promise me you shall not wait too long to be happy, Brother.” 

“I am happy,” Adrian assured his sister, though the longing in his gut grew tenfold as he forced a smile in her direction. “Now, if you will excuse me, I am running late to meet James.” 

***

As he had promised his cousin, Adrian met Lord James Cavendish on the outskirts of London, quite curious as to why he had suggested such a meeting place. It was not a place that he ordinarily frequented, and prior to his long time away from London during the Napoleonic Wars, James had not either. 

Yet, Adrian and James had long been close, and he trusted him with almost everything. And so, he did not question too strongly his cousin’s motives for asking him to meet at such a destination. 

Meeting upon the street corner, Adrian met James with an almost brotherly embrace and said, “It is good to see you looking so well.” 

“And you, Cousin,” James responded, smiling a little awkwardly, thanks to the scar that slashed his otherwise handsome face right across the left side of his mouth. It had been obtained during the war, though Adrian knew not how, for his cousin was very tightlipped about all that he had endured during his time as an officer in His Majesty’s Army. 

“What are we doing all of the way out here?” Adrian asked, glancing over his shoulder. He did not feel entirely comfortable on the backstreets of London. Though he dressed far less lavishly than many a nobleman, he was sure that his hygienic, upper-class appearance would likely still draw the attention of far more unsavory types. 

“Do not fret, Cousin,” James laughed, clapping Adrian on the back. “There is somewhere just around the corner, I wish to show you, somewhere very dear to my heart that I believe you will find quite amenable.” 

Still curious, Adrian raised his brow. “You are still not going to tell me where you are taking me?” 

James shrugged. “It is a surprise.” 

James wrapped his arm around Adrian’s shoulders and guided him down the street, around the corner and halfway down the second street before stopping before a rather simple yet beautiful building. Though it appeared to have once been a residence, perhaps that of a gentleman or businessman, the sign above the door stated it had been turned into somewhat of a business building. 

The words ‘Soldiers’ Sanctuary’ were beaten into a metal sign above the door. Through the open windows, the sounds of much activity wafted from inside, the building a hive of activity. 

As they stood, an older gentleman stumbled past, offering an apology for almost walking into them before he wobbled up the steps of the building and headed inside. A man coming in the opposite direction offered the other a smile and an apology for bumping into him before he hurried down the steps with a whistle upon his lips. 

“Good morning, my lord,” the young man said, tipping his hat in James’ direction. 

“Good morning, Colin!” James called in response. “Do give my well wishes to your wife!” 

“Of course, my lord!” the man, Colin, said, tipping his hat again before he hurried off down the street. 

Adrian eyed his cousin and asked, “You come here often, then?” 

James shrugged. “Once or twice a week.” 

He then stepped forward and gestured for Adrian to follow. Adrian hesitated only a moment before following James up the steps. 

“Come on,” James insisted. “There is always a lot going on inside, and I think it’ll do you some good.” 

Adrian’s stomach twisted. He wasn’t entirely sure what that was supposed to mean, but his cousin had always been a friend and seemed to have his best interests at heart. All he had to do was trust that his cousin knew what he was doing, whatever that was. 

As he pushed open the door and gestured Adrian inside, James explained, “This place is a safe haven for many of the men returning from the wars. Many of the wounded and struggling were brought here to rest and recuperate. Though I don’t have the opportunity to say I founded the place, it has become near and dear to my heart.” He paused to take a breath and close the door behind him, gesturing Adrian further into the building before he added, “Great work is being done here, and I’ve had the great fortune of being able to help. With your own situation, I thought sharing it with you might be beneficial.” 

Light dawned upon his cousin’s motives then, and he smiled. “So this is about money?” 

James blushed, wringing his hands. “Not entirely. A great deal of good can be done here, but the sanctuary does struggle with finances. Yes, that is true.” 

“I am sure it can,” Adrian said, glancing through the open doors that led off the hallway, spying a dining room where men in uniform were sharing a meal, what appeared to be a gymnasium where more were engaging in physical therapy, another room filled with books where men were reading quietly. 

“Come, there is someone I would like you to meet,” James insisted, waving a hand. He removed his hat and coat, hanging both off his arm, before he guided Adrian up the stairs. 

Adrian followed suit, surprised by how warm the building was, considering his cousin’s explaining the business’s lack of funding. 

On the second floor of the building, there were yet more open doorways leading to what appeared to be wards,; many men lay bedbound, with some sporting visible bandages and others clearly suffering missing limbs. 

The grim expressions upon their faces tugged at Adrian’s heart. However, it was the smiles on the faces of the men being attended by the nurses that truly warmed it. 

The more he saw, the more James agreed with his cousin. The place was most definitely doing good work. The support of the nurses, the comradery of the soldiers, and the comfort and commitment on offer all looked like a good cause to Adrian. 

“And here I was wondering what had been keeping you so busy since your return to London,” Adrian commented as they stopped outside of a closed door marked ‘Mrs. Turner’. 

James smiled a sheepish smile and shrugged his shoulders as he knocked with a closed fist upon the door. 

“Enter!” came the feminine response, and when James pushed open the door, Adrian saw a woman rising from behind her desk. 

Mrs. Turner was perhaps middle-aged, though it was hard to tell with her hair and much of her face hidden behind a habit and nurse’s hat. The black material blended in with that of her nurse’s gown, and she wore a collection of keys upon her belt so large that Adrian was surprised she could even stand. 

“Ahh, Lord Cavendish, I was not aware we were expecting you,” Mrs. Turner said as James and Adrian entered. She turned to Adrian and added, “Welcome to you, Your Grace.” 

“How did you…” Adrian trailed off, feeling awkward beneath the woman’s wise gaze. 

“I wish I could say that I knew everything, but alas, I merely have impeccable guessing abilities what with your cousin, Lord Cavendish, having mentioned you so often, and…” she paused and looked between them. “I must say that the two of you have quite the family resemblance.” 

It was true that they both sported the same dark hair and similar bone structure, though Adrian was a little unnerved by her suggesting his cousin spoke of him often. “All good things he has talked of, I hope?” 

“Of course.” James snorted, looking a little offended that he might suggest otherwise. 

“Of course,” Mrs. Turner agreed. 

“Then I must admit, Mrs. Turner, I am at a loss as to why my cousin has not mentioned you,” Adrian admitted, glancing at his cousin. 

“Judging by your rather astounded expression, Your Grace, I had guessed,” Mrs. Turner said, amused but seemingly unoffended. 

“Mrs. Eleanor Turner is the very dedicated, very wonderful matron here at the sanctuary,” James explained, gesturing toward the woman. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Turner,” Adrian announced, offering the woman a respectful bow. “It appears that you do fine work here.” 

“We do indeed, though I cannot take all of the credit,” Mrs. Turner said, a friendly smile remaining upon her face. “This place has become somewhat of a safe haven and perhaps even a second chance for many of the men who come through our doors.” 

Adrian nodded his acknowledgment. 

“Many of the men here might have found themselves on the streets without proper care if not for Mrs. Turner and her nurses,” James put in, looking fondly at the woman. 

“It is merely our duty, after all of the hard work you boys put in during the war,” Mrs. Turner insisted, and though her habit covered much of her cheeks, Adrian saw her blush a little. 

“Mrs. Turner is being modest,” James said, shaking his head. “It was her very own hands that helped to heal my own wounds when I returned to London. I fear this terrible scar would have been much worse without her patience and care.” 

He gestured to the scar upon his face, and Adrian once more felt the urge to ask how he had come to receive it. Yet he remembered how quiet his cousin had been in the first weeks of his return, and he bit his lip, unsure as to whether or not questions might cause him to close up again. Seeing the fondness with which he spoke of Mrs. Turner, he suspected she and the nurses at the sanctuary had had a lot to do with his cousin’s returning to himself again. 

“I can see that this sanctuary means a great deal to many people,” Adrian said. 

“And much of it would have been impossible without Lord Cavendish’s help,” Mrs. Turner announced, laying a hand upon James’ arm where he stood beside her, looking quite proud, if a little embarrassed at her praise. “Without his kind donation, I fear we might have shut long ago.” 

Adrian saw the way the matron and his cousin’s faces fell, and it was immediately apparent that they were facing some kind of hardship. More and more, he realized why his cousin had brought him here. 

“Are things dire?” he asked, clasping his hands behind his back as he prepared for what he intended to do if he received the answer that he believed he would. 

Mrs. Turner glanced at the floor as if she was ashamed of what she was about to say. “Though we do much good work here, we are run entirely off donations, and unfortunately, we do not have the funds to pay someone to go looking for such things. So it appears we are stuck in a constant loop of struggle, whilst trying to give these men what they need.” 

“I have given much,” James admitted, “though I am only one man, and there is only so much I can give.” 

“And nobody expects any more of you,” Mrs. Turner insisted. “You have given much, as you say!” 

“But it is not enough.” James sighed, and the disappointment he felt was clear. 

Adrian’s heart clenched, seeing so clearly the discomfort that it caused his cousin, a man who had long been his friend as much as he was family. 

“In that case,” Adrian said, straightening as he prepared to deliver good news, “I am happy to offer a donation. Is fifty pounds an adequate starting donation?” 

Mrs. Turner’s face turned deadly pale as if she was so shocked, all of the life had been knocked right out of her. Her head flew up, and her mouth gaped open in clear astonishment. 

“Fifty pounds? Your Grace, that is a huge sum of money,” Mrs. Turner exclaimed, and Adrian saw the way that she trembled. “I could never accept such a sum!” 

“You can and you will,” Adrian assured her, smiling warmly. “Any cause my cousin has set his heart on is a worthy cause indeed. I should like to do all I can to help.” 

“Forgive me, Your Grace. I know it is not entirely appropriate, but I feel that this matter requires a firm handshake,” Mrs. Turner said, her look of astonishment still quite clear upon her face as she offered him her hand. Adrian chuckled at her surprise and offered his hand in return. “Thank you, Your Grace. Thank you a thousand times.” 

“You are most welcome, Mrs. Turner,” Adrian assured her, shaking her hand and squeezing gently. 

“I think that this calls for a celebration!” James announced, clapping Adrian on the back. “What do you say we head to White’s for a drink?” 

Leaving the matron still looking quite dumbfounded, Adrian wandered from the building beside his cousin, the two of them smiling and laughing as they went. 

And as they headed deeper into London, back toward the streets he knew far better, Adrian said, “Thank you, James, for helping me find a purpose again.” 

James looked around with a cheeky grin upon his face and shrugged. “You needed a purpose, and I needed a wealthy donor. Two birds, one stone.” 

Adrian tapped his cousin playfully on the arm and responded, “In that case, you are buying the first round at White’s.”

---

“Blossoming into a Lady” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

Lady Daphne Westbrook returns to London after a self-imposed exile, determined to shield herself from further heartache. Rejected by her once inseparable childhood friend, Lord Adrian Fairbourne, she cannot imagine her walls shattering into pieces after facing him again. Her sister’s impending marriage though forces her back into the unforgiving society she once fled from. Blossoming from a wounded bird into the most eligible Lady, she will soon find herself lost among family expectations and fate’s unexpected twists.

Will her return mean a new beginning or will the past haunt her future?

Adrian, burdened by the weight of his newfound dukedom, grapples with the ghosts of a critical father and the consequences of a past misjudgment. As his mother nudges him towards matrimony, the Westbrook betrothal ball becomes a battleground of emotions. In a quest for solace, he seeks refuge at a veterans’ sanctuary with his cousin, pledging himself to a noble cause. However, his journey takes an unexpected turn when he encounters his enduring rival, casting a shadow over his life.

Will his reunion with Daphne heal his troubled heart?

As Daphne and Adrian’s worlds collide once more, old wounds are reopened, and new challenges emerge. Will Daphne and Andrian’s bond rekindle like the flame that still flickers in their hearts, or will the spark between them become extinguished by the old grievances? Will they find redemption and the way back to each other’s hearts or will deception and prejudice tear them apart forever?

“Blossoming into a Lady” is a historical romance novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

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