CHAPTER 1
London, 1815
The empty windows and still curtains were a lie, of course.
Eyes watched from every nearby house as the carriage rolled to a stop in front of number thirteen, Half Moon Street—residents, some of them, ladies and gentlemen who merited those titles to varying degrees, or the servants who were expected to report what they saw.
The watchers narrowed their eyes as the carriage door opened and a woman descended.
The carriage was a shabby piece of equipment—obviously hired, with postboys grubby from hard riding—so they knew she did not have enough money to keep her own stables. But the woman herself was the opposite of shabby—about six and twenty, her coat and hat in the current fashion. And she had rented the house on Half Moon Street. If not the most expensive part of Mayfair, it was also not somewhere a woman frantically counting her pennies could live.
The postboys, if anyone had asked them, would have added that she tipped very well.
But when the curious watchers whispered their impressions to each other or shared their judgments over supper, there would be one thing that stood out: she was dressed in lilac and gray, the colors of mourning no longer in its first stages.
The woman held her hat against the April wind and eyed the house, keeping her expression carefully neutral. She had learned that lesson well in the last two years, and she had no intention of forgetting it now that she was back in London, where endless speculation could arise from the smallest smile or barest frown.
She was the sort of person who could weather speculation or the curiosity of the neighbors when they eventually came calling. But at the moment, all she wanted was a few more hours of solitude, time to wonder again why she had agreed to come here, to remind herself that she had nowhere else to go.
The woman took a deep breath, lifted her chin, and mounted the steps just as the butler opened the door. “I am Mrs. Lily Adler. I believe you are expecting me.”
The butler bowed. “Mrs. Adler. Welcome home.”
* * *
“The house came mostly furnished, ma’am, but a few things must still be purchased for the dining room. The drawing room is ready for visitors, though, and we’ve unpacked your books and linens and such.”
Lily nodded, her hands clenched in her muff. She wasn’t cold, but she didn’t want the housekeeper to see the nervous way they were twisting. “I do not expect to receive many visitors, Mrs. Carstairs. I’ve not lived in London since before I married.”
She knew she should say something else, something complimentary about the rooms or the furnishings, to the woman who would serve as both her housekeeper and cook. Mrs. Carstairs, light-skinned and plump, was the sort of woman whose motherly face and cozy manners invited friendliness, even from employers. But Lily was too exhausted to think of anything suitable, and though the house was beautifully done up, it did not feel like home. “Will you bring tea, please? I need to rest, but we will speak about management of the household later this evening.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The housekeeper hesitated. “I was terrible sorry to hear about your poor husband, Mrs. Adler. He was a good lad.”
Lily had to take a deep breath before she could respond. It had been two years, but her chest still clenched almost too tightly to breathe every time she thought about Freddy. “Your sister was his nurse?”
“Nursed him and Master John—Sir John, I should say.” Mrs. Carstairs shook her head. “Regular pair of scamps they was, pardon my saying so.”
Lily’s expression softened, though she could not bring herself to smile. “I think you could hardly help saying so, judging by the stories their mother has told me.”
“Lord, yes. Near drove her distracted, and my sister too.” The housekeeper cleared her throat. “I’ll bring your tea up, Mrs. Adler, and speak with your maid to make sure all your things are brought in proper.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
The housekeeper closed the door, and Lily was left staring around the little sitting room, wondering what she was supposed to do with herself, alone, for an entire spring—and beyond, really, now that Freddy was gone and her carefully planned life had disappeared.
“First you will drink your tea.” Lily laid off her hat and coat, glad there was no one around to hear. Talking to herself was an embarrassing habit she had developed in the last lonely year. “Then you will go see how Anna is getting along with unpacking. And then …”
Whatever other plans she might have made were interrupted by her new butler.
Mr. Carstairs was an imposingly large man, his brown skin so dark it looked almost black. Lily had not expected to have a butler in her new home, but Freddy’s mother, Lady Adler, had insisted, and the husband and wife, together with her own maid Anna, were to make up her household—a small establishment, but respectable for a widow in her circumstances.
Carstairs had been, Lady Adler had confided, a boxer in his youth, which accounted for the size and muscle that made him unusual in his current profession. “But we do our best not to hold that against him,” she added. “And he has a most quelling effect on visitors when he announces that one is not at home.”
Now, as he handed Lily a crisp, white card, she wondered when exactly that quelling effect was to appear.
“I am not seeing anyone today, Carstairs,” she said. The words came out more sternly than she intended, but she had made it clear when she arrived that she did not want visitors. Not yet.
“I did tell her ladyship that,” Carstairs said gravely. “But she was most insistent.”
“Her ladyship …?” Lily trailed off as she looked at the name on the card.
“Shall I tell her ladyship again that you are not at home?” the butler asked.
“No!” Lily stood, her tiredness forgotten. “I shall go to her at once. And have Mrs. Carstairs bring tea to the drawing room, for two instead of one.”
“Very good, ma’am.”
Lily dashed downstairs without waiting for him to leave, not caring what her new staff might think. Bursting into the drawing room, she threw herself at her guest. “Serena!”
“Are you pleased to see me, then?” Lady Serena Walter asked, laughing as she returned the embrace.
“Always.” Lily stepped back, trying to regain some sense of propriety as the housekeeper arrived to lay out the tea things. “Thank you, Mrs. Carstairs, I will ring if we need anything further. Will you sit, Serena? Or must you dash off at any moment?”
“Not any moment, no. Stand back and let me see you.” Serena turned a protesting Lily in a circle. “You do look well, Lily. You might be the only woman who looks at all becoming in half-mourning. Lilac is such a difficult color.”
“You were frivolous in school, Serena, and you are frivolous still,” Lily said with mock-severity, her anxiety easing.
Serena only laughed. “Yes, and are you not relieved to find me unchanged?”
“More than I could ever say,” Lily replied, meaning every word. Serena was clearly happy to see her; perhaps returning to London had been the right choice after all.
Lady Walter beamed at her friend. Between her sunny expression and her red hair, Serena always seemed to be beaming. She was the sort of woman usually described as a big, handsome girl, whom anyone could call clever without irony.