“I have a letter from your father.”
“Really?”
Annie Price jumped up and down and clapped her hands, then she remembered herself. They were seated in Mother Superior’s office, a small room where the elderly nun conducted business. It wasn’t the sort of spot to encourage displays of enthusiasm.
The convent was a very quiet place, and the Sisters of Mercy a very quiet group. None had taken a vow of silence, but they didn’t laugh with joy or shout with anger.
Annie was never scolded for her outbursts, but her emotions often flared in ways that startled everyone.
She struggled to contain her excitement. “A letter! How wonderful.”
“He and your uncle have traveled to Stafford.”
“Finally!”
She and the nun smiled. Her father had regaled her with stories of her Uncle Nicholas’s good fortune. It was like a fairytale: the poor orphan boy picked from the crowd and raised up to live with kings.
Annie and the nuns had avidly followed the proceedings as if they were part of it, and they were—after a fashion. As her father grew richer, he would pay more money for Annie’s expenses, so the Stafford earldom represented a huge benefit for all concerned.
Her father kept insisting that he was about to send for her, so they could be together, but that day never arrived. When he’d first suggested it, she’d assumed he meant immediately, but as month had turned to year, she’d realized a hard truth. The chances were great that it would never transpire.
Now, whenever he talked about how he was making plans, she would nod and reply with all the appropriate remarks, but she no longer expected any changes.
At age ten, she wasn’t a little girl anymore, and she didn’t believe in happy endings. If she ultimately wound up with her father, she would be glad, but she wouldn’t pin any hopes on him.
“Does he describe the estate?” she asked.
“He says it’s very beautiful and even more grand than he’d envisioned it would be.”
“And my uncle, since he’s gone to Stafford, is he pleased with it?”
“Your father doesn’t reveal the earl’s opinion, but I’m sure he’s delighted. Who wouldn’t be?”
Annie smiled again. Her father claimed she’d known her uncle when she was a baby, that she’d briefly resided with both men after her mother had died, but Annie didn’t recollect. She’d been too tiny. Her father came to Belgium twice a year for a short visit, but her uncle never accompanied him. In the sheltered world of the convent, he didn’t seem like a real person.
“What about me?” she tentatively ventured. “Has Father mentioned my joining him at Stafford?”
“Of course.”
“What does he say?”
“A very interesting comment, I think. He’s investigating the neighbors at Stafford. He’s searching for a family that would be willing to take you in until he can muster out of the army.”
“You’re joking.”
“No. He informs me that someone will come from London, before the summer is through, to escort you to England.”
Annie had been standing, and at the amazing news, she eased down into the chair behind her.
“Do you suppose he means it?”
“He’s your father, Annie, and he loves you. I’m certain he always means it.”
“But this time . . .”
Mother Superior was aware of how frequently Annie’s dreams had been dashed by her father, and she always soothed Annie’s disappointment over his failed promises. She leaned across her desk and patted Annie’s hand.
“I’m very confident,” Mother Superior said. “Your father has established himself at Stafford, so there’s no reason why you can’t be brought to live there.”
“By August, would you imagine? Could it happen that soon?”
“Perhaps even sooner. Maybe you’ll be leaving us by July.”
“July,” Annie murmured, as if the word were magic.
The nun held out the letter. “Go ahead. Take it and read it for yourself.”
Annie grabbed it and bowed out. She climbed the stairs to her room in the attic. Though her father was wealthy, she received no special treatment, so it was simply furnished.
She flopped onto her bed, and she studied her father’s message over and over until she’d memorized it. At the bottom of the page, she traced her finger over the last sentence: I will be sending someone to fetch you to England.
Giggling with glee, she pressed the paper to her chest, directly over her heart. She gazed at her meager belongings, wondering if she should begin packing.
When her escort appeared, she wanted to depart without delay.
“I have the most wicked idea.”
Lady Veronica Stewart glanced over at her best friend, Portia.
“Tell me,” Veronica insisted.
“If you’re so worried about Lord Stafford, why don’t you pay him a surprise visit?”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why couldn’t you?”
“What would my father say?”
“What the duke doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Don’t ask his permission; just go.”
“Just . . . go? How scandalous.”
She and Portia were in her father’s most luxurious coach, out for an afternoon of shopping. Her wedding wasn’t until the end of August, but she was filling her trousseau with the calculated strategy of a war general. There were so many boxes and bags, they scarcely had any space to sit on the seats.
Nicholas hadn’t yet told her the spot he’d chosen for their honeymoon, but she demanded that it be Italy. If he selected anywhere else, she’d just die!
Portia had loaned her a novel, where the heroine had been kidnapped and held hostage by the hero in a villa overlooking the Mediterranean. It had been the most romantic tale ever, and Veronica wouldn’t settle for any other locale, for she was convinced that Italy would render the conclusion she sought. While they were there, Nicholas would fall madly in love with her.
“We’re scheduled to attend the Fitzroy’s house party,” Portia was saying.
“So?”
“On the way, we’ll pass within twenty miles of Stafford Manor. Why not take a detour and call on your betrothed?”
Veronica’s pulse pounded with excitement. “I could, couldn’t I?”
“It’s not as if he can complain. You’re about to be his countess. It’s only natural that you’d want to see your new home.”
“Stafford will never be my home.”
Veronica gave a mock shudder, and Portia laughed.
Veronica’s father
