Josephine De Clare.
He thought about her all the time, as though her kiss had altered his brain. Of course, he wouldn’t dare speak of the attachment. He barely understood it himself. What an embarrassment. A childish reaction. To grow fond of someone because she gave attention.
But she represented a hope still alive within Elias, that one day a person would look at him and not see a bastard. They wouldn’t send him away or threaten to withhold his inheritance.
Elias needed to preserve all faith, so he clung to the memory—that bonfire dream—where he was kissed by the girl in the bumblebee dress. Still, over half a year later, she was the book he couldn’t put down.
The Darlings valued tradition as they valued afternoon tea. Each night before dinner they gathered in their drawing room to discuss the day’s events. Mr. and Mrs. Darling played chess. Fitz wrestled the dog. Miss Karel inspected oil paintings and bookcases while Kitty sewed.
Routine bored Sebastian, but Elias rather enjoyed the pattern. He liked to huddle near the fireplace and listen to his cousins laugh. He smiled whenever Fitz coerced him into a game of charades.
Despite his longing for Windermere Hall, Elias found peace at Cadwallader. He was no longer a boy peering through cracked doors, rather a welcome guest.
And to be welcome seemed a novel concept.
Sebastian puffed an empty pipe. “Kitty has a knack for organizing dinner parties. However, she lacks the charisma needed to fuel its level of engagement.” His father had banned tobacco from the estate, a mandate which sparked rebellion among him and the staff. Why should he behave like an adult if his parents refused to grant him liberty?
“I assume you believe yourself the source of such engagement.” Elias rubbed his hands over the hearth. He shivered from the manor’s dampness, a cold no fire could defeat.
“But of course. What is a party without Sebastian Darling?”
“You flatter yourself most profoundly.” Elias tugged his cravat to loosen its noose. He’d asked Fitz to help him tie the neckband, a mistake which led to a great deal of wheezing.
Sebastian plucked a bottle of port from the mantel. “Care for a drink?”
“Liquor disagrees with me,” Elias said.
“Same, but I enjoy the argument.” Sebastian poured the amber liquid into a glass and guzzled it, his throat jerking with each swallow. He glanced at the doorway as if anticipating someone’s arrival. Was he nervous? Elias rarely saw his cousin apprehensive, let alone distressed. Emotion did not suit Sebastian’s ostentatious lifestyle. Quite the opposite—all feelings suffocated under smiles and false pretences.
“Are guests joining us?” Elias asked. He’d dined with countless strangers, for the Darlings entertained guests from all over England. They hosted balls, formal dinners, and hunts. Such events forced Elias to prove his education. He spoke about politics and cricket, his time at Eton. Of course all conversation eventually veered to his birth and good fortune.
Gentlefolk wished to know why Lord Welby named a bastard his heir.
“Two of them,” Sebastian said with a nod. “And they don’t plan to leave.”
Knocks rattled the front door, followed by the patter of footsteps. As if on cue, the Darlings rearranged themselves. Kitty and Fitz stood at attention. Mrs. Darling hissed orders at Miss Karel, who then sprinted toward the dining room like a messenger with news from battle.
Elias had learned to tolerate the family’s histrionics, but this occasion seemed different. He sensed a tension, the kind that made his hair stand on end. Who’d come to stay at Cadwallader Park? If the visit was significant, why did Sebastian ignore the frenzy and pour himself another drink?
“Calm yourselves. Let’s not frighten our company.” Mr. Darling rose from the chess table and hurried to welcome the guests. He paused in the drawing room’s threshold, his broad frame hiding the newcomers from view.
“Who’s here?” Elias asked.
“You’ll find out soon enough.” Sebastian plopped onto the divan and tucked his pipe beneath a cushion. He scowled at the floorboards while his mother paced.
“Nephew, come.” Mr. Darling motioned for Elias to approach him. “I’d like you to meet our friends. They’ve heard quite a lot about you.”
“Popular boy,” Sebastian grumbled.
Elias rolled his eyes and left the hearth. As he neared the doorway, a lady breezed into view. She resembled a swan, her neck long, her elegant features untouched by age.
She wore a dress the darkest shade of grey.
“May I introduce Widow De Clare and her daughter, Josephine.”
A lump clogged Elias’s throat. He tensed, all voices fading until the atmosphere echoed his breaths. Josephine De Clare? At Cadwallader Park? No, he couldn’t face her, not after months spent pining. And all because of what—a silly kiss?
The rustle of silk distracted him. He saw a flash of red, then golden bumblebees frozen in flight. He blinked, and his chest ached. Was she a figment of his imagination? No, she was there, in front of him, shimmering like a jewel held into firelight. Gloves ascended her forearms. Pearls roped her neck. She appeared the same as before, yet somehow brighter.
Elias averted his gaze. He panted, his cheeks burning. Indeed, Josephine wouldn’t remember him, for he’d worn a bag over his head at the masquerade. Perhaps he might avoid embarrassment if he pretended not to know her.
“Ladies, this is my nephew, Elias Welby.” Mr. Darling grabbed Elias’s shoulder and drew him close. “He came for the social season, but we haven’t been able to part with him.”
Josephine glanced at Elias, and her eyes widened.
“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Welby.” Widow De Clare extended her hand and smiled when Elias kissed her knuckles. “Your uncle speaks highly of you.”
“He perjures himself,” Elias said. He looked at Josephine, and his voice faltered. How could he last an evening in her presence? Eton College had taught him to navigate conversations with formalities, but rehearsed speech could not express his thoughts . . .
And he thought so much about her.
Widow De Clare laughed. “You’re too modest. Few people manage to raise their station. Your life attests to our ability
