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       Chapter One

       London—1816

      ‘Have you heard the latest?’ The voice came out of nowhere.

      Christabel Tallis, aimlessly fanning herself, stopped for a moment and glanced at the mirror which hung on the opposite wall. She knew neither of the women reflected there. Perched uncomfortably on one of the stiffly brocaded benches that lined the Palantine Gallery, she had been wondering, not for the first time that morning, why she’d ever agreed to her mother’s suggestion that they meet Julian here. Lady Harriet had insisted they attend what was billed as the show of the Season, but for Christabel the delights of London society had long ago palled. The salon was overheated and far too crowded, and her delicate skin was already slightly flushed.

      ‘About the Veryan boy, you mean?’ one of the women continued.

      The name hovered in the air, menacing Christabel’s shield of calm detachment. The buzz of inconsequential chatter faded into the distance and every fibre of her body became alert.

      ‘He’s hardly a boy now, of course.’

      ‘Indeed no. How long has it been? Lady Veryan must be overjoyed that he is returning home at last.’

      Suddenly Christabel longed to be far away from this conversation, away from this room. A shaft of sunlight streamed through the gallery’s long windows, breaking through a lowering sky and burnishing her auburn curls into a fiery cloud. The warming light was gone almost as soon as it appeared, but to her it seemed to beckon escape. Escape to where, though? To a country of grey slate and blue seas, a landscape of moor and rocks? To Cornwall, to home? But that could not be; she knew well that her future lay elsewhere.

      ‘One can only hope that he actually arrives,’ the woman opined in a hushed voice.

      The other shuddered theatrically. ‘I understand the journey from Argentina is very long and most dangerous.’

      ‘My dear, yes. You must remember The Adventurer—just a few years ago. It sailed from Buenos Aires …’

      The women moved away and she heard no more. That was sufficient. Richard’s name reverberated through her mind. After all these years—five, six it would be—he was coming back. Her deep green eyes stared into the distance and saw only memory.

      She was seated on a stone bench in the garden of the Veryan town house, the lush fragrance of rose blossoms tumbling in the air. Richard was standing straight and tall in front of her, his mouth compressed and his face white and set. She had just told him that she could not marry him and was offering his ring back. She could not marry him because she was in love with Joshua. And Joshua just happened to be one of Richard’s closest friends. What a wretched business that had been. She and Richard had drifted into an engagement, more to please their parents than from any passionate attachment, and Joshua was the result. The family estates bordered each other and she’d known Richard all her life. It felt natural to be planning to spend the rest of it together. But her visit to London to buy bride clothes had vouchsafed a different perspective: Cornwall and their shared childhood vanished in a sea mist. Instead there was a thrilling round of parties, balls, picnics, assemblies and, at the end of it, Joshua. No, she couldn’t marry Richard. She was too young and too passionate and friendship was not enough.

      ‘Miss Tallis, please accept my sincerest apologies for arriving so late.’

      A well-dressed man in a puce tailcoat and fawn pantaloons stood before her. He took her shapely hand in his, kissing it with elaborate courtesy, and bowed politely to Lady Tallis, who had broken off her conversation with a chance-met companion just long enough to smile benignly at the man she hoped would become her son-in-law.

      Sir Julian Edgerton’s pleasant face wore a rueful smile. ‘I fear the Committee took longer than expected. There is always such a deal to do for the Pimlico Widows and Orphans. I hope you’ll forgive me.’

      ‘Naturally, Sir Julian, how could I not? You lead a truly benevolent life!’ Christabel’s musical voice held the suspicion of a laugh, but her face was lit with the gentlest of smiles.

      ‘Now that I am here, may I get you some refreshment?’

      ‘What a good idea! It’s so very hot in this room. Lemonade, perhaps?’

      ‘It will be my pleasure,’ he said gallantly, ‘and when we are once more comfortable, would you care to make a quick tour of the paintings with me? I am anxious to hear your views. You have such a refined sensibility.’

      She sighed inwardly, but nodded assent while her mother beamed encouragement. She knew Lady Harriet was counting on Sir Julian’s proposal. At nearly twenty-five Christabel was already perilously close to being on the shelf and she could no longer delay the decision to marry. Sir Julian might not be the most exciting man of her acquaintance, but he was solid and dependable and would make a restful husband.

      More than that, he would be an adoring one. And she could trust him. After the bruising experience of her girlhood, such a man was surely worth any amount of excitement.

      If she made this marriage, it might help repair some of the destruction she’d wreaked all those years ago. Her parents had loved Richard as a son and his dismissal had hit them very hard. As for Richard, she was sure he’d remained heart whole. He’d never loved her with the passion she had craved. Instead he’d been angry and humiliated. It was the gossip he had loathed, being on everyone’s tongue, the jilted suitor. Within a sennight he’d escaped England and was on a boat to Argentina. Lord Veryan had told the world it was needful that his son administer the family’s growing estates in South America,